#this AU has been rattling around in my head for months

[flowerakatsuka]

Do you have a fave hesokuri au or skit au and have you kuroba’d them 👀

HI EVAN, THANK YOU SM FOR THE ASK!!! 😊✨

and yes, i do!! a few actually, heh. i've talked a little bit about the youkai & denki mystery aus i have for kuroba before and i really love those, but i think my favorite might actually be their royalty / prince au. which i haven't really talked about before so uh. i hope you don't mind, but i'm gonna use this as a excuse to ramble about it.

i'll put my infodumping under a cut bc it might get long, but here's their designs for the au. 🤭

SO. kuroba comes from a commoner household, but because their grandfather was the royal gardener to the matsuno family and they acted as his apprentice, they've basically lived their entire life on the castle grounds in spite of their status. they've gotten to meet and come to befriend quite a few people of a higher social status than them, the most notable being the 2nd prince of the matsuno royal family, karamatsu.

they first met as children, when karamatsu ran away from his caretakers to hide in the gardens and cry by himself. kuroba had been helping with cleaning up the rose beds that day and stumbled upon him. they've always been the meddling type and can't leave others alone when they're upset so they sat with him and tried to comfort him to the best of their ability, ( even if it was just providing him company and a hand to squeeze while he cried. ) after that, karamatsu became very curious about kuroba and would often visit the gardens in the hopes of spending time with them. the two became very close over time, with him following them around the gardens as they worked and running to them whenever he needed a shoulder to cry on ( which they were always happy to provide. )

they're still very close as adults despite some things changing, like karamatsu adopting a more flashy personality to stand out more amongst his brothers and kuroba taking over their grandfather's role as royal gardener. a lot of the things stayed the same, though.

however, their close friendship starts posing some issues within the royal counsel. one of the princes having such an intimate relationship ( and obvious infatuation ) with a commoner is unsightly in the eyes of the nobility and could make them question the integrity & stability of the crown. so iyami, ( who's a sketchy noble adviser to king matsuzou, ) proposes that karamatsu be engaged to duchess dobusu to help quell the rumors going around about kuroba and him. matsuzou agrees and even though he tries to protest it, kara eventually agrees to go along with it for the sake of his family and kuroba.

when karamatsu tells them the news, kuroba takes it pretty well and congratulates him with a smile... or at least, that's the reaction he gets out of them. in reality, they're fucking devastated because they've been harboring feelings for him for years at that point. they already accepted the fact that they could never be together, but that doesn't make the reality of the situation hurt any less. still, they want to support karamatsu and be happy for them so they're taking the truth about their feelings for him to the grave. ( that's what they planned on doing, at least. )

they slowly drift apart after that ; karamatsu's visits to the gardens become less frequent, kuroba stops personally delivering fresh arrangments to karamatsu's quarters, they barely even greet each other when crossing paths. it doesn't help that iyami got into kuroba's ear, warning them that they should keep their distance from kara to preserve his reputation and not lose their job — which they really can't afford as the main breadwinner for their family. neither of them are happy with how things have changed, but there's not much they can do about it.

as karamatsu and dobusu's engagement party draws closer and kuroba has to help with the decorations, their discontent really bubbles to the surface. one of their noble friends, ( i haven't decided who yet lol, ) finds them crying and tries to comfort them, eventually convincing them to sneak into the party and dance with kara so they at least have one unforgettable memory of him to hold onto. with their help, they manage to do it with their identity hidden behind a mask.

things seem to go off without a hitch ; they'll be able to have to moment with karamatsu all for themself and basically no one will be the wiser. that is until they slip up and speak while dancing with him. they start to leave when he almost says their name, but he stops them and gives them the pine-shaped brooch he was wearing before letting them slip away. to make matters worse, iyami sees this all go down.

the events after that are a lot less plotted out, but i imagine some standard historical fantasy romance webtoon bullshit going down. like karamatsu trying to confront kuroba about that night, but them telling him to stop and leave them be. it's be some wild melodrama, which i do kinda live for.

the climax would probably be iyami staging some villainess-esque condemnation event to expose kuroba for sneaking into the party and get them kicked out of the castle. but queen matsuyo and some of the nobles kuroba had befriended come to their rescue. basically, they argue that if there's someone who's willing to be with karamatsu's annoying ass, then why would you force him onto someone else? none of the other nobles want him, please let kuroba have him so they don't have to deal with him. this includes dobusu, who agrees to give the royal family her duchy's support if they break off her engagement with karamatsu and let kuroba take him off her hands. so after getting matsuzou's approval, they live happily ever after theeeeeee end. there's probably other factors that could play into them getting together at the end, but yeah.

anyways thank you for coming to my rambling, i am so sorry it got this long. this is one of the aus i've thought about A LOT so i ended up having a lot to say. 😭

[ivymarquis]

Happiness is a Butterfly

It's been literal months since I read @ceilidho's divorce AU and guess what it is still rattling around in my brain because it is just scrumptious.

This is what I vanished to work on lol

Pairing| John Price x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 10.6k Kinks/Content/Warnings| 3rd person reader, Post Divorce John Price x Wife!Reader, Attempting to co parent, John is obnoxiously agreeable until he no longer wants to be, there is the s l i g h t e s t mention where reader is worried John might snap but he doesn't scout's honor, squirting, unprotected PiV, blow job, face sitting, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, reproductive coercion if you squint, baby trapping if you squint, it is a lil dubby because John doesn't do anything behind Reader's back but he steamrolls the fuck out of her into getting what he wants lmao

The words choke in her throat like they don’t want to leave. 

Maybe that’s a higher power giving her just one last out to change her mind- to not say the four words that will upend the lives of everyone in the household.

She can barely bring herself to look at him. 

In the decade they’ve been married his temper has never been something she’s been afraid of, but in that moment it is all she can think about; every headline she’s ever read of a soldier snapping and killing his wife and children floating in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger. 

She’s never feared his temper but she’s also never croaked out the words I want a divorce to him before either. 

Her arms cross over her body as her gaze settles a bit off to the side of him. Everything about her body language is closed off and cagey as he looks up from his desk- no doubt having been mentally preparing for another round of come to bed, love - in a minute darling, almost done only to be caught off guard by the actual request.

He doesn’t answer her as he sits back in his chair, looking at her.

She chooses now to choke out the words because she really doesn’t think she has it in her to say the words with him standing. He’s sitting- still imposing as ever even if he’s always been magnanimous around the house- and she’s on the other side of the room avoiding eye contact.

He stands, still silent as the grave, before walking towards her in slow, measured steps and coming to a halt right in front of her. The ground has become absolutely fascinating as she refuses to meet his gaze.

As his hand raises she imperceptibly starts to shift, but absolutely nothing escapes John’s notice. “Don’t,” he starts before clearing his throat, his tone softer as he speaks again, “Don’t do that. You know me better than that.”

This time she doesn’t move as he goes to cup her face- takes her chin in hand and forces her head up. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”

It takes a moment for her to scrape together her nerves, eyes picking up off the floor to meet his. She’s not sure entirely what she expected but she thinks she assumed there’d be more of a reaction. He’s watching her- thinking- as she stumbles over the words.

Doubt twists in her gut as once again she squeaks out “I want a divorce.”

“Is there someone else?” he asks evenly.

“No! John I’d never-” It’s true; ever since he’d turned her head all those years ago she’s been blind where other men are concerned.

“Okay,” he soothes with his thumb against her cheek and she’s suddenly aware that this is probably not how this conversation should be going. “I believe you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She’s been agonizing over this for months. She’s not even sure what gauntlet was thrown down to make her say enough is enough and have today be the day. Nothing spectacular has happened.

Maybe that’s reason enough. His job is always just the higher priority. While he always ensures his family is cared for while away, he drops everything for work in a way that simply isn’t reciprocated at home. Even when he’s physically here he spends so much time locked in this damn office he might as well be back at base.

Nothing has changed after begging and pleading and she is tired with a bone weary ache.

Are you sure this is what you want? Echos in her head while he awaits an answer.

“Yes.” No. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she confesses. “I’m tired of constantly having to beg you to be here even when you’re home. If I am going to be by myself raising the boys then I just need to be by myself.”

He doesn’t seem surprised by the words in the slightest. Probably because they’ve been having the same argument for years. This is not the first time she’s been frustrated with his job.

“Okay,” she can’t believe her ears with his easy acceptance. “If this is what you want, then okay.”

She sobs- alone- in their bed like the entire situation isn’t her fault, burying her face in the bedding to stifle herself from the kids. John’s gone.

Everything goes about as smoothly as it can. John doesn’t fight her on anything. With his schedule there’s no point in ironing out a visitation schedule through the courts. They agree to just work it out when they can, given how he can be called away at a moment’s notice.

They’re adults. They can handle this.

Once her nerves settle from the initial shock of actually saying the words to him, and she’s had a few days to think on his reaction, she decides she’s pissed.

The easy acceptance ruffles her feathers in a way she can’t put to words. She gave him a decade of her life, a home, three children- has kept everything running seamlessly while he jumped in and out of their lives to answer the call of duty and he didn’t even try to fight for her.

If he was being sullen or grouchy with her it would be easier to process everything- all the things set into motion that she started.

Perhaps she’s projecting. But he just acts like nothing is amiss as he comes by to pick up the boys or drop them off or just stop by to spend time with them.

She wakes up on the 15th and right on time she is awoken by a ding from her phone.

Perhaps, she thinks, it is a lapse in judgment to kick him out for not being around, given that she’s now cut into what already little time he has to spend with them. Isn’t that the focus of her argument? That it’s too difficult for the boys?

Their boys- three of them, each one a head taller than the last- are understandably devastated and struggling to deal with very big, very complex feelings that result in major meltdowns and fights. They blame her and they’re not wrong.

Then one day, when old habits die hard and she confides in John tearfully one day as he’s returned from his latest deployment to see them, while she can’t say it stops all together she can say there’s a marked improvement when they come back. 

What did he tell them?

Her phone dings on the 1st like it always does every other week and her agitation is palpable.

She doesn’t even need to look at the notification. 

John isn’t missing a beat this entire time and he’s driving her crazy. 

The notification is from the bank, of an entirely too large deposit to an account that only she has access to. John’s name is not on it and he can’t touch anything in it. 

He can however put money in it.

He is as steadfast and agreeable as always while stubborn enough to just bulldoze into getting his way.

She knows she should be grateful. That so many ex husbands abandon their children and former wives in favor of some shiny new girlfriend. That it would be so easy for him to throw her “if I'm going to be by myself then I'm going to be by myself” back in her face. 

Her career had been put on hold with the boys. When everyone was older and in school and didn’t need her so much the plan had been to go back. And then John had kept putting babies in her and the timeline got pushed further back with the subsequent births of their two youngest children. 

It would have been so easy for him to tell her to just figure it out herself, that this is what she wants and she can navigate life on her own just fine. 

Instead he deposits entirely too much money into an account he can’t access. 

She’s not sure why today is different, but she hits her limit and calls him. They’ve never actually spoken about his little transactions.

“You alright, then, love?” She remembers deciding to pick her battles and not harp that she’s not his love anymore. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief pause.

“…I’m on base? About to take my lunch, actually. Maybe you can -“ she cuts him off before he can get any further. 

“I’m not calling to ask about your day and you know it,” she snaps irritably. “I’m asking about the deposit. What are you doing?”

John, once upon a time, used to tease about his spoiled, hot headed wife. She knows she is being the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful but come on- no one is this agreeable about a divorce. She doesn’t trust it. 

“I have no idea what you mean, love.” He assures her good naturedly. 

“You have no idea how several thousands have been deposited into my account?”

She wants to reach through the phone to strangle him when she hears that even tempered laugh of his. 

“I know how the money got deposited, love- I did it myself. I don’t know why you’re questioning my motives. We both know you haven’t worked outside the home in years- you need money to keep everything going.”

“John, it's too much. I know you know how much I spend in a month!”

He sighs. She can picture him sitting at his desk on base. Sprawled out in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation.” He responds evenly. “The plan wasn’t for you to go to work until the youngest one’s in school next year. You’ve been out of the market for years, I can only imagine an employer trying to use that to short change you.”

He lets out a sigh, and she feels something akin to guilt for freaking out on him.

John’s always been the one to make the best out of a shit situation. To try to steady the boat in the storm. Even when his own wife (ex wife) is the one making waves. 

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation,” he repeats. “I just want you to be able to raise the boys comfortably without worrying about making ends meet.”

The something coils tighter in her gut. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he assures her and once again she has to bite back a not your sweetheart anymore. 

“Now,” there’s the slightest shift to his tone and feels herself falling back into old habits again. As keyed in to him as a dog awaiting her master’s command. “What I was going to say earlier- I’m about to take my lunch. I would appreciate it if you could bring me the boys. I’d like to see them today.”

She can’t very well tell him no now can she?

The boys are her heart and soul but she sees them for exactly who they are- three rambunctious little spitfires always up to something. Good boys, but curious and mischievous. The curse of having smart children. 

Until they’re on base at least. All three are quiet as church mice, gathered behind their mother and peering at the soldiers from behind her skirt. 

She can’t truly correct the guards at the gate when they greet her as Mrs. Price- she hasn’t changed her name and isn’t sure if she’s going to. 

It’s not hers anymore, but it’s still her boys’ name and things are easier. She’d likely have to retrain herself to respond to her maiden name. 

The boys are hot on her heels until they stumble across John- as soon as he sees them, dropping a knee with open arms the trio are off like a shot as peals of “Daddy!!” fill the air. 

“You can just call me after you’ve finished lunch and I can come get them,” she states amicably, watching John as he wrangles the three of them. The sooner she can get out of here, the better off she’ll be (because God help her, watching him with their oldest two was how she ended up pregnant with the third, and watching him with them now just makes her yearn for something she no longer has any claim to).

Immediately the three boys are protesting, albeit not quite as vocally as they normally would.

“Mummy, no!” “Mum!” “But it’ll be fun!” the trio state their cases to varying degrees.

John shushes the three of them gently to keep them from winding up too much before turning to her. “Come on now, sweetheart, for old time’s sake, hm?”

Their little three stooges voice their approval of that idea, chiming in with various degrees of “Yeah!”

Ultimately it’s the desire to keep her children complacent that has her agreeing. She doesn’t want a scene.

Unfortunately, a (albeit mild) scene is what she ends up having anyway.

She knows (is hopeful, at least) that her oldest doesn’t mean anything by it while they’re waiting for their food and asks “So what time are we going to nana’s later?”

Her eyes snap to him about the same moment as John’s snaps to her, and she’s deliberately trying to avoid his gaze.

Why, oh why, could he not have asked either before or after lunch?

“We’ll probably get ready after we go back home.” she’s careful to keep her tone neutral.

“How fun,” Ah shit, she can hear the suspicion in John’s voice. “Any reason in particular, or just a fun weekend?”

“Just for the night. Mum’s picking us up tomorrow. Right Mum?”

The server chooses that moment to bring their food, which gives her a moment to figure out how the fuck she’s gonna weasle out of this conversation.

“Yes, I’ll come get you after breakfast.”

“Could have called me.”

“That didn’t seem appropriate. They’ll be fine with my mum.” Her gaze drops to her plate, knowing full well if she looks up that his eyes will lock on hers.

“Don’t see what’s inappropriate about me watching my own kids.”

It’s not that she’s happy to squabble with John where the kids have a front row seat, but there is a dark part of her that delights in watching him. He has been obnoxiously agreeable this entire time and the cracks are showing. It makes her feel like she’s dealing with another human being, because she knows she’s got her moments where she loses her mind during all of this and it’s beyond frustrating that he is so dauntless no matter the circumstances in every situation.

“It’s not-” Jesus, does she tell him? What does that conversation look like? “I have plans tonight.”

John is not a stupid man and she can see the moment he realizes she’s not planning a girl’s night out for herself.

That she hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask him to take the kids so she can go on a date with another man.

“I’m watching them,” he asserts before returning to his plate. 

“John-”

“I said I’m watching them,” his tone is softer, but leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.

There’s nothing wrong with her date. He is well mannered and polite, attentive when she speaks. No obvious red flags- he doesn’t dismiss her stories, doesn’t shirk back at the mention of her three children, isn’t rude to the server and isn’t texting on his phone opposed to actually engaging with her. 

There is nothing wrong with him and for an idle moment she pictures what her could have been like had she married a man like him instead of John. The 9-5, the set routine, the security and reliability of knowing that he is coming home at his regular time and he’ll be there for the boys various sports and activities. 

And yet all she can think of is John, who is sitting in their home, watching their children. Of the late night returns from deployment where they’d have their stolen alone time- quiet as church mice so as not to wake the boys who most assuredly would not be going back to sleep if they knew their father was home. 

Of the delighted squeals of their children when they come into the room to wake her for breakfast only to find him in bed like nothing was amiss. 

(And yes there was always the heartbreak that followed him walking out the door, the anxiety between phone calls that would brew until she once again could assess that he is alive and not dying blown to bits on the other side of the world)

There is nothing wrong with her date but he is not John, and that is an obstacle he will never be able to overcome.

She is safely deposited on her doorstep with polite pleasantries. She thinks he knows, has a kind smile and understanding eyes as she carefully tells him I’m sorry, I thought I was ready but I don’t think I am.

Someone will recognize him as a catch but John never let go of the hold on her heart. Someone will want this man but all she wants is John. 

It’s not as late as she thought it would be when she comes home- a fact that John immediately comments on when her eyes land on him while searching for him.

“Well that didn’t last long.” The air feels different from before she left home, and she stands stock still as he rises off the couch and strides towards her.

“I,” she starts and stops, choking on the words. Why the hell did she ever agree to letting him babysit again?

Yes he’s the father of her children and yes she wants him to spend time with them whenever possible but this is just so incredibly awkward for her. 

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” she finishes lamely. 

“I would imagine not, if the date ended that quickly. We were always out for hours, weren’t we sweetheart?”

She can’t quite get a read on him but the entire tone of the conversation is… odd. Hell, the entire conversation is odd. 

John is not one of her girlfriends for her to cheekily report back how her date went. He’s her ex husband for God’s sake. 

“We were,” she agrees amicably- mind spinning with memories of the various times they had stumbled into bed early in the morning, or crawled into the backseat of John’s car like horny teenagers or-

One moment her thoughts are full of the various times John had folded her up like a piece of paper, and the next she’s aware that he’s closed the distance between them while she’s distracted.

“Makes me wonder if that was your plan all along,” he ponders out loud. She squeaks in protest, rooted to the ground and not even attempting to put more space between them.

“Was it? Having me home with the kids while you were out with another man?” His tone holds far more warmth than one would expect of a man all but accusing his (ex) wife of being a hotwife. 

John’s hands grip at either side of her hips, thumbs rubbing in affectionate circles. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her own- she can feel the shift in the room. She hasn’t been with anyone since the last time they slept together, and there’s only so much fucking herself can due to take the edge off.

She can’t mimic the weight of a man’s body on top of hers- of his voice rumbling in her ears, the body heat radiating off of him as he coaxes one orgasm after another out of her.

She doesn’t want just a man though, in the broad scope of the term. It’s John. 

He stops stroking at her before making a few deliberate swipes. It dawns on her that he’s feeling at the seam of her lingerie set underneath her dress. 

“What’s this?” He asks, hands roaming and squeezing at her sides- possibly seeing if he can gauge which set is hidden away by feeling how the fabric wraps around her. 

It’s a new one. While she hadn’t been sure about sleeping with her date, the thought of wearing lingerie that at one point had been meant for John felt wrong. 

There’s a part of her willing to admit that at the rate things are going, he’s likely going to be christening this one also by the end of the night. 

“Were you planning on showing this to him?” John’s enjoying torturing her- dangling the man she wasn’t ever all that interested in just to bait her.

“No, I-,” she hadn’t really thought about it. There was no plan. She was going on a date, so she put on lingerie like she always has. 

Like she always did- for him. John would make a game of figuring out which set she had on.

“I just want you,” the truth bubbles out of her throat unbidden. 

John descends on her like a man starved- fingers digging into her hips with a grip that she knows is going to leave bruises later.

“Bed,” she mumbles between kisses. Given how John immediately starts herding her backwards towards the bedroom, he’s clearly on board with this plan. 

Once the door is shut, the pair cross the room before collapsing against the bed. 

Clothes are shed in a hurry, pried off with little regard as they’re shucked to the floor.

“This one looks lovely on you,” John murmurs in praise against her skin as he gropes at the lace adorning her body, dropping to his knees on the side of the bed. 

God has she missed this- missed him. The feeling is clearly mutual from the way he busies himself between her legs, lips peppering kisses across her inner thighs quickly while he makes his way towards the spot she wants him most, the gusset of her thong pulled aside.

Just as his breath is fanning over the core of her he pulls back slightly. Her thigh twitches in frustration, so close to finally having the nirvana of his tongue lapping at her only for him to have to be a tease.

“Has anyone else gotten a taste of this sweet cunt?” He asks, eyes on her with an intensity that has her squirming. 

“No! There hasn’t been- John, I swear I haven’t-“ she protests.

“I believe you,” he assures her. 

She probably should ask if the same could be said for him- for her own sake if nothing else. But she’s already made a slew of questionable decisions that haven’t gone the way she wants, and she errs on the side of not asking questions she doesn’t want an answer to.

Her eyes roll immediately once his mouth is on her. His hands grip at the underside of her thigh, holding them apart to give him unfettered access.

“John,” somehow she can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that he’s got her back in their bed. Everything is novel and familiar at the same time, and she is overwhelmed by how easy it is to fall back into old habits. 

He pulls away just long enough to speak, “I missed you so much,” before going back to eating her out.

John is a man on a mission, and he is familiar enough with her body to know exactly how to get her where he wants her. He also knows all of her tells- God damn him. No sooner has he dragged her to the precipice of her orgasm does he sit back, content to let her dangle but stopping just shy of letting her finally topple over.

“Wh-why?” She whimpers, lust, anticipation and disappointment curling in her gut.

He’s so gentle with her when he takes her left hand in his own, thumb running over her knuckles in soothing movements.

“Where’s your ring, sweetheart?” his question is a non sequitur if she’s ever heard one, head spinning trying to catch up through the haze of pleasure she’d been drowning in just a moment ago.

“My ring?” She mimics more on reflex than anything else, mind still reeling to catch up.

“Yes, sweetheart, your ring.” He repeats, eyeline following hers as her gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the vanity.

There’s no written standard on how long to keep your ring before getting rid of it, and she hadn’t been sure about it. Figured she could always get rid of it later- when it’s never a question of if she’s making the right decision. Even with the ink dried on the paperwork finalizing their divorce, the ring feels like the final nail in the coffin for their marriage.

So she put it in her jewelry box, where it is safe but out of mind and she could worry about it later.

She never thought for a second that ‘later’ would arrive in the form of her ex husband telling her “Go get it and bring it here.”

It’s a beautiful ring; everything she ever wanted growing up. The cut, the size, the setting- John did a lovely job when he picked it out all those years ago.

Gonna be an officer’s wife, sweetheart he’d told her after she’d accepted his proposal. Gotta look the part.

Surely no one can blame her for not gnashing at the bit to part with it?

She hesitates for a moment before ultimately deciding to just do as she’s told- John didn’t tell her to put it back on. So she holds it pinched between her thumb and pointer.

In an alternate dimension, where she’d gone back with her date and let him charm her out of her new lingerie, there would be some insecurity over her body. Bringing three tiny lives into the world takes its toll in the form of stretch marks and loose skin and some extra weight that just clings to her like a needy toddler- but any time John has seen her naked, he is as moon eyed as he was the first time all those years ago. Like he can’t quite believe his luck and he’s not entirely sure she’s real.

Tonight is no exception. As soon as she’s in arms reach his hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.

“We’re going to lay some ground rules, and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Am I clear, pet?” Warmth and affection roll off of his tone in waves despite his words. All she can do is nod dumbly.

“This,” John takes the ring from her before sliding it back on her finger,” stays where it belongs. Right here.”

He pulls her even closer- she has to crane her neck to look up at him. “There’s no more dates with other men. That stops tonight.”

Another easy acquiescence. She nods in agreement.

He spins her slowly, facing away from him and then pulling at her hips so she’s sitting on him. She starts to hover, holding herself up until he swats at the side of her ass. “Now is not the time to play with me,” he warns.

She settles, feeling the mattress dip underneath their combined weight. John clearly has a plan in mind as he guides her to spread her legs, a chill running up her spine as the air laps at her wet cunt. His erection presses heavy at her ass, trapped between his body and her own.

His left middle and ring finger tap at her lower lip and she opens her mouth on reflex. John doesn’t even need to tell her to suck, tongue laving over the thick digits automatically, the same way she would his cock.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You tried and tried to tell me, and I didn’t take you seriously, did I?”

She can only assume that this is all rhetorical- that there’s no way he can expect an answer out of her considering she’s gagging on his fingers.

“As soon as you told me you wanted a divorce in my office, I knew what it was. You needed my attention, and I wasn’t listening. I don’t blame you. Hell, I practically forced your hand. So I’m not mad,” he reiterates.

“But you’ve got my full attention now, lovely- I can promise you that.” 

She twists as much as she’s able, watching John out of the corner of her eye while still sucking; her tongue tasting the metal of his ring as it ran along the base of it.

“We,” he pulls his fingers from her mouth, grinning when she chases his hand slightly, “are going to work this out. I love you, and I have no intention of letting another man raise my children.”

It would be easy to say the arousal dripping from her is left from when John’s mouth was on her, but that would be a lie. Him taking her in hand- literally-  and telling her he has no intention of letting her go is definitely doing it for her.

Wet fingers grab at her jaw and turn her head, making her melt into his hold as he kisses her. “There’s my good girl,” his voice is a rumbling timber purring in her ear.

She whines when those two fingers trace down her body- an appreciative squeeze of her breasts trailing to grope at her ass before finally slipping between her legs.

“John,” his name is a whimper against his lips as she wiggles in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he admonishes gently as he works his fingers inside of her.

Warmed by their body heat, his ring isn’t cold against her skin by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it feels like a white hot branding iron everywhere he touches. That tonight is a reclamation as much as a reunion as he crooks his fingers inside of her.

It was easy to ignore the need that burned in her at night. She’d run herself ragged during the day chasing after children and keeping all her ducks in a row. With John gone, it was easy to shove the desire down and ignore it.

But oh now that he has her in his arms, fingers buried in her as he works her closer to her peak? She feels like she’s on fire. Greed burns at her insides, needing more. Nothing short of climbing inside of him would abate the desire roaring in her body.

Her hips cant in short motions, following the movement of his hand eagerly.

As reluctant as she is to stop kissing him, she can feel a crick in her neck starting to form from keeping her head turned for so long.

Her head lulls against his shoulder when his free hand slips under the lace of her bra and grips one nipple between his middle finger and thumb, his pointer finger teasing the hardened nub in a way he knows drives her absolutely insane.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks just a breath too loud, her hand immediately clamping over her mouth as John pinches her nipple just shy of pain in reprimand. “Not too loud,” he reminds her, mollified when she nods in acknowledgement.

He’s got her panting in need in record time, a small part of her suspicious that he’s going to stop her short of her climax again. The anxiety only serves to fuel the fire burning in her gut, giving the final push to tip her over the edge.

Apparently neither trust her ability to be quiet when her climax hits, because John’s hand abandons teasing her breast in favor of also making sure her cries are muffled. The other is soaked as she squirts, twitching and bucking in his hold.

“Need to shove your face in a pillow,” he comments dryly, a shit eating grin on his face as he takes in her blissed out expression.

He knows her inside and out; knows exactly how long she needs to recover before he’s tapping at her side and prompting her up. “Get on the bed and lay on your back.”

She complies immediately on shaky legs, standing to turn and crawling to the middle of the bed.

John is just as delicious now as he was over a decade ago, and her brain threatens to short circuit watching him crawl over top of her. There’s more grey hairs and fine lines creasing around his eyes, and her heart still thrums in her ribcage like a hummingbird.

She relaxes against the mattress, trusting entirely that John has everything handled. He positions her how he wants, settling between her legs and rubbing the tip of her cock against her wet entrance. 

“Please, John, I can’t wait anymore,” she begs, feeling like she’s about to lose her mind. The edge should be taken off considering John’s rather patiently gotten her off already once, and yet if anything it just makes her more frantic. As much as each swipe of his cock against her swollen clit sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, she’s gagging for him and running out of patience.

“You are a spoiled thing,” he admonishes good naturedly like he hasn’t made a habit of indulging her every whim and desire in the past decade up to and including getting a divorce.

“We might have our problems, sweetheart, but being able to fuck you right was never one of them, was it?” John teases as he lines himself up with her. She shakes her head in agreement. If she’s being truthful, that’s partially what had stayed her hand for as long as she had. The frustration with his work being so all consuming it was like his mistress had been a slow boil for quite some time. For years John would mollify her by fucking her into submission- and she has a sinking suspicion that their youngest was an attempt to get her to let up on the subject.

His generosity in the bedroom stems from equal parts wanting to please, and the pragmatic aspect that he is not a small man, and it’s usually easier for everyone involved if he gets her off before attempting penetration.

It’s like they haven’t missed a day- it takes a few thrusts to get her body to spread for him and then all the blood on John’s body dives south for the wet, warm cunt wrapping around his cock.

“This pretty cunt’s got me like a vice, sweetheart,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her.

“I missed you so much,” she whines into the kiss. “It feels so good.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he grunts against her neck, each clap of his hips against hers earning a whine. “You divine creature- got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

An entire relationship’s worth of orgasms makes it so she doesn’t begrudge him that he’s going to be a quick shot tonight. His earlier statement is correct- if there is one thing the man knows how to do, it’s fuck her within an inch of her life. He’s proven that time and time again.

If anything, given their time apart, it appeases some of her anxiety- he must not be getting any from anyone else if he’s already this close to finishing.

“Look at me,” he instructs and she complies immediately. One of his hands strokes her face while his other arm braces his weight above her. “Tell me you love me.”

Her answer is immediate. “I do! John, I love you. I love you so much!”

His hips come to a halt against hers as he grunts against her neck in pleasure. “My perfect girl,” he praises, hands stroking at her sides as he comes down from his high.

She’s so caught up in the lust of the situation that it takes a second for reality to come knocking on her door. “Shit! Pull out!” she tells him, trying to scramble out from underneath him.

“What?” In all their years, ‘pull out’ has never been one of the instructions. He complies even as his brows knit in confusion.

“I haven’t been keeping up with my birth control!” Despite John’s easy assurance that he can just stroll in and assert that they are going to work through things (and she does want to)- adding a new baby on top of their mess will not help get shit sorted out.

Once again, his unflappable attitude has its way of driving her absolutely insane. “Bit late for that, innit? You’ve already had 3 of mine, what’s one more at this point?”

“One more at this point is exactly the point!” she tries to reason.

“We did say a girl would be nice,” he reminds her.

“That was before we got a divorce!” she hisses, trying to be mindful of her volume lest she wake their children.

“That’s nothing but paperwork, pet. We can have it sorted by the time you’re due.” John can tell he’s truly gone and wound her up more than he meant with that, immediately shifting gears to try and settle her back down. 

“Okay, too much. I’m sorry. Come here,” he guides her to lay down, which she does albeit with a fair amount of suspicion. 

John wisely chooses not to agitate her further or do anything that could be considered pushing in his luck (like, say, pointing out that despite her protests about another baby, she’s not said a peep about the cum dripping from her).

Instead he draws her up into his arms, sticking his nose firmly in her hair.

For a long moment it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the late night.

It catches her off guard when the tears come unbidden. One moment she’s happily lazing in her (ex-turned-hopeful-once-more?) husband’s arms, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably.

They’ve been through enough that it shouldn’t embarrass her. For fuck’s sake, she’d vomited all over him during the birth of their second son. But she feels like an exposed livewire sobbing over nothing and without warning.

“What’s wrong?” John mumbles as he wakes half-way, pulling her closer to him and stroking her back to console her.

“I mucked everything up,” she chokes out, burrowing her face against his neck. “I didn’t even want this, I just didn’t know what else to do!”

He shushes her gently, petting at her in an attempt to calm her down. “I meant what I said, pet. I know things have to change, but at the end of the day it’s just papers. We’ll get everything fixed back in its proper place.”

She doesn’t remove herself from the spot on his neck she’s nestling against, but quiets down and eventually they both fall asleep once again.

When she wakes again, she feels far more level headed- although neediness eats away at her. It’s like her body is craving to make up for lost time for the months they’ve been apart.

She can’t help herself as one hand trails down the thick hair dusting his torso, pressing kisses against his neck. Even in his sleep John responds to her touch- pulls at her to be closer to him, huffing as his dick twitches in interest. 

It only takes a quick lick of her palm and a few strokes to have him stiffening in her hand.

The dried spend on the inside of her thighs is enough of a reminder, even if she’s feeling affectionate this morning, that she’s going to have to figure something out for her birth control. 

For the morning at least the answer to that is easy- still working her hand in slow motion up and down on his shaft she kisses a trail down his neck and working her way south.

The movement is enough to have John stirring with a sinful groan in the back of his throat.

“Well good morning, gorgeous,” he greets, voice clouding in sleep in a way that makes her just want to sit on his face.

Humming out an acknowledgement, she continues to work her way down his abdomen. She does give in to the impulse to nip at the base of his happy trail, delighting in how he sucks back away from her teeth only to push at her head immediately after.

“Bad girl,” he admonishes with no true venom in his voice “Keep those teeth to yourself, hm?” he advises with an affectionate swat to her ass.

Rather than crawling down him, she’s got herself angled perpendicular to him. All the better for him to pet her with one hand while the other encourages her to take him in her mouth.

The moan he makes as she bobs her head is sinful, and she presses her thighs together and shifts her hips to get whatever little bit of friction she can- an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by John.

“That pretty pussy of yours needs some attention, doesn’t it sweetheart?” he asks, a warm hand running down her spine and trailing across her ass until he starts to tease her.

She works with a sense of urgency, even with John taking his time playing with her. They should have another hour or so to themselves before the boys wake up, but they’re also no strangers to a mad scramble under the covers with an unplanned interruption.

“Fuck,” he bites out a curse, hips flexing underneath her. That’s all the encouragement she needs to redouble her efforts, the hand not supporting her weight wrapping around him and stroking to help get him there faster. Despite their years together she’d never quite been able to take all of him down her throat.

“Look at me,” and the eye contact is all it takes for her to feel him stiffening beneath her. “Gonna swallow for me, sweetheart? Yeah, that’s my good girl- keep those eyes on- fuck,” he grunts, his climax hitting.

She’s well versed in swallowing his seed as he cums- keeps up the suction even as his orgasm tapers off just to see how long it takes him to grab her by the hair and pry her off of him.

“Sit on my face. And don’t even think about fucking hovering,” John orders and she complies immediately. His teasing while she’d blown him leaves her a horribly needy mess- None of the pent up lust releasing yet, although anticipation has her scrambling back up the bed and straddling his face.

He pulls at her hips, locking a forearm around her like he wants to make sure she isn’t going to change her mind and start teasing him back.

And fuck does that man know exactly where to lick and suck to make her eyes roll. One of her hands gripping the headboard for dear life, the other one buries itself in John’s hair. He takes direction like a champ, following the not-so-subtle cues from her as she pulls him where she wants him.

“Please, please, please,” she babbles breathlessly as he gets her teetering over the edge, only to release his hair in favor of clamping her hand over her mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

Her legs are weak as he guides her back down before getting her on her back and kissing her until she’s breathless. As engrossing as their make out session is, neither one particularly cares that they can taste themself on the other.

Eventually the pair wear themselves out, calming down from their earlier romp and managing to get into the shower and cleaning up.

It’s only after they’ve escaped the pull of their marital bed, as the water washes the lust out of her system that the reality of the situation comes knocking again, insistent.

“I want this to work, John.” She wants to melt at the way his expression softens at her.

“I do too, sweetheart- you have no idea how much.” A sigh escapes her, already fearing that they’re back on their loop that’s been the routine for the past decade. “What’s that for, hm?” he inquires.

“I want this to work, John,” she repeats “but things have to change. I mean it.”

“ I know you do,” he assures her, reaching down to kiss her temple. “I believe you.”

She’s uncertain if her refusal to be mollified is her winding herself into a snit again, or because she’s justified in the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Especially when his palm drops to hover over her belly.

“You can’t try to get me pregnant if you’re not retiring from the field, John,” she asserts. “I can handle the boys, I cannot handle a fourth baby by myself.”

And much like a kind stranger trying to lure a skittish stray dog into their car, John hums in agreement.

Retirement from the military as a whole, she knows, is far too much of an ask. John has spent his entire adult life serving and it will probably take a career ending injury to get him to agree to retire outright. However she’ll happily settle for him promoting high enough that he’s not one of the first people contacted when they need boots on the ground. She just wants her husband home. She’s paid her dues being the sweet housewife raising the kids alone while he plays hero on the other side of the world. He’s beyond capable of climbing the ranks to one that involves less clandestine missions and more paperwork, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he hasn’t.

(She knows it’s not entirely a blind devotion to country and crown and preventing acts of terrorism, and the fact that he enjoys fucking off to who-knows-where at the drop of a hat- never knowing where he’ll be 24 hours from now at any given time, and he doesn’t want to give that up yet. She tries not to think about it too hard though, otherwise she’ll melt down like chernobyl.)

The hot water runs out before John’s refractory period, which is a good thing for her sake because she’s a scatter brained mess right now. The man’s not 20 and she doesn’t begrudge him the time it takes to recuperate, but she’s swinging wildly between being sappy and sentimental and wanting back what she had, and knowing full well she needs to get a grip before she does something stupid like letting John talk her into trying for a girl.

By the time they dry off and dress there are three hungry boys who are in for quite the surprise to see their dad come morning. No doubt there had been a reasonable expectation that John would leave in the middle of the night after they went to bed.

John keeps the boys distracted and out of her hair as she gets their breakfast sorted. 

Before the divorce, the pair of them would go about their separate routines; making their morning caffeinated beverages of choice, idly commenting on the latest news headline, alternating getting things sorted for their children. 

Now John hovers. Like he’s not entirely certain if he wants her out of his sight. He wrangles the boys to their seats as she gets their food, but it’s like one eye is kept trained on her. 

Before the divorce, her children would make their protests- high pitch peals of ew! (The youngest, she suspects, merely imitating his older brothers who get a kick out of their parents' displeased stares) if they witnessed any displays of overt affection. While of course anything where they could see was kept G rated, once the boys thought something was funny they committed to the bit entirely. 

Now, while she’s distracted by John giving a chaste kiss to her temple and running his hands up and down the sides of her arm, she realizes that the boys are as silent as the grave. Three sets of owlish eyes watch them intently before comically making a big show of going back to their breakfast as they realize they’re caught.

“John,” she starts quietly, eyes watching the boys before shifting her attention back to her husba- ex-husband. “We really need to talk about this. Actually talk.” Not just fuck each other silly - she knows they’ll just slip back into old habits. They need ground rules. 

She knows how her husband works. If she can wrangle him into actually agreeing with a discussion, that is workable. John’s got his quirks and idiosyncrasies that she’s learned over the years. He won’t outright lie to her, he won’t go back on his word if he commits to something. But he will push and widdle and chip away at her to keep her compliant and happy enough to get off his dick (usually by putting her on his dick. Or mouth. Or hands. Or-

Anyway.)

“We will, sweetheart. Let’s just get through breakfast, hm?”

It is so familiar and yet still so different. The boys are running a mile a minute, eagerly soaking up the additional time with their father (the guilt gnaws at her- knows this could just be a normal morning. Had she either never divorced him, or kept him firmly away. This hemming and hawing that feels inevitable can not be good for the boys).

Screentime is a bit of a hot topic, but they need the boys content and quiet long enough for them to speak without interruptions. 

The eldest is a bit too old for the target demographic for Bluey, but his handheld console is enough to keep him entertained.

She can’t help but feel like her oldest boy and John are conspiring- John firmly telling him “Your mother and I need to have a little talk with no interuptions. You keep an eye on your brothers, got it?” only for the oldest to salute him with a “Yes, sir!” that has John grinning as he herds her towards his office with a hand low on her back.

The click of the door sliding shut is as loud as a gunshot.

“I know I pushed too far,” John begins. The pair of them stand in front of each other. “You kept asking for the same thing over and over again. I never thought you would actually leave, but I can’t say I was surprised when you asked for a divorce. You were trying, and I wasn’t listening. I meant what I said last night. I’m not mad.”

It…. stings. Knowing the truth the whole time- John thinking he can just wait her out. That he can lean on her despite her protests and eventually she’ll give up. But it’s a dull pain, considering it’s something she’s lived with for years. She’s well familiar with it. 

“So why? Why let it get that far. I know what you do is important. I know it’s selfish to ask you to give that up, but we’ve got three kids, John. You want a fourth! It is so hard to be the one who stays with them when you leave. They don’t grasp the situation. They just know that their dad’s gone and they miss you. And I cannot breathe when you are deployed and sent off to fuck-knows-where dealing with some of the most violent, dangerous groups on the planet. What if you don’t come home? How am I supposed to raise them without you?”

Sharp words coming from the same woman who kicked John out. But it’s the same story he’s been hearing for the better part of decade ever since their first was born. He can likely recite her speech from the heart at this point.

Like always, John is steadfast in the storm no matter how far into orbit she flies. He’s well acquainted with her whims, and knows just how easy it is to rile her up and yet also knows exactly how to bring her back down. 

At the moment her expression is similar to that of a wet hen’s.

“I didn’t think you’d leave.” It’s the truth and she knows it and it pisses her off. “I knew you weren’t happy with it, but overall we were happy with each other. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’m not a mean drunk. I might be absent at times but I’m not cruel. I keep you happy in bed. You want for nothing. The boys know I adore them. Every marriage has its problems. I thought we both understood that the nature of my job is ours.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she reiterates, and she’s not sure if her voice warbles from how angry she is at the confirmation that he thought he could wait her out until he felt like retiring (or, more likely- she buries him), or at herself because she picked him and how mad can she be when he’s been honest about his work from the start.

There’s no clear cut villain. John is right. His job has weighed down on them since the beginning. In the beginning she thought she could handle it. But three children later and she’s begun to realize- far too late- that it’s so much. Subjecting them to something they never asked for because they were born into this schedule where John is beholden to Kate fucking Laswell more than his own family (peace and love to her- she’s great but she is the walking representation of everything they are struggling with in their marriage).

Her mind is a jumbling mess, like twine that’s interlocking and needing to unravel. There’s no clear cut path forward. She will go absolutely insane if things continue on the way they have been, but the time apart has shown her that she doesn’t really want to separate from John. No other man can even come close to him.

“So now what do we do?” she asks.

John steps closer to her, reaching to run his knuckles across her cheek in affection. “I want to come home, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She expects some sort of protest. Some sort of Yes it can be, and she’s not sure if she’s got the mental fortitude to continue holding her ground. But she knows that nothing will change if she lets up now. This is the moment where she either needs to throw in the towel, or maybe- just maybe there’s a chance.

They’ve made it this far. But she is so tired. She can’t go back but she’s got no idea what’s ahead or how long it will take to get there.

“I know. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“It is your last one John, I swea-” She’s always hated that stupid fucking movie trope where the man shuts the woman up by kissing her. Yet here she is, her (fragile) attempt at a stern warning cut off as John snatches her up and pulls her to him.

After last night, one would think they’d gotten enough of each other to not be groping at each other like animals in heat.

Mother fucker he’s doing it again. He doesn’t fight as she pulls away, though those pretty blue eyes are blown showing where he would have been heading had she not stopped him.

“I mean it, John. You said you want this to work, but I need to see changes. You need to be home and not fucking off half away across the world at the drop of a hat. I need to be able to make plans and know that you will be here.”

“Anything, sweetheart. I just want my family back. I swear, I’m listening this time. I’ll figure it out.”

The lust has calmed from his eyes as he approaches again, making her look up at him. “You remember our little conversation from last night?” 

He looks as serious as a heart attack, and there was a lot said last night.

She’s taking too long to answer, as he continues unprompted. “I know you’re not going to sign the papers overnight, and I’m fine with that. But your ring stays on, and there are no more dates with other men. You are mine. You are not single, and I expect you to act like it, hm?”

The chaste kiss to her temple is a sharp juxtaposition to the severity of his tone. He certainly doesn’t need to tell her twice.

“I promise,” she assures him, seeing how the intensity drains out of him as he’s mollified by her words. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but did you- was there-” the words choke as she stumbles over them. She can’t be mad. She’s got no right to- they are divorced, and he (was) single and free to do as he pleases. But the idea of John drowning his sorrows in another woman’s body makes her want to claw someone’s eyes out.

And she really should have asked before he fucked her without a condom, but hindsight is 20/20.

Despite her inability to get the words together in the right order, John seems to know her question. He pulls her close to him, tucking her under his chin.

“No, sweetheart. There was never anyone else.”

The knot in her gut unwinds a little bit. “I love you, John. I’m sorry it came to this.”

“We’ll fix it, sweetheart.”

For a moment they stand there in the quiet, but there was no telling what sort of trouble their little trio might get into if left alone for too long. When John unlocks and opens the door, they both raise an eyebrow at the sight of their youngest dashing off around the corner.

Like the three little troublemakers had tried to listen through the door (which they would not be able to do- because she has tried once or twice), and the youngest was too slow to keep up with his brothers who are perched on the couch for all the world like they never left it.

The older two try to play their hand at staying cool, although the youngest boy is giggling- enjoying his “game” of teaming up with his brothers to try and pull a fast one on their parents.

“Do you have to leave?” The question from their oldest is deliberate, and succeeds in distracting them from the fact that their kids were definitely trying to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for young ears.

“Not today,” John answers, ignoring the sharp look she shoots his way.

It’s a delicate balancing act as they stumble through picking up the broken pieces of their marriage. John can’t prove that he’s controlling his work hours unless she lets him in the house, but does give him shit about not moving in too soon. She doesn’t want him getting comfortable or complacent and back sliding on his promise.

Of course, John gets his lick back. There had been a stern conversation about condoms until her birth control is in hand.

Only to find out at her appointment that they can’t give it to her because she’s pregnant.

Mother fucker. Damn that “one shot, one kill” motherfucker. Their one slip up was the only discrepancy since they have gotten back together- that has to be when she conceived. Why did she fall in love with a sniper?

John is ecstatic with the news, as are the boys. She feels like a wet, disgruntled hen.

The new baby throws a wrench in her plans, but she can’t quite find it in her to be too disappointed once the shock wears off. John had been set on another baby, chattering on and on about how he hopes it’s a girl. They would have had another baby at some point, it’s just a bit sooner than she was anticipating.

No doubt for the boys, the new baby is an assurance that their parents aren’t staying separated. In their simplistic view, that’s as good as ink drying on paper that they’re staying together.

At her scan when it’s revealed she’s carrying boy #4, John kisses her temple and tells her how happy he is.

The youngest daughter that he’s got his sights set on is shelved for the duration of her pregnancy, not another peep of it mentioned.

A girl would have been nice, but she’s well experienced with wrangling John Price’s sons, and no doubt this one will fall into the group just fine.

John’s got quite the track record of giving her pretty babies, which everyone praises and compliments when the little man finally makes his arrival.

When he is home (which has been substantially more, she has to admit), he’s an active and involved father who’s besotted by his children and happily splits night duty with his exhausted wife. Keeps the older boys in line and behaving.

She doesn’t sign anything until John has a signed transfer request. While he’ll still be working in counter terrorism, and still be very close with the 141, his job no longer mandates he ups and leaves at the drop of a hat.

They celebrate quietly. Friends and family have made their opinions known about the back and forth tentative future of their marriage (mostly a well intended shit or get off the pot), and they elect to drop the boys with John’s parents to have a weekend for themselves.

There are no lusty slip ups and everything is followed to the letter but she wants to kill John when he grins at her positive pregnancy test.

Everything can fail, it seems. John merely commenting “Maybe this one will be a girl”, showing his hand that he hasn’t quite given up his dreams of a youngest girl to round out their gaggle of boys.

She doesn’t want to know the gender this time around, which John grouses about but ultimately accepts.

When Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley promotes to a new rank, John is the one the man calls to ask him to participate in his ceremony.

She’s still in her second trimester, not quite teetering into her third just yet. John wants to bring the kids. If the third trimester exhaustion had stuck yet, she likely could have begged to be left out and he likely would have acquiesced. And the boys usually know better than to try anything when on base with John.

The day comes and she feels like a walking stereotype of an officer’s wife- gaggle of kids clinging to her skirt, the newest baby still clinging to her, and an unmistakable pregnancy bump.

“Cookin’ another boy in there, Mrs. Price?” Soap asks good naturedly while they’re waiting.

“Not quite sure,” she answers, eyes on her three more mobile kids making sure they’re settling in and behaving. “John’s been itching for a girl since before this one came,” she gestures to their youngest in her arms.

“Well, hopefully it’a girl then for yer sake- man’s gonna give ya a football team at this rate!” the Scot laughs, chortling at his own joke. There are times when she sometimes wonders how someone as charming as Johnny Mactavish got wrangled into clandestine counter terrorism missions, but then she remembers that as much as he can charm a bird from a tree, it’s comments like that that skirt just too comfortable that yes, he’s probably got a few screws loose. (She sometimes wonders about Kyle too, who is giving Johnny a “fucking really??” look, but can’t quite pin anything. The man is perfectly mild mannered and respectable, and she knows that their work can warp someone given enough time.)

“Hopefully so,” she answers amicably. While her pregnancy has been blessedly uneventful, she’s already over it and will be perfectly happy with this being her last.

Something tells her that John is going to get his wish, one way or another though.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[cranberrymoons]

hey sweetheart

prompt: meetcute at work (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: e (18+) word count: 896 words tags: modern au, line cook eddie/waiter steve, hooking up

welcome to Day 4 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

Steve is halfway through his first week when he meets him: the line cook with the long hair pulled back in a bun, the stark black lines of tattoos snaking up his arms, the flirty little smile that he flashes in Steve’s direction when Steve comes back to pick up Table 6’s starters.

It’s a hell of a time to start a job in the first place: mid-holiday season, no one around to train him except Robin who’s only worked there a couple weeks longer than he has and knows next to nothing about The Way Things Work.

But she’s Robin, and she’s familiar, and she knows him well enough to warn him to avoid the flirty long-haired line cook with the big brown eyes and the dimples and the million watt smile directed right at him and – 

Fuck.

“Sweetheart, you rang in Table Twelve wrong,” the guy says, leaning forward over the pass with a ticket in his hand. “This says no onions, but the special isn’t made with onions.”

Steve stares at him as he loads Table Six’s plates onto a tray. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, but only barely.

“My name isn’t Sweetheart,” he says eventually. “And so – just extra don’t put onions on it. Who cares?”

The cook raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. “Thought it sounded nicer than ‘hey new guy’, but if you’d prefer that –”

“Steve,” he says. He shoulders his tray. “My name is Steve.”

The cook gives him a little smile, eyes flashing in the bright fluorescents of the kitchen.

“Alright, Sweetheart.” He tilts his chin up. “Extra no onions for Table Twelve, and you can call me Eddie.”

---

It continues on like that for a week or two: Eddie flirting, finding any excuse to ask a question about his ticket. 

Steve knows what he’s doing; he’s worked in restaurants before, and he’s fucked enough hot line cooks in his time that he should know better than to fall into the trap, but still, he finds himself drawn in, entertaining Eddie’s endless teasing and prodding and poking until he starts doing it back – little digs about his shift meal, questions about a menu item that he already knows the answer to.

“Dude,” Robin says, halfway through his first month. 

It’s rounding up on Christmas, and the place is packed, corporate groups out for holiday parties and couples on dates. 

“If you don’t stop flirting, I’m going to cut your fucking dick off,” she says. “Seriously.”

And – okay. That’s fair. 

Steve pulls himself away from where he’d been leaning over the pass, asking Eddie a question about the catch of the day that he’s already asked three times tonight. Clears his throat and straightens up. He tugs his tie back into place, claims the braised oxtail that’s destined for Table Two and clears his throat.

“Sorry.”

Eddie sends him a wink, and Steve feels himself flush.

“Please tell me you’re not going to fuck him,” Robin says as they exit the kitchen.

Steve sighs. “I’m not going to fuck him.”

---

And of course, he’s lying through his teeth.

The very next night, they’re both off work, and he gets a text from an unfamiliar number, just –

hey sweetheart 

Steve flushes as he stares down at his phone, scratching a hand back through his hair. He takes a breath.

Wonder who this could be , he texts back.

All he gets in response is a simple,

😇 

---

Two hours later, he’s flat on his back in Eddie’s bed, clinging to his shoulders and whining as Eddie fucks him so hard he loses his breath, so hard he feels like his brain is rattling around in his skull. He digs his teeth into Eddie’s skin, ankles locked around his back and not even bothering to hold back the noises that Eddie’s punching out of his chest, just –

“Fuck,” he gasps, voice coming high in the back of his throat. “Holy shit, I –”

Eddie’s mouth runs up the column of his neck, hands trailing over his skin, nails dragging sharp lines down his sides.

“You going to come for me, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low in his ear. “Show me how pretty you can be?”

And that’s – for some reason that sets Steve off, turns his skin over to fire as he grips tighter to Eddie’s shoulders, nails digging in, back arching off the bed, coming so hard he sees stars.

---

And then later, when they’re both fucked out and exhausted and Steve is preparing to take his cue to gather his clothes and make a graceful exit, he feels Eddie’s mouth skimming up the side of his neck, hand tangling in his hair, dragging him into another kiss.

A real one, with teeth and tongue and lips, a kiss that isn’t intended to go anywhere other than just to be , and his breath catches a little in his chest, hand skittering over Eddie’s back as he rolls over on top of him.

“Stay?” Eddie asks, voice quiet and hopeful and muffled where their mouths are still pressed together. He smiles, lips quirking up and drawing Steve along with him. “You know I know how to make breakfast.”

And Steve breathes out a quiet laugh, bumping their noses together. He sighs.

“As long as there’s bacon.”

[also on ao3]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: I'm hoping y'all like it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The chamber is pungent with sweat. A clammy sheen coats Edith's forehead as she gives another rattling cough. You hear the crackle in her lungs and smell the iron of her blood before it stains the crumpled handkerchief your mother dabs her lips with. 

She's been sick for months. Your mother said the summer heat would help her recovery but the drought that followed the spring downpour only seemed to worsen her symptoms. The once buoyant and bright eyed girl lays shrouded beneath a canopy, gulping and gasping, frail and despondent. 

Your fathe clears his throat, startling you from the doorway. You hadn't heard him appear. You glance at him over your shoulder and ser the grimness in his eye, the stone that has not dislodged since your sister fell ill. She always was his favourite. She's everyone's favourite. She is gentle and kind and rare.

Your mother turns to peek at your father's shadow. She gives a nod and rises, beckoning you forth, handing over the cloth and squeezing it into your palm. 

"Sit with your sister," she nearly whispers. The chamber is always quiet, as if speaking too loud might tempt the fates. Alas, it was always Edith who would sing to fill the dearth. She always knows what to do, what to say.

You perch on the edge of the bed as your mother crosses the floor. Not a word passes between your parents as they retreat. Again, the must discuss something dire, as they've done these last weeks. Each time, it only serves to gray their melancholy further.

Edith stares above her. Eyes glassy and distant. She coughs again and a fleck of phlegm lands on her chin. You mop it up as you wonder how her round cheeks could ever have become so taut and worn.

Her gaze drifts, slowly and lazily, a divet forming between her brows as she strains to look at her. The corners of her lips twitch but she hasn't the strength to smile. She gulps back another raspy cough.

"It's… you," she breathes, "my… sister."

Her words come far apart, each summoned with an effort. As you lower the handkerchief back to your lap she wheezes and lifts her hand shakily. She moves it towards you and lets it drop onto yours.

"I love you, sister," she wisps, "I… I remember…" she shakes her head and wets her tongue, "how much you love…dandelions and daffodils… and everything yellow and blooming." 

Her chest rattles as she falls into a fit. She curls her shoulders and clings to you tightly, her brittle nails sinking into your skin. She swallows loudly as she leans heavily against the pillows, her coughs subsiding. 

"I recall… and I know… you are just as… vibrant…" she bends her fingers around yours, "you must… be… for mother."

"No, Edi, you awe," you murmur, your syllables wobby, "and you will be. Again. You will be that for motha and fatha. You have to… I can't."

She groans and lets her head loll, "you will."

You frown. She is wrong. You cannot replace her and she will not die. It cannot be.

You lower your chin, eyes stinging. Your sister always cast a shadow over you, but you don't mind the shade. She always let you stand off to the side, she let you be quiet, she let you be unseen and safe. She is the only person who ever knew the real you and loved you for it. 

"Don't be… sad," her voice creaks, "I'm not."

You peek at her from under your lashes and furrow your brow, to ask 'you're not?'

She reads you as well as ever, "how can I be?" She heaves and gathers her words, "it may be a short life… but rich… and less than… lonely."

You can't hold back. It's more than what she says, it's the resignation in her tenor. Even in defeat, she is blissful. You bend over her and embrace her daintily, resting your head on her chest, listening to dull beat and the hoarse crackle within. You close your eyes and sniffle.

"You will be well again," you avow, "you have to get well." You let your tears flow down and wet her shift. She raises her hand and rests it on your head, petting your lightly, "I need you."

"I will be around… always," she hums, "you will know where to find me."

Her words dangle over you, confounding you. Cryptic but certain. You know she is right, as ever, but you want so badly for her to lie to you. 

🔹

You wake beneath the small glow of a single taper. Your mother holds a candlestick as she gently tugs on your sleeve. You peer over at your sister’s silhouette, her breaths whistling with each exhale. You sit up, reluctant to leave her.

“Come,” is all the wraithlike matriarch bids.

You obey, rising to follow her across the dark chamber. The hallway is lit only by her candle and the light shining out from a doorway further down. Your father welcomes you into his study, an unusual occasion but you sense not a happy one.

He sits behind his desk on the grand carved chair with medieval posts topped with polished wooden orbs. Your mother lowers herself onto a velvet seat and you take another stiff oaken chair, dragged in from the dining hall. You glance between them and purse your lips tightly. 

Your father sighs, long and heavy, steepling his fingers then quickly, letting them twine together. He sits forward and presses his chin to his knuckles. Your mother sits staunchly, staring ahead, sombre and silent.

“It is best in these moments to be pragmatic,” your father begins quietly, pushing his shoulders back as he forcefully clears the frog in his throat, “to think as a family, to consider the legacy of my name.” He looks down, unusually reticent. He moves his head back and forth, grazing his untended stubble across his fingers, “you will have to make the journey to Jade Park.”

Your frown. You’re uncertain what he means. You shake your head and blink furiously. It’s the closest you ever came to speaking out of turn. Though, your father despises how little you ever said.

“She is too sick to travel. Or to marry. Even if the lord in question made the trek himself to meet his betrothed, she would not be able to receive him… if she were still alive.”

You choke audibly and clutch your throat. Your mother lets out a thick breath and shifts on her seat. Your father’s lip curls, irritated.

“The Duke made a contract for a wife, he will have one,” your father declares, gritting his teeth, “whether he be disappointed or not, he cannot claim forfeiture.”

You send your mother a desperate look. You cannot go and marry Lord Laufeyson. He is to be Edith’s husband. You were still to have some time ahead of you.

Your father covers his face and drags his hands up, combing over his hair with a growl. He holds his skull before sitting up sternly.

“And by the lord, speak up! He will not want a mute as a wife,” he snarls.

You shrink. It should have been you. You should be the one sick and dying. It should be Edith carrying on your father’s hopes. You are not good enough for it. Nor are you ever good enough for him. Where he dotes on Edith, he rants at you.

“Speak!” He slams his palm on the desk.

You flinch and push your head up. You fix your posture and unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth as you part your lips, “yes, fatha, as you bid me–”

“As is your duty,” he sneers, “as a daughter must. As a woman!”

He rails as he waves his hand angrily with each word. He slaps it back down and pushes himself to his feet. He stomps away and stops before the faded portrait of his forebear. You peek again at your mouth, her lips are straight as she looks at you blandly.

“Fatha,” you eke out and stand, “I pwomise I will do my best–”

“I cannot hear you!” He spins to face you, “I hear only mindless babbling. No husband wants a mouse for a wife. Let us only hope Laufeyson will accept one sister in place of another.”

“Fatha,” you squeak.

“Wife,” he ignores you, moving back behind his desk, “you will be certain to review her diction. Mute and dumb, how pitiful.”

You wince. No matter your efforts, your words are always skewed. Every syllable is a little longer than it needs to be, and you cannot form a sharp R. It all fools loose and awkward.

“Fatha–”

“Fathaaa,” he mimics and turns his back to you, “Thea, get her away from me. Ready her luggage.”

“Luggage? When am I to leave, fatha?”

“As soon as we can have you gone,” he mutters, “your sister deserves to die in peace.”

You fold your arms, holding yourself as his words sink into your chest. Like a knife, it cuts to the core and you can’t fight the sob that rises in your throat. You spin on your heel and flee. You hear him boom at your mother.

“Be certain she does not act as a child for her husband,” he barks.

You clamour into your sister’s chamber and over to the bed. You lower yourself next to her once more and wiggle close. Your tears fall as you tuck her hand between her arm and her body.

“Sista,” you gulp, “oh, sista, I don’t want to go… I don’t want you to go.”

🔹

You touch your lips as the carriage shudders with each turn of the wheel. You still feel your sister’s cold skin against you. That final kiss you gave. You know for sure that is what it is. You will not see her again. Not above the earth.

You lean against the wall, trembling with the motion. Your mother is across from you, dabbing her eyes with a folded handkerchief. She bawls loudly now and again, a lock of your sister’s hair clutched in her other hand. 

Despite her protests, your father insisted it would be undue for you to go alone and for neither of them to attend the introduction to assure the contract’s fulfillment. So she accompanies you and the single maid, Doreen.

Dread suffocates you in the cramped space. Even as the sun shines between the curtains, it is gray inside.

You put your head down and stare at the pages of the novel in your hands. Your vision is bleary and you don’t read. It is only an excuse, an act. You try to imprint your sister’s features into your head, try to memorise her voice. You never want to forget her. You want to keep every part of her with you.

The wheels roll on into the night. Your mother pulls a blanket around her but you let the cold chill you, almost praying that it might sicken you. That you could take the ague and your sister’s place. You shiver and look out from behind the curtain, watching the silhouettes of hills and trees pass.

The driver stops at the Crescent Hotel just inside the city. You rent a room and spend the night awake. Your mother sobs and snores until the sun rises. 

When you're ready to set back out on the road, your mother is certain to have the maid arrange your hair and check your face. She has you wear a particular dress, a shade of moss with pearl buttons, and a bonnet with a broad brim. Once past the city, it is only another hour to Jade Park.

You sit with hands clutched, the bench rigid beneath you, uncomfortable as your restlessness mounts. On and on until you are dizzy and quivering. You don’t know that you can do this, but you know you cannot say so.

You approach a great wall of lime washed bricks with a grand golden gate with twists at the peak of each pole. Your mother cranes to watch as you get nearer and you wring your hands together until the seams of your gloves sear your skin. The driver greets the gatekeeper and is let through after a brief introduction.

He proceeds through as the clop of the horses like hooves to your fragile mind. Closer and closer. The wheels slow and the carriage jostles as the driver climbs down. Yet another voice greets him, a groomsman who directs him before opening the door.

The driver places a step down for your mother to descend and you come out after he as the groom assists with a helping hand. You nearly trip on the inch tall heels of your shoes and your mother darts a reproachful glare in your direction. You apologise and look up at the square peaks jutting up from the top of the boxy manor.

The walls are a pale beige trimmed with lush hedges. Stone steps stretch before the wide doors and multi paned windows look out onto the sprawling lawn of green, speckled with marble statues, a fountain, and finely kept flowers. Tall trees peek out from behind the grand house and softly wave in the breeze.

Your mother steps closer to you and pinches your arm.

“Shoulders straight,” she girds, “do not gape like a simpleton. If you must, you may hide behind your fan.”

She takes a step forward, then another. Three before you kick yourself into motion. Your heart thumps loudly as you try to keep pace. The groom shows you up the steps and two others appear to open the double door at the top.

Oh my. 

[yuri-is-online]

Hello hello! Anon here. First of all, congratulations on getting accepted for your courses! Don't worry about trying to balance work and the blog, we will always be here waiting for you. Second of all, your whole Yutu AU has been really fascinating to look through. (Though that may be because of my bias toward Fire Emblem Awakening, as it was what got me into the series) Sorry for the incoming wall of text, but it's been giving me THOUGHTS.

So imagine this: whoever Yutu's dad is (I'll pick Azul for this example because I headcannon his English voice somewhere between Matt Mercer's Chrom and Olivert from The Legend of Heroes games) finds out who Yutu really is. You remember that cutscene after Chapter 13 in Awakening, with the Lucina reveal and Chrom has this: "You deserved better than a sword and a world full of troubles. I'm sorry."? Imagine Yutu hearing something like that: the acknowledgement of everything he's gone through, the pain of knowing his dad couldn't do anything and can't do anything more than offer words, and the reality that it might now be really possible to change the future? I imagine Azul breaking down after hearing all that because the last thing he wants to do is hurt Yuu or his son after everything he's been through. Oh goodness, the two of them both need hugs.

Second: did Crowley tip off the Magic Marshalls (because I think he would) and force Yuu to take the blame for his negligence (because he absolutely would)? Now imagine Yutu finding this out and telling his dad. Now his dad knows Crowley is a cheapskate who fobs his work onto everyone else without a second thought. And now he's responsible for having Yuu taken away and starting all this? Knowing the boys and how far they would go for Yuu I'd imagine they don't take that well. In other words, to slightly alter a quote from Regina in Once Upon A Time: "I guess killing a crow suddenly made the top of my to-do list."

Sorry for the wall of text but that's been rattling around in my head for a few days (so make of it all what you will). Hope you're doing well and looking forward to what's next!

-The anon who loves Riddle & Azul

AHHHHH (i feel like I always take forever to answer your asks I am sosososososososososo sorry, this one just drove me crazy in a good good way)

Listen fire emblem awakening was my entire personality for like all of middle school.  The only thing i wanted to talk about was chrobin.  I celebrated Morgan and Lucina's birthdays by drawing them. I think I still have a Cherche x Libra fan art thing I drew on some sheet of paper somewhere in my things because I was SO MAD that no one shipped them and I couldn't find fan art of them anywhere and I just oooooooooooh.  THE WAY CHROM GETS A NEW CRIT LINE ABOUT HOW ANYTHING CAN CHANGE AFTER THE REVEAL???? BECAUSE OF HOW DETERMINED HE IS TO KEEP THAT PROMISE AND GIVE LUCINA A BETTER WORLD???? i just cant be normal about them i am so sorry.  R+A annon I love you, I love you so much for this you made my entire month and possibly my year.  Awakening is also what got me into the series and made me so many friends I just love her so much.  She's an icon and I hope she gets remastered with Sumia either deleted or with a fucking personality.

I should probably sit down and actually write a timeline for myself of events, but since I am free to lean in to the fire emblem pacing, I want to say that monsters from Yutu's timeline start showing up (similar to how the Risen do in Awakening) in the past and stirring up trouble, which leads to an event where Yutu panics and forgets himself in his desperation to protect his dad.  The main way the future kids always proved themselves was by showing their mother's wedding ring, but Yutu doesn't have that so really it's just up to his dad to see someone who looks like him and Yuu blended together, supposedly from Yuu's world using magic and above all else crying out and driving up his own blot levels to protect him calling him dad. For Azul! Yutu it's especially painful, he feels like he already knows what his dad is going to say. That he's disappointed in him. That he has no idea how they could possibly be related. That he hopes in this future he turns out to be different. But that's not what happens.

Before Azul overblotted he was quiet. There's a similar quiet over him now, a similar look of tense surprise, but Yutu- no- his child doesn't know that. His child is looking at him in fear, in worry for his reaction or his safety he doesn't know but he knows the way those tears start to form. Azul knows the quiver of the lip and the shriek, of all the things he could have passed on to such a treasure.

"You deserved better from me." Because it's true. He might think of himself as a work in progress but he still thinks he has quality; he would have done research, read every book he could get his hands on, taken classes, anything he would need to do to be a good father, a worthy partner. Anything. "You deserved to have the world within your grasp, not whatever shadow of a future and a father I left you with. I am so sorry." He does not expect Yutu to grab him and hold him like he's still somehow worthy of his love, but Azul can't fight the urge to grab back, to stroke his son's hair and let the tears fall on his suit without any care at all. I'm here. It's ok, daddy's here, daddy's got you, he won't let anything happen to you.

As for your second question, I did not really write Crowley like that no. It was more like he was the first person mysteriously arrested after the Magical Marshall's decided to finally do their job. I was writing it like they wanted to ship Yuu away to cover up for their own incompetence in preventing seven overblots instead of properly investigating what might have caused that. He's not completely innocent though, so yes. The boys do not take it well at all. And please do not apologize for sending in your thoughts, I am so so slow but I love hearing from you.

[adiduck]

okay i know its not a current ask game but you posted before about an ice time travels wip and im sosososo curious 👀

It is now June, so I can answer this ask for you, Anon! I DO have an Ice Time Travels AU, though it's not top of my list of WIPs at the moment :DDDDD one big project at a time, I beg you.

Anyway, here are three sentences and the surrounding context for the 👀. I suppose I'll just generally speaking keep 'send me a 👀 and a title and I'll write you three sentences' open, it really DOES seem to get me writing (assuming I'm not in the middle of a little event 😉)

-

The truth is, Ice thinks he’s braced for it.

He is not.

Nick Bradshaw, alive and cheerfully self-confident where he sits only a row in front of Ice, feels like some sort of blow to the head, rattling Ice’s brain around hard enough he thinks he might hurl right here in the classroom.

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, a few months from 25, baby-faced with sharp, wary green eyes and a crooked, cocky grin, feels like someone reached straight into Ice’s chest and ripped out his heart.

Oh Mav, he thinks, fighting so fucking hard to keep a straight face as he stares at the back of the head of this barely-out-of-childhood version of one of his oldest, dearest friends. Look at you.

He can almost hear his Mav’s laugh, loud and rich. Gonna make me blush, Kazansky. Isn’t there a lecture you’re supposed to be paying attention to?

Ice closes his eyes and then tries to refocus on Jester. Or at least to make himself stop staring.

He thinks he’s pretty successful all told, until this younger Mav turns back to look at him, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Feeling eyes on him—that was something that Mav did as long as Ice had known him—so very aware of being perceived.

In hindsight, that may have been why he bought a hangar in the fucking desert.

You’re still staring, big shot, Ice’s inner Mav reminds him, and he mentally gives himself a shake, shoots a smirk at this young version of his dearest friend.

He gets a very huffy turned back in response, has to bite at the corner of his lip to stop himself letting the smirk become a real smile. Some things never change.

[ananxiousgenz]

HEY Y'ALL YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THIS IS!!!!! (it's more cowboy au FINALLY)

it has been. A Time!!!! @percy-mawce-arts and i have been getting our asses kicked by life so this au was sitting on the backburner for a while but we finally got this chapter finished and reviewed (after it had been sitting for like two months whispering creepily into my ear at night while i tried to sleep-) and we are SO very excited to show y'all the next chapter of When The Land Was Godless And Free!!!!

this chapter is a BEAST (word count says it's around 3.4K) and takes place right after arthur helps john out after being shot.

tw for brief mention of cauterization!!

Sometimes, John really fucking hated being human. He’d decided long ago that it was simply a hassle. That it would be easier to be a lizard, or a coyote, or a hawk. And from the day of his birth onward, life had only proven that theory correct. There were days where the pain, stress, awkwardness and confusion just made him want to crawl out of his skin. Days when he would rather rip off his fingernails than spend another minute talking to someone he disliked or asking for help he should have handled himself. 

The past week had just been chock full of those days.

The first few of them John couldn’t recall with much clarity. He had the strangest idea that his mind had been tampered with, leaving him only able to remember bright, blurry moments of the days he’d missed with a feverish sort of quality. Searing pain in his side as the stars twinkled like diamonds above before he slipped away into blissful unconsciousness. His cheek pressed against Akke’s silky mane, watching the distant blue horizon tremble with motion. A wooden door opening with a creaking that felt like it was stabbing through his eardrums. A shaft of sunlight falling across his face, illuminating motes of dust in its path as someone hummed a distant melody. Pain, always pain, throbbing in his side and never letting go. 

After so long swimming in half-darkness, stuck between awake and unconscious, John finally pulled himself fully out of limbo and into the unpleasantness of the waking world. His eyelids almost felt like they had been glued shut, and it took considerable effort to pry them open and see the world again. Once he had, he almost wondered if he was still in a dream, a shifting moment in the winds that would be blown away the second he blinked.

The stuffy room he was in had dark walls, lit by only a window with simple calico curtains to his left. He was lying tucked into the corner by the window, in a real bed with blankets and pillows and a nice mattress of all things. He hadn’t slept in a real bed since… Christ, at least since boarding school, and even calling that a “bed” was generous. A wooden bedside table sat at his right,  with unused bandages and half-eaten bowls of soup scattered atop it, and a chair beside it. It was unoccupied, with only an empty gun holster hanging over one side of the backrest, but it didn’t take much for John to guess that it had seated a recently seated a person. John guessed it was some time after noon, seeing as the sun was still high and bright enough to illuminate the room. It had been night the last time he was awake, hadn’t it? Evening, maybe?

He couldn’t remember for the life of him how he had gotten here, much less why.

John made the poor decision to try sitting up. The moment he so much as tried to lift his head, the muscles in his abdomen tensed and a sharp pain shot through his side (that’s right, he had been shot, hadn’t he?), forcing him to collapse back against the pillow with a groan and a cough.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the ambiance of the structure where he was currently sheltered, a cabin of some kind. It creaked slightly in the wind, which he could hear rattling away at the window panes. But otherwise the room was silent. He could hear no footsteps, voices, moving furniture, crackling fires, records being played, nothing to indicate that another human being was anywhere in his vicinity. He was alone. 

No, he wasn’t. In a moment of blind panic, John remembered Akke. Where was she? He didn’t hear any horses outside. She couldn’t have been left behind, she would have followed him… wouldn’t she? 

Despite the roaring pain in his side, John fought to sit up and look out the window with gritted teeth, bracing himself against the windowsill with a white-knuckled grip. There was no sign of her, just a wooden fence, empty land, and miles of clear blue sky overhead. 

John’s breathing began to speed up. Akke had been the only sure thing in his life since he left boarding school. She had saved his life in more ways than one, and he would do anything to keep her safe. If she was gone… Well. John wasn’t sure what he would do to whoever brought him here, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince and braced himself for the pain that would hit when he put weight on his feet. He was going to find her. Screw the pain. Screw the nauseating, dizzying pain splitting through his abdomen as he rose to his feet. Screw the way the world tilted and his vision began to fade. Screw the way he swayed on his feet. He had to make sure she was safe, he had to… he…

He hadn’t realized he was falling until a pair of strong arms stopped him from hitting the floor. His side pulled and searing pain had him screaming through gritted teeth.

“Calm down, John! Christ, what were you thinking?” That voice, John knew that voice. Smooth, with a fucking British accent. It was the Sheriff. What was his name, Adam? Alistair?

“Arthur?” John managed, trying his hardest not to throw up as Arthur helped sit him down again. “Arthur what… where-where…” Where am I? Where is Akke?

“You’re alright, John, you’re alright,” Arthur said, quietly, brushing a strand of hair from John’s eyes. His hand was like a cool balm against John’s forehead, and it was only then that John noticed how hot he was. It felt like he was lying in a furnace, he was sweating like a pig and his chest was heaving (though that was partially from panic). Arthur frowned and pressed his hand to John’s forehead more intentionally, then his cheek, then his neck. John couldn’t help but sigh every time his comparatively icy hand broke the heat radiating off of his skin. “Or, you will be. You’re safe, at least.” 

“Safe…” John mumbled. His brain felt like it was melting. “Where’s Akke?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Akke?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, your horse? She’s here, John. She’s out front, being fed.” 

John let his eyes slip closed with a relieved sigh. Normally he might argue. No, he definitely would. He would demand to see her, refuse to cooperate until he knew for sure she was safe. But something about Arthur’s voice, something about Arthur, compelled John to trust him. Besides, his head was swimming with heat and pain and he could barely hold on to a clear train of thought. He might die before he got to see her again if he didn’t lie back down. 

“Come on now, John,” Arthur said gently, his voice filled to bursting with kindness and concern that somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, John knew he didn’t deserve. “She’s alright, I promise. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

John swallowed thickly and nodded, the action making the room twirl like a falling feather. One of his hands flew up to his forehead in a futile effort to brace it, but there was no need. He was lying back down with his head on the pillow before there was any real danger of the world slipping out from under him, guided by a gentle hand attached to a seemingly gentler man. 

Though his vision was slightly obscured by one eye being mashed into his pillow, John examined Arthur again. He looked just about the same as John could remember from that night by the fire, but this time he seemed more… on edge, like a nervous kangaroo rat, waiting to be snatched up by a raptor. More than that, John noted as Arthur sat down in his chair with a quiet sigh, he seemed utterly exhausted. The circles stamped beneath his eyes were the color of mountain larkspur: a dark, nearly midnight purple. And the way his body slumped into the chair like a sack of grain spoke of more than one late night of worry and no sleep. 

Why did Arthur look so stressed? Had they been followed? Were they not safe here? Maybe they were in danger, but John had been too sick to move. It was a real possibility, given how little of the recent days he was able to recall. God, how long had he been here? He knew it had been a few hours at least, but some inner timer ticking away towards his own personal doomsday said it had been longer. Without meaning to, the question slipped past John’s feverish lips.

“How long?”

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed in response, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he leaned back against the chair. “How long what?”

“How long,” John repeated, turning his head slightly so his mouth was more exposed, “have I been here?”

Arthur blew out a long breath and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t… I’m not sure. Maybe about 4 or 5 days? I’ve lost track, to be entirely honest.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed much,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s been quiet. A lot of me trying to wash out your wound and keep the fever down while trying to take care of the horses and the chickens and whatnot. A lot of you sleeping and mumbling and crying out whenever I try to help with your bandages.”

John hummed into the corner of his pillow, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the soothing baritone of Arthur’s voice. 

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

John creaked one eye open. “How did I get here?”

“Well,” Arthur said, a faint smirk on his face as he shifted his weight in the chair to lean a bit closer to John, “I brought you here.”

“No shit,” John muttered, suddenly realizing how crusty his voice had become at a lack of use. He coughed once or twice to clear his throat, making the room spin again. “I’d like a bit more detail than that.”

“Ah. Well, I managed to get you up onto your horse– Akke, you said her name was? And then I led her back here, and managed to drag you into bed and rebandage your wound before the fever set in. You’ve been fairly incoherent since. Haven’t said much, but what you have said has been… well, calling it interesting might be a bit generous.” Arthur leaned back in the chair, that same faint smirk settling over his face. “Getting you here wasn’t easy, you know. You’re quite heavy, friend.”

There was an easy confidence in Arthur’s face and voice now, a swagger meant to disguise his exhaustion and fear and make it seem as though everything was just sunshine and clear skies. Probably meant to keep John calm, so he wouldn’t pass out from exertion or the fever or blood loss. But John had already seen the truth, already knew what was lurking behind that mask. Arthur was worried and tired, clearly running on empty and on the verge of collapse. But about what, John couldn’t say, and it was beginning to nibble away at his nerves like a mouse at a block of cheese.

“‘S all muscle,” John mumbled in an (admittedly fruitless) effort to send that mouse skittering off into the depths of his subconscious.

“I did wonder once or twice if you had eaten an entire buffalo right before deciding to attempt a double murder.”

“A buffalo?”

“Mmmm. I imagine you swallowed it whole, much like a rattlesnake. Horns and all,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

The idea of someone swallowing a whole buffalo was, to say the least, a bit silly. John snickered at the idea of it. Arthur’s smirk grew into a broad grin in response.

“They can’t taste terribly good that way, though,” Arthur continued, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Those things smell awful, I can’t imagine the flavor is any good.”

John chuckled. “How would you go about it, then, if you know so much?” Arthur smiled.

“The same way you eat an elephant,” he said, with the kind of familiarity that implied a joke he’d told before. “One bite at a time.”

John couldn’t help himself. The simple joy of such a silly idea bubbled up from the bottom of his heart and he was powerless to stop it. He laughed, hard and loud.

And almost immediately regretted it.

The pain that shot through his side in response was like a white-hot fire, searing him from the inside out and blurring his vision with boiling tears. A strangled noise fought its way out of his throat, caught between a gasp, a hiss, and a language only his subconscious knew now.

“Ataa!”

Through his misty vision, John saw Arthur’s face hovering in space above his own, a clear furrow between his brows as his mouth was set into a deep frown.

“John?” There was a trembling note in Arthur’s voice as he spoke.

“It hurts,” John whined.

“John, listen, I know it hurts, but I need you to stop moving, alright? I need to check if you reopened the wound. Try to lie still.”

John blew out a sharp breath and did as he was told. A moment later, cool fingers lifted his shirt, undid his bandages, and grazed along the throbbing epicenter of pain in his stomach. John was surprised at how little the contact hurt. Arthur’s hands were rough and calloused, to be sure. The life of a sheriff in a land like this didn’t exactly leave room for soft hands. But he was so gentle, barely hovering above John’s skin like the sweep and swish of prairie grass. Almost like he cared.

Arthur sighed quietly as he began to retie the bandages. “Alright. I think you’re okay, John. Just take it easy. No more laughter. It was hard enough trying to close you up the first time.”

The first time. The pieces were beginning to fit together in John’s mind. Arthur had taken the bullet out of his stomach. Arthur had cauterized the wound. Arthur was worried. About John. And not only was he worried about John, he chose to take him back to this cabin. Chose to take him in and heal his wounds. Arthur knew about John’s connections to Larson and his gang and the danger he could have been in as a result. He could have left John for dead out in the desert, and no one would have been the wiser. So the question still remained: why did he do it? Why go through the trouble? What did John matter to Arthur in the grand scheme of things?

“John? John, what’s wrong? Does something else hurt?”

John realized  hot tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes again, accompanied by sniffling that he couldn’t quite stop. “Why?” he croaked.

Arthur looked deeply confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you bring me back?”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Why did you keep me alive? For fucks sake, Arthur, I tried to kill you. I did kill your friend. You should have let me die. Why am I here?” John growled, swiping the tears off his face like they were burning him.

Arthur went silent, and John could almost swear he saw the gears turning in Arthur’s head as he considered his answer. He finished with the bandages and sat down, nibbling on his thumbnail as he thought. After a long moment, he looked up in John’s direction, his expression strangely hard.

“Because you’re human,” he said quietly.

John blinked in surprise. “What?”

Arthur nodded, a determined set to his eyes shining like the sun bouncing off metal. “You’re human. And in pain. Leaving you behind would have been cruel, even if you did try to kill me.”

John was, for the first time in a long time, completely speechless. Arthur thought he was something worth saving. Something that deserved to be taken care of. Something that didn’t deserve to die. In the back of his mind, a little voice whispered, The King wouldn’t have helped you. Larson would have let you die. He knows what you really are.

“You know nothing about me,” John choked out. “You don’t know what I know. What I’ve done.”

“Well, I rather figured you’d tell me something when you got better,” Arthur said with a vaguely guilty grin. “I figured if I kept you alive, I would get some good information out of you regarding the King’s whereabouts.”

“If I tell you about who I am and what I’ve done for that man, you’ll regret keeping me alive. You’ll kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” John said, staring blankly at the ceiling the way he knew imagined a corpse would. “I’m not exactly a good person.”

“I never would have guessed,” Arthur muttered, and John watched him roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. “The man who shoots my deputy and tries to kill me, a bad person. Unthinkable!”

John snorted in spite of himself. He didn’t laugh much (it was simply how he’d always been) but somehow, it felt natural around Arthur.

“John, look. You’re not the only one here who has done unforgivable things in the name of survival. I’m not asking you to like me, or even offer me any information about yourself. I’m asking for information on Larson. That’s all.”

Arthur’s face was polite, but as he spoke, his gaze grew sharper, cold with the threat of an avalanche lurking in the back of those bright hazel eyes. John knew that look. That frigid anger. The cold fury that seeped in through cracks of vulnerability, leaving a thick crust of ice over a person’s heart and a layer of frost on everything they touched. He’d seen it on the faces of dozens of Native kids in Larson’s gang after they’d been told just what atrocities they had to fear from the law. 

Arthur wanted revenge.

And he would do just about anything to get it.

“Just tell me where Larson is, and when you’re healed, you can go. I won’t hunt you. I won’t send anyone after you. I swear, I will leave you be for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to leave.” 

The words left John’s mouth before he had fully finished thinking them, but as he turned them over on his tongue, he realized they were the truest thing he had spoken since meeting Arthur. He didn’t want to leave. Arthur believed that John was human enough to save, to care for, to let live, despite how little he knew about him. That was more grace and humanity than Larson ever showed him, or any of the kids in his shitty gang. The longer he thought about it, the more John realized he was sick of it. All the lies, the manipulations, the nightmares, all that time living in limbo between terror and fury while fighting for a cause that would sooner see you crushed beneath its heel. He didn’t want that. More than that, he didn’t want it for anyone.

Arthur looked completely baffled. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave,” John repeated as the words rang through his mind again like chiming crystals. “I don’t want to go back to Larson and his gang.”

Arthur simply stared.

“Look. You want revenge on him, don’t you? I saw the look on your face when you talked about him. You want him locked up, and I want his fucking gang disbanded and freed. I’m not going to leave you, not when we have a common enemy we want gone.” A hard edge was creeping into John’s voice as he spoke. “Between your sharpshooting and my sight, we could bring him down. Two heads and all that.” Arthur seemed apprehensive still, which was fair, John thought. Having empathy for the man who shot your deputy was a far cry from trusting him. John sighed. 

“Arthur, vengeance will eat you from the inside out. Believe me, I know. I can see it wearing you down.” Arthur averted his gaze. “This is too big a foe to handle alone. Too big of an elephant to eat whole.”

Finally, Arthur smiled, looking up from where he’d fixed his gaze on John’s quilt. “So we eat it together,” he said. John nodded. 

“One bite at a time.”

[newtonsheffield]

so Sophie’s Edwina’s secretary in the bodyguard au?! Oh bless her, she doesn’t get it easy does she 😂😂

Probably pleased she’s not having to deal with the future Queen and her bodyguard drama as that’s gonna be a headache! and all that drama only for Edwina to be like “hold my beer” with Josephine…

Sophie Beckett, Princess Edwina’s private secretary is the hardest working woman in that palace and everyone knows it. Sophie is constantly seen, herding Edwina around the palace with her arms held outstretched, walking forward, giving Edwina little choice but to move in the same direction.

She might not have to deal with Princess Kate and the fact that the Princess is clearly, in Sophie’s opinion, shagging Anthony Bridgerton her head of security. It’s none of Sophie’s business, it’s really not, she just walked past a cupboard in The Small Palace one day and the last time she checked, mops didn’t say “Fuck, Anthony.”

It’s just not Sophie’s problem! It isn’t! She has enough to deal with Edwina, frankly.

“I have a secret.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes at Edwina across the car. “Is it…? About a certain… security guard?”

Edwina narrowed her eyes, “What do you know?”

“What do you know?”

Neither of them spoke for a moment before Edwina sighed, “My secret is different than that. I have a crush on a straight girl I have for a very long time.”

“How long’s a long time?”

“Since I was fifteen.”

Sophie winced, “That’s a long time.”

Edwina groaned, “I know. It’s fucking awful. I haven’t really thought about her in ages and then she showed up at this event and I… fuck. She was my sort of… peer big sister thing when I was at school, she was finishing up when I started and she… is… fucking perfect. It’s annoying.”

“Do I know this woman?”

“She’s… the Duke of Haverford’s daughter.”

Sophie let her mind tick through the list of people, their pictures before she gasped, “Josephine? Ohh she’s pretty.”

“I know.” Edwina groaned, “And I fucking… couldn’t stay away from her at that stupid party could I? I’ve been texting her and it’s a fucking disaster is what it is.”

“Well maybe not, are we sure she’s straight?”

“She told me she was when I mentioned something in passing.”

Sophie winced, “I’m sorry, I guess you need to decide if you want to be friends with someone if it’s going to make you feel like shit. You don’t deserve to feel that way.”

“She doesn’t want me to feel that way.” Edwina’s voice was tiny, staring out the window.

“And it’s not her fault, she is who she is, and you are who you are. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Right.” Edwina nodded, “You’re right. I’m just going to stop. I’ll stop responding to pictures of her cute little sausage dog.”

“What’s the sausage dog’s name?”

“Haggis.”

Sophie let out a squeak. “I’m sorry. That’s…” She scoffed, “Barely a cute name. Fuck Josie.”

“Yeah,” Edwina sighed, “Fuck Josie.”

“I didn’t expect you to take our new mantra literally Edwina!” Sophie hissed as she herded her down the hall, her cheeks still burning from having to keep the king out of his own study months later while Edwina rattled the desk drawers loose.

Edwina grinned, “Well, you know what I’m like.”

“I need a new job. I need to transfer to your sister.”

“Speaking of my sister, have I mentioned Anthony’s brother to you?”

Sophie scoffed, “Oh you are not setting me up with someone to distract me! At least don’t use your father’s office to secretly shag the daughter of one of these rich fuckers! Your father thinks I’m insane!”

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 24: "I don't want to do this anymore"

OKAY SO THIS ONE. this one is based off of a scene/vibe/mental image that has been rattling around in my head for,,,, months,,, by now.

a while ago i'd come across that sort of. "ingo and emmet are immortal and the twin princes from unova legend" au. didn't (and Don't) really have any thoughts about it save for this One Specific Thing. so. without further ado, have a whole written thing. >1500 words

or read it here on ao3

When Ingo came across Rei in the Highlands by sheer chance, he was relieved. It had been some time since he had seen the boy, busy as he was with completing the pokedex. 

He took the opportunity to accompany Rei to his destination; the ruined Temple of Sinnoh. 

Apparently, he had finally completed the pokedex (which had been awarded with a very loud and enthusiastic "Bravo"), and was now going to finally confront the being that had brought him to Hisui.

Ingo was curious about that, and Rei gladly elaborated. It seemed he'd been bottling it up for a while. 

He was already aware that Rei had a mission, and he saw that oddly familiar device a few times here and there, but he hadn't known much more than that. But the child had been plucked from his bed, his home far in the region's future, one night and given a mission from a being of golden light-- Rei said he was pretty sure he knew who it was, but didn't actually say who. (Something in Ingo didn't want to know, anyway.)

A mission to "Seek out all pokemon," and his device would act to give him guidance when he needed it. And when he finally finished, the being told him to go to the peak of Mount Coronet.

Something about everything set off alarm bells in Ingo's head, especially once he saw the shape of the phone's casing. Alarm, and an incredible dread. Fear even, though the mix of emotions swirling in his gut were hard to pick out.

Regardless, he offered to join Rei to meet this being, just in case his presence was needed. There were other reasons he kept to himself, namely something shouting within him to not let the child go alone to whatever was about to happen next.

It took some convincing, but Ingo was very stubborn when he wanted to be, and Rei admitted he did like the companionship.

So they went, until they were standing in the ruins of the old temple.

Rei's flute transformed, a melody and power rang through the air that completely froze Ingo's limbs with an unidentifiable emotion.

But he forced himself to move, to follow Rei up the ethereal staircase despite the way his legs trembled. It was a rare instance where he was glad that he had a naturally unemotive face, as he tried his hardest to act normal.

But when the two of them stepped onto the platform, and the being shimmered into view, that emotion nearly overcame him in a massive wave.

He recognized this being, without a doubt.

"Arceus," he whispered, right as Rei stepped forward and called out its name.

That emotion. That horrible, clawing emotion.

He turned away, facing away from the deity and Rei.

Shame. 

An incredible, deep, terrible shame.

He didn't deserve to be here. He was terrified, really, of what Arceus would do when it inevitably noticed his presence, if it hadn't already.

But he didn't deserve to be here. Something within him recognized the area, and with that came the visceral shame.

He'd done something terrible. This he felt without a doubt, a certainty to it far greater than any of the vague shadows of memories that remained with him.

Yes, he did something horrible. He did not deserve to be in the presence of the creator pokemon. Nor within its beautiful domain. 

With a start, he realized that there had been a battle going on for some time now. He didn't even notice it, as preoccupied as he was, until a stray move was sent flying out into the void beyond, zipping through his line of sight.

He wanted to help Rei, but it… Wasn't his place. Even the thought of attempting to fight against Arceus was met with a stark refusal within himself. 

He watched the battle out of the corner of his eye for a moment, long enough to conclude that Rei was doing alright, all things considered, before turning back to face the infinite depths beyond Arceus's platform. 

Time passed, the noise of battle a familiar one, until finally it all stopped. A pokeball letting out that familiar pop of a successful catch. 

Did Rei just… Ingo whipped around, to see Rei proudly holding up a pokeball. The boy finally turned around, looking at Ingo with a proud grin.

"Rei… Did you just capture the creator pokemon… within a simple pokeball?" Ingo breathed. The sheer audacity and gall of the action horrified him.

Rei shrugged.

"Yes and no? Technically it's just a piece of Arceus, and it told me to capture it," he explained.

Ingo wasn't sure if that helped at all. His hands were shaking, so he clenched them in hopes to disguise it. Rei didn't seem to notice, fortunately.

Unfortunately, he did something that nearly gave Ingo a heart attack.

"Hey, do you want to meet it?" The question was met with a strangled wheeze that Rei did not hear, as he continued without waiting for an answer.

"Also I wanted to ask it a question!" With that, Rei flipped the latch on the ball, releasing Arceus.

Its presence filled the air like a heavy blanket, and Ingo slumped, tugging down his hat to hide his face.

Turning around now would be far, far too disrespectful, but that awful shame in him wanted him to run and hide. To not be seen. The hat, and hiding in the collar of his coat, was the best he could do. Hopefully he didn't offend Arceus.

"... Ingo?" Rei asked. A tap of a hoof that rang through the air as Arceus stepped closer, and Ingo flinched. 

He bowed his head, wishing desperately he could vanish from existence entirely.

"Uh, Ingo? You okay?" Rei asked again. 

Was he okay? Hah! No, he was far, far from okay. This was probably the worst moment of his entire life, really. 

HE BOWS HIS HEAD IN SHAME, FOR A TERRIBLE CRIME HE DOES NOT REMEMBER.

Arceus spoke, or whatever passed for speaking. Its voice echoed through his mind, all the way down to his very bones.

He could hear the quiet slaps of Rei's sandals against the glasslike surface, as the boy ran to his side. He tried to look Ingo in the face, but Ingo pointedly refused, turning away.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, incredulous and vaguely defensive. Ingo was surprised to feel Rei cling to the sleeve of his coat, almost possessively. 

"I did something terrible, long ago. Terrible enough to warrant a punishment from Arceus itself," Ingo spoke, after a moment. His voice cracked. 

He still could not remember any of it, but that certainty was undeniable.

Rei shook Ingo's arm slightly.

"C'mon Ingo, there's no way that's true! You're way too nice of a guy, it's just your insecurities speaking or something." 

Ingo only shook his head. When it seemed Rei would continue, Arceus took another step forward, once again causing Ingo to flinch.

HE SPEAKS THE TRUTH, MINE CHOSEN.

There was a long, dreadful silence from Rei.

"N-no, there's. That can't be true, there's no way Ingo would ever do anything bad!"

THIS IS TRUE. THE MAN THAT THOU KNOW'ST WOULD NOT. 

HE HAS GROWN FAR FROM THE ARROGANCE AND MISDEEDS OF HIS YOUTH. BUT THESE THINGS DID HAPPEN, AND SHOULD NOT BE IGNORED OR FORGOTTEN. HE HAS THE DEATHS OF MANY ON HIS HANDS, BOTH DIRECTLY AND INDIRECTLY, AND WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR ONE OF MINE CHILDREN SPLITTING ITS VERY BEING APART.

He had no memory of any of it, but all of it rang terribly, awfully, and undeniably true. The shame, though it had never left, returned in full force. 

"That's…" Rei whispered. The boy no doubt hated Ingo now, after learning this.

Ingo wished he had never insisted on joining Rei. This would never have happened. Would he have ever even recalled the terrible burden he'd held? He was glad he had forgotten this. 

… And yet, Rei did not step away. Arceus shifted, its presence leaning closer, even as Ingo refused to look away from his feet.

BUT YOU, WARDEN INGO, HAVE CHANGED. THOU HAST LONG SINCE LEARNED THY LESSON. THOU NEEDN'T FEEL FEAR OR SHAME IN MINE PRESENCE.

What? 

I WILL NOT HARM YE, FOR WHAT WOULD BE THE PURPOSE OF PUNISHING A GOOD MAN?

Rei placed his hand on Ingo's shoulder. A silent but clear show of his support.

Ingo dropped to his knees, legs shaking far too much to even hope to hold himself up, overcome with emotion. 

Those words. He hadn't even dared to let himself imagine hearing them, but somehow, miraculously, he was hearing them now. He still carried that incredible shame and guilt, but to hear from Arceus itself that he had grown into a good man, it was… so, so much.

THINE PUNISHMENT HAS BEEN COMPLETE FOR CENTURIES. THE PRICE HAD BEEN PAID, A LESSON LEARNED, AND YE HAVE CHANGED REMARKABLY INTO AN INCREDIBLE MAN. 

So why did he still feel as if he didn't deserve this… this mercy, this forgiveness? Did Arceus really expect him to be free of the burden he'd been carrying for countless years, just like that?

He leaned over, until he was resting on his elbows.

"Please," Ingo whispered, barely able to speak at all, "I don't want to do this anymore."

He was tired, he was overwhelmed, and it was made all the worse by the fact that he had no idea where these emotions were even coming from. He did not know why Arceus's words sent such terrible shocks of grief and shame and relief and everything through his body, causing him to tremble. It was so much, too much. 

I SHALL RETURN THINE MEMORIES TO THEE. IT IS THE LEAST I COULD DO, INDEED, FOR ALL THAT THOU HAST DONE FOR ME IN THY TIME.

What? … Just like that?

Finally, he dared look up, only to find himself directly face-to-face with Arceus. His eyes were wide in shock and disbelief, but he found himself frozen.

SLEEP NOW. THOU WILT AWAKEN SOON. 

It leaned forward, gently touching his forehead, and everything went dark.

[cloudtastrophie]

A little headcannon tidbit based off of chapter 2 of @canarydarity 's ranchers baseball au <3

-----

St. Louis felt infinitely like home. Or, as close to home as Jimmy could get. Coming into the city from the Illinois side of the river made him sick to smell the air of his childhood backyard. To taste the dirt in his mouth as he, once again, lost against Grian at the diamonds. St. Louis was 10 times smaller than grand old New York, New York, but it was 10 times more welcoming. The drivers were calmer, the streets less full, the culture more laid back. It was a lazy city, sticky and slow like molasses in the early summer midwestern heat. 

As the team bus rattled its way across the Eads Bridge, Jimmy felt Joel smack his arm, breaking his gaze away from the lazy flow of the Mississippi. “What in the bloody hell are they building?” Joel muttered, half standing to see over Tango’s shoulders across the isle. Tango looked as if he was about to burst out of the window, he was pressed so hard to the glass. He swiveled his head to look at Jimmy and Joel. 

“You two haven’t heard? It’s been in every paper for weeks!” He was practically vibrating with excitement. 

Jimmy shook his head and stood up taller to see what the fuss was about. By then, the whole team was ‘ooh and ahhing’ at the absolutely massive structure being built, right on the banks of the river. 

“It’s going to be called the Gateway Arch. It’s probably going to be the biggest feat of engineering since the Empire State. Probably better than the Needle out in Seattle is going to be.” Jimmy raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his lips. Since when did Tango have a special interest in engineering?

“I did a few months in an engineering class. Got me hooked, but numbers are easier to understand.” Tango explained, as if he had read Jimmy’s mind. Then he turned back around and continued to peer at the stories-tall cranes slowly moving into place, and the two wide, square beginnings of what would apparently become a feat of engineering. Jimmy didn’t really see the draw, but he leaned across Joel and the isle to Tango anyways.

“We should come back to see it once it’s finished.” Jimmy said, watching the construction site fade behind them. The Cardnial’s stadium appeared behind the looming Old Courthouse. 

“I agree!” Tango replied, beaming. Jimmy didn’t care if he was 100 by the time the Arch was finished. He’d come back and see it with Tango when it was done.

------

hi worm i know you're reading this,,,ok I haven't had the energy (or time) to do any art for the baseball au but the brainrot has been stuck with me for DAYS. so I decided to write a little tidbit of how I imagined the ride into St. Louis for that game against the Cardnials. I have a lot of love for the city I grew up around so I really wanted to do something for it for you :) And if you're interested, here's some of the history I incorparated to make it feel more historically accurate! (i'm a cloested history buff, can you tell)

the st louis gateway arch began construction in 1963 technically, but I'm like 90% sure that there was soo much prep work done on the site before the actual construction, as there is a basement underneath it, and a huge walkway/viewing platform area, as well as the whole thing with the levee right on the Mississippi. I wanted to sort of figure out what that would look like in 1961 when the plans were being laid out. Also, the Arch is a certified national park, it's professional name being "St. Louis Gateway Arch National Park"

The Old Courthouse. UGH its one of my favorite buildings I've ever seen actually. Its so beautiful, and you can, from the road I'm writing them on, see Busch staduim looming behind it. The Courthouse also actually held the first two trials of the Dred Scott case, if you're into that kind of stuff.

The Eads Bridge. Also one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It is the oldest bridge on the Mississippi and was constructed under the care of Andrew Carnagie. That bad boy is made out of actual authentic Carnagie steel. Sooo history rich. Pretty sure they actually held a parade with elephants once it was done. so that's cool

Oh, and Busch stadium. It wasn't called that way back when! And it looked much, much different than it does now. I'm honestly not sure what it was called in the 60's, but I'm sure most people called it Cardnial's stadium. It was a beautiful and massive stadium back then, and it still is now.

the seattle neetle was being constructed around the same time as the arch as well, which is why i had Tango say something about it LOL

And for funsies, here's a scorecard that I'm sure Tango would've recieved in 1961 from the stadium.

hope you enjoyed my little rant!! And if you made it to the bottom of this and you're not worm, I hope you enjoyed learning a little about st. louis today. :)

[acrolius]

someone please write my steve as djo au!!

it's just rattling around in my brain and it won't leave. just two hyperfixations smashed together

here we go:

the early 90s (about 6 years after the events of season 4) finds steve living in chicago. steve is the last one to leave hawkins. the kids graduate from high school and they, along with nancy and robin, leave the small, traumatized town for college, cities or states away. without the party, there is nothing left in hawkins for steve except a lousy minimum wage job and an empty house that his parents never visit. joyce and hopper moving is what finally gets him to let go.

the nightmares and the anxieties never fully leave him, even after he has left their birthplace. the interdimensional threats may be gone but the scars they left remain jagged and raw. will can't walk alone in the dark, max can't walk at all, and steve pulls away from everyone who tries to help. he sees the kids every few months and talks with dustin on the phone every week. he hasn't seen eddie since eddie left town just months after the dust settled.

in his grief, he finds music. it's something a therapist suggests, to externalize his thoughts and let them live elsewhere. if it worked for for eddie, why can't it work for him? his parents forced him to learn piano as a child, another box to check in their picture perfect family, but he hasn't played for himself in years. he finds a keyboard at a thrift store a few days later. it's scratched up and some of the keys are sticky, but it's all he can afford with his meager salary. his parents cut him off years ago, with harsh words and a slap to the face of their disappointment of a son. as his fingers brush over the plastic keys, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. he closes his eyes and plays.

he likes the lyricism of music, once the words leave his head, they don't just belong to him. steve the musician feels different from steve the local bookseller with ptsd and a scrungly cat. hawkins was a small town, but no one knows him in chicago. the anonymity feels freeing. he can be honest because no one is watching.

he writes "chateau" about the calm that was the summer after vecna was defeated. they were finally safe and it felt like he had an actual family for once in his life. but like everything else in his life, it didn't last. eddie was the first to leave. steve had already fallen head over heels for eddie, but now he couldn't tell him. eddie would never be happy in hawkins and steve just couldn't leave. in a choice between his happiness and eddies, he would pick eddie's every time. they were never super close, but with the distance they drift apart.

robin, after listening to him every day in their shared apartment, tricks him into performing live for the first time. she signs him up for an open mic night at a local bar and lets him know by slamming the flier down on their wobbly kitchen table. "do you have plans for friday night? yes? cancel them."

friday nights at the bar becomes steve's night. none of his friends except robin know about his music but the bar regulars greet him with kind smiles each week. it's refreshing to play for strangers, people who don't know who he is and what he's been through.

his anonymity comes to a halt one week when eddie, fellow resident of chicago, happens to choose a new bar to visit. steve is at the keyboard, turned away from the entrance, when eddie walks in for a beer. it's not what eddie normally listens to but he's drawn to the emotion and beauty in the man's voice. imagine his surprise when the man finally turns and it's steve harrington.

. . . then you know, they reconnect, eddie slowly falls in love with steve in return and they live their gay little lives together

anyway, this is all the result of a long speech to text note on my phone. i have listened to djo's music on repeat and have djo!steve hcs for nearly all of them

[slightlystupidhun]

Niente

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

A band AU I’m writing! Sorry if it’s bad! There is no magic in this universe, just music! @puffin-smoke did an amazing Redacted Band AU that you should check out too!

Niente; To nothing; indicating a diminuendo which fades completely away…

It was a cool fall evening in the shaw household, the lights of the house emitting a warm feeling from the outside. It had been half a year since Gabriel Shaw took Tank in. Their parents had dropped them off to study with David and just never came to pick them up. Tank remembers so vividly how the phone rang, and rang, and rang but no one picked up. Gabe refused to let them leave on their own so he took them in, they were just a few months away from turning 18.

Tank had not intended to join the “family” band either. It was more of something that happened to them. One day while paroling the house they saw that one of David's old electric guitars was left out in the living room. The black guitar with red paint splattered on it, giving the impression of blood, was so appealing to Tank they simply couldn't resist. They had practiced acoustic guitar, but had little experience on electric. They only remembered what little their father taught them when he attempted to play, the instrument never sounding right in his hands.

They picked it up, it was already plugged into the amp, and looked around the room. Pausing for a moment, waiting to hear if anyone had come into the house, they were pleased to find that they were still home alone. David and Gabe left for a meeting for their band. David was the drummer, Asher was the singer, and Milo played bass. Their old electric guitarist, Asher's sister, left for a different band. The first few notes they strummed on the guitar sent electricity through their veins. They strummed again, becoming obsessed with the sound. It fully represented them, their thoughts, feelings, their whole being. They began strumming out the chords to an AC/DC song their dad tried playing, thunderstruck. It was the a simple standard they knew how to play on electric.

The music soared from the guitar and filled the room. Tank started playing with the strings and improving their own melodies. They were so wrapped up in the song that they didn't hear Gabe and David enter the house. They didn't see the pair walk into the living room. The sound enveloping the house was completely theirs, like they owned the instrument. No one could replicate the way they played. Even if they weren't perfect at it they were still so alluring.

As Tank strummed the last chord on the guitar, Gabe stepped forward and applauded. Their head snapped up, fiery eyes meeting his warm ones. A slight blush spread across their face and they quickly stepped away and set the guitar on the soft green couch next to them.

“I… I… sorry…” They mumbled out. “I wont touch it again…”

“No! Don’t say sorry. In fact, you were quite good. Ever played before now kid?” Gabe asked moving over to pick up David's old guitar.

“No… not really. I mean I've been playing acoustic guitar a little, or I used to with my da… with you know.” They kicked their feet on the hardwood floor..

“Well my band is looking for a guitarist. I'm sure Dad would be willing to teach you. He taught Asher's sister.” David said, nudging Tanker with his shoulder.

“Me?” Tank asked.

“Absolutely! I will! You’re in the band Tank!” Gabe cheers as he wraps an arm around Tank. “I’ll start teaching you tomorrow.”

That is how they ended up where they were now. On a large stage opening for a band that Tank has been a fan of for a while now. They were called Tooth&Fang. Tank was practically in love with Quinn, the lead singer. He was attractive and very, very charismatic.

As their set came to a close as David rattled the symbol one final time. The whole band waved as Asher yelled out one final time.

“Thank you everyone! We are DxW! You have a good night!” He and the band ran off stage, high fiving one another. Tank stood on the outside avoiding the three’s cheers.

“Hello~” A sly voice spoke into Tank's ear. Tanks eyes widened, immediately recognizing the voice. They pivoted to see the mischievous grin on the face of Quinn Fox, the lead singer they're practically in love with. “Well aren't you, a spitfire. You played that electric like a star, precious.”

Tank was on cloud nine. Quinn even offered to meet them in his dressing room after the show.

“No.” David said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall in the alley way. The band was packing their equipment up in their van.

“What? Why not? He literally just wants to meet up!” Tank pleaded, waving their arms about.

“No. No super famous 28 year old rockstar wants to meet with a 19 year old, just to chat and hang out. I've heard about his reputation…”

“But you haven't seen his reputation have you. You haven't experienced it first hand. You have no idea whether or not it's true!” They pointed their finger into David's chest, knowing it would irritate him.

“Tank. No. And get your finger off my chest dumbass.” David's eyes lit up with anger.

“I'm going. I am 19 fucking years old. I am old enough to choose what I am gonna do with and where I am going to spend my time.” They pivoted on their heels and began walking back inside.

“Tank stop!” David yelled at them before crossing his arms and standing firm. “I’ll tell Dad.”

Those three words stopped Tanker in their tracks. Was he serious? He was going to rat on them and play tattle tail. Furrowing their brows and balling their hands into fists they walked back over to David. “I hate you.”

The next two days the only time Tank spoke to David was if he directed them to do something in the band. They were pissed off at him. How the hell was he able to control what they did? And the fact that he threatened them with telling Gabe. They continued to ignore him and mope around until their phone buzzed. They looked at their instagram feed and saw a message from Quinn_The_Vamp.

[delicatenightfury]

Glass and Flowers

2022 Month of Writing: Day 16

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader (soulmate AU)

Prompt:

Word Count: 1,601

Author's Note: please don't steal my work! you can choose to respond to the prompt as well, but don't steal my work.

Spencer sat in the hallway of the hospital. Everything around him was a blur, and he couldn’t determine if his mind was going a mile a minute or at a snail’s pace. All he knew was that the scene from his morning was playing over and over again in his mind.

He had been on his way home from the BAU, catching a ride with Derek. They had been bantering, nothing new for the two of them, when a truck seemingly came out of nowhere.

Reid watched in shock as the car came speeding toward the intersection. They were showing no signs of slowing. In fact they appeared to be speeding up in an attempt to outrun the police behind them. Reid tried to brace himself.

“Morgan, look out!” he said.

Morgan slammed on the brakes, having also noticed the car. They quickly came to a stop, but the speeding car scraped the front of Derek’s, moving the car several feet and rattling the two. Their relief was short lived when they heard a loud crunching. Both looked up to see that the speeding car had collided with the car next to them. The speeding car kept going, but the other car had been flipped and hit by another oncoming vehicle.

Reid and Morgan shot into action.

They got out of the car and went to the other two, splitting to check on the passengers. Reid hurried to the car that had flipped and ducked down to see the driver. She was hanging upside down, blood running from her temple. Head wounds always looked bad.

“Hey,” Reid said, trying to get her attention. Her head turned slightly to look at him. She looked dazed. “Hey, are you all right?”

“What happened?” she said. 

“You were in an accident. You’re bleeding a little bit. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

Reid turned his head to glance at Derek.

“Call an ambulance!” he called. He looked back at the woman and quickly took in the car. He wasn’t going to be able to open the door and get her out safely without proper equipment. He’d have to wait for the first responders. He saw her eyes starting to haze over and reached out to touch her arm. “Ma’am, ma’am I need you to stay with me, okay? You have to stay awake. Can you tell me your name?”

“y/n.”

“All right, y/n, my name is Spencer. Is there anyone else in the car with you?”

She shook her head slightly and winced.

“Hurts,” she mumbled.

“Help is on the way. We’re going to get you out soon, y/n. Just keep talking to me.”

Spencer did his best to keep her conscious, keep her talking about anything while they waited for the paramedics to show up. Luckily, they didn’t take long and a firetruck and two ambulances showed up. The firemen hurried to Spencer and asked him to step back.

“She’s bleeding from the temple,” he informed them. “No one else is in the car, but she’s in pain and has been floating in and out of consciousness.”

“We’ll handle it from here, sir,” one of the firemen said.

Reid nodded and stepped back to let them do their work. He watched them pry the door open and begin to secure y/n to get her out.

Morgan came up behind Reid.

“You all right, kid?”

Spencer nodded slowly. He lifted his hand to run it through his hair, but paused when he noticed something on his skin. He shifted his shirt sleeve out of the way and stared at his arm.

Flowers decorated skin. Flowers that hadn’t been there before.

“Reid?” Morgan looked down at his arm. “Woah. When did that happen?”

“I don’t know.” It was then that Reid felt his arm itch. The sensation went from the back of his hand up almost his entire arm. “It wasn’t there earli-”

His eyes widened and he glanced at the firemen, who were pulling y/n out of the car. Shards of glass were embedded in her arm, running almost the entire length.

Spencer had asked Morgan to follow the ambulance to the hospital. They were directed to a waiting area and were told that a doctor would update them at some point. That had been almost an hour ago, and there had been no news.

Morgan was down the hall, making a phone call to Hotch to update him about the situation. Meanwhile, Spencer wouldn’t take his mind off the crash and y/n. Images of her hanging upside down in her car flashed before his mind. He barely knew her, so he couldn’t explain why he was feeling so anxious.

It mostly likely had to do with the soulmate bond. It was said that when something tragic happened in the life of your soulmate, a flower appeared on your body and you felt ghost pains. That was the only explanation Reid could come up with. The flowers on his arm hadn’t been there before the accident, and now there they were, in the same place the glass had been stuck in y/n.

“Hey.” Spencer glanced up at Mogan as he sat down. “You doing all right?”

Spencer swallowed and nodded a little. 

“I’m just… shocked, I guess. I mean, the chances of meeting your soulmate are about ten thousand to one. A-and there’s about a fifty to sixty percent chance of getting into a car accident at night. So the chances of meeting my soulmate were already slim, but meeting them in the same accident? It’s… it seems impossible.”

Just then, a doctor approached the two of them. The men stood up.

“I understand you came in with Miss l/n?”

Spencer nodded.

“I’m her soulmate,” he said. He shifted his arm to show the flowers in case the doctor didn’t believe him.

But the older man smiled.

“She’s doing well. We removed all the glass from her arm. It most likely will scar, and should be able to fully move it without any problems. I’ve already explained these things to her, and she is awake if you want to see her.”

Spencer nodded again. The doctor led him down the hall, Morgan trailing closely behind him. The hospital was relatively quiet for the night, so their footsteps seemed to echo a little. The doctor stopped in front of a door.

“This is her room,” he said. “She asked about you, by the way. She was happy when we told her you were still here. You can go in whenever you’d like.”

“Thanks, doc,” Morgan said. The doctor nodded and walked away. “You ready?”

“I don’t know.”

“You got this, Reid. You two beat the odds. You said so yourself. Get in there and see your girl.”

“She’s not my girl, Derek.”

He smirked and patted Reid on the shoulder.

“Maybe not right now, but I’ve got a feeling.”

Morgan gave him another encouraging pat and turned back down the hall. Spencer took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” he heard.

He slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. His eyes immediately went to y/n, who was sitting up in the hospital bed. Her arm was wrapped in bandages and held in place to prevent further damage. She smiled at him.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi. How- how are you feeling?”

“Sore. But… grateful. Tonight could have been a lot worse. Thanks for helping me.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“You kept me conscious, gave me something to focus on instead of passing out. I appreciate that more than you know, Spencer.” He looked down at his shoes, surprised that she remembered his name through everything that had happened. “Can I ask you a question though?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Why did you stick around? We haven’t met before this?”

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He stepped closer to her bed and slowly started pulling up his sleeve. He watched her eyes widen at the sight of his arm covered in small flowers. Her eyes darted between their arms and his face. A smile worked its way onto her face and she laughed.

“We’re soulmates?” she said.

He nodded.

“I know it seems crazy,” he said. “I mean, there’s just a small chance of ever meeting your soulmate. Like, ten thousand to one chance, even with the flowers as a signifier. So most people go their whole lives without ever meeting or interacting with their soulmate.”

y/n smiled. 

“I guess we were the lucky ones then,” she said. “Would you… If it’s all right with you, I’d love to get to know you more. Maybe talk and hang out? See where this might go?”

Spencer returned her smile.

“I’d like that.”

A knock came from the door, causing the two of them to turn. Derek peeked his head in, smiling at them.

“Hey, just wanted to let you know that Hotch gave you the day off tomorrow. He’ll probably call you or something to tell you himself, but wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Thanks, Morgan.”

“No problem. You kids have fun.”

When he disappeared from view again, y/n looked at Spencer in amusement.

“Friend and coworker?”

“Yeah. We work for the BAU here in Quantico.”

Her smile got even wider.

“No way. I just got a job working with the same team.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

“I was looking forward to the job before. Now I’m even more excited. I guess some things were just meant to be.”

“I guess so.”

[peachesvanilla]

He loves her too, but doesn't accept this. Soulmate au and angst + fluff things

characters: Baekhyun, reader

genre: soulmates au, professor! Baekhyun, student!reader, angst

warnings: none(?)

note: this drabble alone stressed the hell out of me.. it was so hard to write and i know it isn't up to the standard but show some love to it... and this has a full potential of having next part but i can't promise u when it will be.. hope you like it!

The rules are clear. When two soulmates come together, after the first touch a red string tied around the pinky finger on both of their hands glows signifying the destiny between them. The shade of red which can be seen even far from the distance, can never be cut or breaks or disappears once it comes alive. 

Not everyone follows their predefined fate, and waits till they meet their soulmate to fall in love. The new term recently added to the dictionary is ‘hook-ups’, the thrill of having a rendezvous, going against the rules, breaking the soulmate bond and falling in love with someone else’s soulmate. I have witnessed these hook-ups— them feeling on top of the world, laughing at other people who follow designated paths, being pompous about how daring they are to break all the stereotype love only to end in heartbreak, getting wound up in cheating, depression and in the end hopelessness. 

There’s a reason why this red string exists. And I will never ever go against it. Even if it takes twenty more years to find him, I will wait. 

“There’s a package for you.” My mom says, peeping through the door. “Go and get it. Me and dad are late to our movie, dinner is on the table.” She waves a bye, her cheeks visibly pink and disappears in a second. Hurried footsteps resonating the silent house, muffled conversations, banging of cupboards, booming of laughter, keys rattling and the door being shut.

I shake my head at their tardiness. When will they be on time for once? They were nineteen when they met at a restaurant. In her own mother’s words, “it was inexplicable. Magical. And I felt on top of the world. It is my moment. Ours. When your time comes you will understand.” 

How can I steer away when I have a living example of a happy couple? 

I reread the comment on some theories I stumbled upon while surfing for my assignment.

Soulmates are cruel. Not everyone gets their happy ending. Fate is crueler than any politician or the serial killers.

He or she must be one of them, a group who instigate people against destiny. It has been going around and a lot of them fell for their trap and ended up nowhere. The other half is your other half for a reason, your imperfections are sufficed by his perfections, pure love which can never be found anywhere but with them, the one whom you can trust with all of your heart and never be scared of getting it broken, your plus one, knight in shining armor. 

I for one will never fall for the whole anti-soulmate campaign. 

—

“I really want to meet my soulmate,” I whisper-whine to my friend, Hyejin. “Even she found her man.” I point my pen to the silent girl sitting in the corner of the class who made all of my predictions wrong. She was the last one on my list knowing how introverted and barely she speaks. I heard her talk two times and that too only one word in the entire of two semesters. 

“Shut up. If the professor finds us,” she warns without moving her lips while maintaining a poker face. “He is going to drill us with questions.”

Our professor, Byun Baekhyun, the very person who made our life hell for the last three months. Entire span of his class every student will be on the edge of their seat in tension when or how he will pick us and ask questions. Sudden assignments with a one day deadline and tough papers. And this is only the tip of the iceberg. He favors the toppers and the rare smiles come out when the topper of our class, Jongin, is with him.

“He is busy.” I nudge her waist. “I want to meet my soulmate, Hyejin. It’s getting hard at nights—”

“You,” Mr.Byun’s voice slices through the silence, “third one in the last bench.” 

My heart drops to the floor, my hands turn cold and my mouth becomes dry. “Fuck.” I mumble under my breath. 

“What’s the gain of this antenna?” He points his marker to the presentation. 

I gulp, averting my eyes from the problem displayed and the professor. My mind blanks, erasing everything I know. What was the formula? Sweat trickles down my neck under his scrutiny, sharp eyes, frown on his forehead and set jaw. 

“We discussed it just now,” he strides to the last bench. He crosses his arms across his chest standing next to me. 

“That…” I trail off. I don’t know the answer, and him standing so close with those piercing eyes along with a deep frown on his forehead scares me. “I.. I don’t..”

Mr.Byun lets out a sigh in exasperation. He pulls the sleeve of his suit and checks his silver watch. “There’s an assignment due tonight.” He announces to the entire class of seventy students. “One minute delay and you’ll find a zero. I'm not going to accept any reasons so restrain yourselves from sending mails.”

I nod, his voice ringing in my ears. The time’s up, students are filling the corridor. Should I slowly slip away from him? But why isn’t he walking away? Doesn’t he exit the class on dot? Why today? 

Hyejin covertly escapes from the other side of the bench leaving me alone with the psycho. I inch to my right grabbing my belongings. If I just mingle with the other students he wouldn’t notice and that Jongin will be having millions of doubts which will lead to Baekhyun forgetting her. 

As if on cue Jongin is approaching Mr.Byun. I knew it! I sling my bag on my shoulder as I tiptoe when a hand grabs my bag pulling me back. 

“I’m not done.” 

My heart sinks to the floor at his words. What? What did I even do except for talking and that too not more than a minute. I don’t deserve the extra class he is going to take. I just want to go home. 

“Jongin, can you come to my cabin in fifteen minutes?” 

“Sure.” He warily eyes us before turning away and leaves the classroom. 

“I’m sorry.” I turn to him, and step back so his hand comes off my bag. His cold fingers brushes past my bare arm. A sparkle of red illuminates for a brief second and disappears. I blink at him. What just happened? 

Did I see it wrong? Was it a red insect or butterfly? Or is my obsession over red string making me see things? Did I go overboard already? 

Mr.Byun parts his lips and closes them again, staring at my arm. The color drains from his face, he cups his hand over his mouth in disbelief. We don’t talk or even make a squeak. 

How does this work? Are we soulmates? Is that how it displays? And for a second of visibility they made a huge fuss? There’s no way Mr.Byun can be my soulmate. Why would the grumpiest and most irritating human being on this planet be my soulmate? No chance. 

“I’m sorry for disturbing the class.” I interrupt his pure moment of shock. Why is he even that shook? If we were anything then it wouldn’t disappear. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

I'm on my feet to flee away. I have been through so much already for today, all I need is my bed, my pillow and blanket. A moment of peace. 

“Wait.” His voice booms around the empty classroom. “Wait,” he rubs his temples and closes his eyes. “I-I need to check something.”

“Check what?” 

“Give me your hand.” He forwards his own palm. “It’ll be quick.”

“Why?” I clasp my hands together. “I don’t want to.” 

Why is he even thinking of checking it? This can’t be happening. The chances of him being something more to me other than professor is.. 

“Mr.Byun,” my voice shakes. Why did no one say this is a nerve-wracking moment? “I don’t think we have anything to check.” 

He doesn’t even meet my eyes. “I’m not excited about it.” He snaps. “For a fucking minute give me your hand.” 

His words scratch my heart, and the blood starts spilling from the scars. No one has talked to me that way till now. He doesn’t have any right to rule over me.

“I don’t want to.” I insist. He may have a say in the course but not in my personal life. And I can’t even imagine my life alongside his. Ever. “I have to go.”

My mind plagues with the possibilities, what if he is the one? It can’t be. My soulmate will be around my age won’t he? Mr.Byun is older than me, and he is my professor out of everything. Having a relationship with a professor sounds so wrong. Is this the cruel fate everyone’s talking about? 

A hand wraps around my left arm holding me firmly. I halt in my steps, coming out of the endless loop my mind has created. My heart pounds hard against my chest, his cold fingers intertwine mine and doesn’t let me shake him off. Should I turn around or not? It can’t be. He isn’t my other half. That’s for sure. But the sliver of chances makes me nauseous. 

The classroom is pin drop silent. What is it? Dying out of anxiety, pain and a little curiosity I gather the courage to face him. 

Red glows brighter between us. A thin thread wrapped around my finger ends with his pinky finger. I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. This isn’t how it is supposed to be. 

“No…” he murmurs. “This can’t be.” His attention is fixated on our hands, “no. No. No!” 

I snap my head to him. The fear springs in my heart seeing the disgust on his face. “What…” 

He takes his hand away, he walks away shaking his head, and swivels around cupping his mouth. He doesn’t even look at me once, or try to make me understand. Isn’t that how soulmates should be? Taking care of the other one? 

The longer I stare at him walking to and forth my heart cracks little by little. He can’t accept that we are soulmates. I can understand it because it does sound ridiculous. But when he looks up at me finally, then I notice he is disgusted by me.

“A kid? A kid?!” He says. “I can’t do this.” He turns around once again, and this time he doesn’t walk back. 

Did he just reject me? How come everyone has a fairytale like first meet and he just left me stranded. Will he ever come back and accept me? Or do I have to live alone my entire life? 

[symbiotic-slime]

Excuse me, did you say Venom TMA AU????

yes!!! it’s been rattling around in my head for a couple of months now, so if u want more in depth lore I’m more than happy to indulge but I’ll give a basic run down! there’s two separate ideas for this. I’ve categorized Eddie (a mixture of the movies and comics versions of him) and Flash based on what they’d be an avatar of and what they’d be a victim of so—

Avatar AU:

Eddie is an avatar of the Corruption, and the Venom symbiote is a manifestation of the Corruption! it starts out as a mould growing in Eddie’s apartment, but eventually its influence gets him and he bonds with them and becomes an avatar! there’s a lot of body horror in it, I basically went ham with adding anything and everything I thought would be cool. he’s basically a Flesh Hive, but instead of worms coming out of the holes in his skin it’s Venom’s goop! also since the corruption deals with obsessive and toxic love, the body horror element of that is Venom ripping Eddie’s ribcage open to curl around his heart >:3 I have a playlist for this AU, so check it out if u want to!

Flash is an avatar of the Slaughter (I know, making the soldier an avatar of the Slaughter how original)! his is a lot more tragic than Eddie’s, since his arc starts with the abuse he suffered as a kid and the fear of his dad’s unexpected violence marking him for the slaughter! then it kind of goes through his life being an avatar (think kind of what Elias pulled from Daisy’s life if you’ve listened to that part — where she’s not fully an avatar but definitely influenced by it). the timeline is a bit warped, I wanted for him to join the army pre- making up with Peter in this AU since war is such a big part of the Slaughter. it ends with him getting his legs amputated like in canon and since he’s unable to continue feeding the slaughter, its influence on him starts to wain. he basically becomes an avatar in recovery, growing weaker but refusing to give into the urges again. him and Peter become friends and he gets a “happy” ending (well, as happy of an ending is anyone in a tma au can hope for)!

Victim AU:

this one does not have as much substance to it, I just thought about what their greatest fear would be and like. I haven’t actually come up with any interesting supernatural ideas for this yet lmao

Eddie would be a victim of the Lonely (he goes off the deep end literally every time the symbiote leaves him or when he thinks they’ve died)

the Venom symbiote would be a victim of the Desolation (literally everyone they love either is “dead” or has died at some point — I’d ignore Flash’s resurrection and the whole Eddie and Dylan being able to come back I think from the current run)

Flash would be a victim of the Web (especially with the addiction themes from s5)

S5 SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

I’ve also thought about what domain they’d be placed in following the eyepocalypse. literally the definition of putting them in situations because I’ve basically assigned them their own personal hell

Eddie would be placed in the Fog House domain or Martin’s domain

the Venom symbiote would be placed in the Furnace domain

Flash would be put in the Theatre domain. this one is literally a perfect fit for him since what we see of it is a guy being forced into his alcohol addiction over and over again.

[raksh-writes]

In diamonds and leather

Fandom: Kinnporsche the series (2022)

Pairing: VegasPete

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Baby/Sugar Daddy AU, older!Vegas, younger!Pete, businessman!Vegas, college student!Pete, Dom/sub

Been feeling a great need for a Sugar Baby/Sugar Daddy AU for VegasPete but since there doesn’t seem to be any and I’ve had this rattling around my brain for months, here’s a lil’ preview snippet. Might make it into an actual fic one day, who knows. For now, hope y’all will enjoy  this small thing 💗

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At thirty years old, Vegas is pretty sure most would say he has it all.

Lucrative business in luxury markets earning him more than he could ever spend? Certainly. A sprawling penthouse at the top floor with the overview of the city some would kill for? Hm, yes, the view is nice, that he can admit. A wardrobe full of silk shirts, suits tailored to perfection, italian leather shoes and watches glinting gold in the light? He should probably get rid of half of them, to be honest. Expensive cars and sleek bikes he’s imported himself? Probably one too many than he should be keeping, but the speed and freedom they give him are one of the only joys Vegas still has left in life because:

What’s even the point?

His father is long dead and buried, no longer a whip of disgust and derision over Vegas’ back and bruised face, no longer sneering over every aspect of his life and chasing him from one deal to another until he barely had any time or will to live for himself. So long he’s lived under his father’s orders, so long he’s lived only to take care of his little brother, but now Gun is dead and Macau’s safe and happy in university, living on his own and surrounded by friends, and Vegas? With his thriving businesses, his expensive clothes, fast bikes and more money than he knows what to do with? Well...

At the end of the day, as he sits down in his favorite armchair after hours full of taking care of his various businesses, as he looks over the city, Vegas can’t help the questions creeping over his mind, relentless and bleak. What now? What’s the point? You have it all and you’re not doing anything with it. You should be ashamed of yourself. No drive, no ambition, not knowing what to do with yourself. How can you even look at yourself in the mirror? Pathetic. More often than not a note of his father’s sneer sneaking through the disembodied voice of his thoughts. And it’s the pitiful truth, unfortunately. 

Somewhere along the time of his newfound freedom, Vegas found a carved out void behind his ribs, echoing and endless in its numbness. No amount of too-fast bike rides, of throwing away money at random charities, of high-end balls and lucrative deals could ever even attempt to fill it, not even sex he used to find reprieve in proved successful.

Long gone are days when he went out to pick up random twinks at clubs with music loud enough to drown out his thoughts — they’re too loud now, setting his teeth on edge, the young things too eager and shallow, the sex barely a spark hot enough to do it for him. Even the times he decides to take a sub at one of the few BDSM places he sometimes visits leaves him feeling more hollow than fulfilled in the mornings. It barely scratches the itch that manages to rear its head from time to time — the need to see a pretty boy ruined under his palms. It’s nice, the moment it happens, but then the void howls behind his sternum and his jaw aches from the force he clenches it with, a traitorous whisper of what’s the point? bouncing inside his skull. Vegas doesn’t have the answer and the rope he’s threading is quickly coming to an abrupt end.

Then it comes, from the most unexpected place Vegas couldn’t have ever predicted.

An app. A simple message.

A struggling college student with big dreams and sunshine smile.

Soft-cheeked, with barely any experience and melting under Vegas’ hands like he’s been made for it, made for Vegas. For him and him only. And Vegas shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t.

It’s not about money, he could shower the pretty boy with far more than he’d ever need and still not make a dent in his account. It’s not about chemistry too, because to be frank, it actually sparks way too high and bright between them. And it’s not for the lack of time either  — at this point in his life, Vegas has more of it than he has responsibilities on most days. The thing is—

Vegas is not suited to take on a fresh sub. To train someone completely new to kink in the way he prefers his partners. He has no experience with that, always took on twinks either versed in the lifestyle or he’d disregard his more sadistic preferences for a night of simpler, rough sex. It’s been good enough, he tells himself, it was, but—

Pete looks up at him with his huge, teary eyes, mouth parted and bottom lip glistening under Vegas’ thumb and the long-slumbering beast in his chest awakens, uncurling in the void with teeth bared and bloodlust on its tongue. Vegas wants, and he wants so deeply and viciously it almost scares him well enough to refuse this pretty siren of a boy. Almost.

He looks at Pete on his knees and his brain stutters with countless images.

With Pete’s cupid-bow lips stretched over his cock. With Pete shackled to his bed and writhing in the binds while Vegas takes him again and again and again. Not letting him come or wringing out orgasm after orgasm until he's a crying, wrecked mess unable to even speak. With Pete in pretty lingerie and a rosy blush spread over the apple of his cheeks. With Pete’s brilliant smile peeking out from around a glass of champagne, a speck of chocolate on his lips. With Pete on the back of his bike or spread over the leather upholstery in one of his sports cars. With Pete spent and boneless and sated in his arms, warm and smiling and whispering his name like a prayer.

Vegas wants and, for the first time in years, his mind doesn’t poison his mind with the bleak whispers of what’s the point? Because this—

This might just be the whole entire point. Pete, happy and satisfied, in Vegas’ arms. Smiling like he means it.