#through the lens of a person who thought she knew him the best in the world - because she's known him the longest

[s-brant]

Make It Better

my masterlist (gif: @conradfiisher)

After getting into an argument with his brother, Conrad seeks out the comfort of a close friend.

8k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, strong language, and slight angst.

-

For every girl in Cousins, there was something about Conrad Fisher that made them go a little crazy. And for Y/N, a girl who grew up with the Fishers and Conklins next door every summer, it was the fact that he decided to choose her of all people to be with. Even if Belly had him first, it was all worth it to her.

With Conrad, it's all soft-spoken praises, feather light brushes off his fingertips against forbidden places, and sensual kisses. It's all she can see when she closes her eyes to sleep at night or merely blinks during the day. It's hard to keep it a secret when her mind refuses to stop recalling the memories at a constant rate. Still, she has to be on her best behavior seeing that it is the last night they have together before the house is officially sold by Aunt Julia. And to honor their summer house, they collectively decided to throw a goodbye party.

The vibration of the bass thumping within the walls of the house is strong enough to rattle her eardrums as she takes a shot with her arm interlinked with Cam Cameron's. He, of course, is drinking a can of soda, but she was quick to assuage his insecurity when he mentioned it. It was the thought that counted.

She and Cam have been friends since they were in middle school, so, when he joined their circle of friends through Belly last year, it made her happy to have him around in the way Jere, Steven, Conrad, and Belly always were. When he and Belly ended their fling, she was there for both of them. She hugged Cam for a minute straight before letting go and offering to cheer him up with ice cream. For Belly, she told her she did the right thing by not leading him on and told her to follow her heart, wherever it may lead her, as they swam in the pool.

How was Y/N supposed to know it would lead her straight into the arms of the boy she's always loved?

"Okay," Cam rips her from her thoughts as he speaks, shoving his hydroflask filled with ice water into her hands, "You are officially cut off for the night until I see you drink some of this. I think your blood may be fifty percent tequila at this point."

She frowns at him.

"You're no fun, but I appreciate you looking out," she says.

She stays with him to swallow a few generous mouthfuls of water before handing the bottle back to him with a quiet, "Thank you. M'gonna go find Connie and Steven."

The last she checked, the two of them were taking pictures with the Polaroid camera they bought at the store earlier. They called her and Belly over to take turns taking pictures together. One of them all together, one of Y/N and Steven, then Belly and Conrad, and, finally Y/N and Conrad.

It was hard to watch Belly pose with him considering their extensive history together, but he knew that, and when it was her turn to pose with him, he wrapped his hand around her waist and entwined his fingers in hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. This made it extremely difficult for her not to smile too hard as she looked at the camera lens.

After the flash went off, Steven, the only person to know the details of their recent, days-old affair, says, "Wait, one more! One more! You'll thank me later, I swear."

With Belly having skated off, Taylor doing God knows what, and Jere lingering not far from wherever Belly went, they didn't feel too worried when they were directed to hug for the camera. Her cheek squished against his, their chests rising and falling to meet one another like matching puzzle pieces, and the scent of his body wash—the proximity to him was intoxicating.

"Okay, smileee—"

The flash off went off, and they stayed together for a few seconds longer than necessary before reluctantly pulling apart.

Steven handed each of them one of the pictures with a wink before saying, "Alright, Taylor wants me to do shots with her. I'll probably be back soon."

Conrad got the first one and she got the second. They couldn't help how they smiled as they stood side by side to admire them. His was carefully placed in the back pocket of his pants, which then made her realize that she did not have any pockets herself.

"Can you keep it safe for me?" she asked with a bright, moony-eyed expression. Her hands then slid down the front of her dress to feel for any place to store the photograph only to come up empty. "It's my own fault. Shouldn't have worn a dress."

His eyes softened as they looked up and down the length of her body, then settled back on her eyes.

"No," he said before he could stop himself, "it's perfect."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she was about to open her mouth to speak when Cam and Skye called her name from across the room.

After a second, he spoke again, "I'll catch up with you later, Padme."

When he turned to walk away, he heard her giggle from behind his back at the inside joke shared between the two of them.

As she searches through the house for him now, she smiles to herself at the thought of it. It originated when they were mere children. After finishing a marathon of the Star Wars franchise in release order—the only correct way to watch it according to Susannah and Laurel—one summer, they all became obsessed with playing pretend with sticks as lightsabers. A week later, once it became apparent that it wasn't a fleeting phase, Susannah surprised them with toy lightsabers.

Somehow, they decided amongst themselves who was who, and it just so happened that Y/N was Padme and Conrad was Anakin. Jere and Steven made a deal to take turns playing Obi-Wan Kenobi since they originally both wanted to be him, and Belly, the youngest of the bunch, was so happy to be included that she would play whatever character they wanted her to for the day. The only roles that never changed were Anakin and Padme. Even when they got to the main trilogy in their game of pretend, Conrad played Darth Vader, and Y/N let Belly be Princess Leia while she played as Darth Sidious. One way or another, they were always paired in some way. Fated.

They much preferred playing as the star-crossed lovers as opposed to the pair of evil Sith Lords. It pleased her more than she ever let on that she and Conrad were together, even if it was just pretend. They've always teasingly called each other by those names ever since.

She peeks into every entryway when she walks by in hopes that she'll spot Conrad or Steven, but neither of them appears. It isn't until she steps out onto the front porch after searching the whole lower level of the house that she finds one of them. Well, actually, she hears one of them. Conrad.

"Jere, you know for a fact that I came home every second I could—"

"But it wasn't every day!"

Jeremiah, she notes as she stands with her back against the front door. Neither of them sees her.

"Okay, okay," Conrad retorts. "What do you want? A medal?"

What Jere says next makes her have to look away in the direction of the neighbor's yard, not wanting to see the heartbreak written across his brother's face as he calls him a coward. Her jaw tightens with every vitriolic word spewed at him. It isn't her place to interrupt, but it kills her to stand by and listen.

"You're not someone to look up to. You're not even someone I wanna know."

The universe must have a cruel sense of humor, because the second these words are said, someone trying to swing the door open against her back sends her stumbling forward into their line of vision. The sound of her falling to her hands and knees brings their attention away from one another instantly.

Her eyes meet Jeremiah's first, then they immediately switch to lock eyes with Conrad, and the first thing out of her mouth is, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I just came out here cause I couldn't find you guys. I'll go back inside." Despite her anger at what she overheard, she makes sure to look at both of them when she says, "I'm sorry."

She's already on her feet and facing the front door, abandoned by the guy who tried to walk out only to be greeted with this shit-show, when Jeremiah says, his tone harsh, "Don't. I was already leaving."

This makes her stop in her tracks, her hand frozen in place where it grabs the door handle, and, after she listens to Jere's footsteps gradually disappear, she turns back around.

Conrad is closer now than he was a second ago. Rather than remain in the driveway where he and his brother argued, he stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets. The look on his face...it's heartbreaking. His eyes are glassy, his lips downturned into a slight frown he tries to keep at bay, and knows based on the look he gives her alone that he will never forget what Jere said to him tonight.

She says softly, "Connie," unsure of what else to say to him, but that's all it takes to open the floodgates.

Silent tears start to fall down his cheeks as she closes the distance between them to take him into her arms in a comforting embrace. He bends down a little to allow his head to rest on her shoulder. Her hand cups the back of it to cradle his face into the soft crook of her neck, giving him the shelter he needs from the rest of the party to cry it out. The arms wrapped around her waist squeeze tightly enough to push the air from her lungs, but she never complains. To be in his arms is a blessing regardless of the reason and circumstances behind it.

They remain this way for the better half of a minute before he has the courage to break the silence. The hand on the back of his head brushes through his hair in a repetitive motion in hopes that it will soothe him.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" he asks. "I just"—he shakes his head—"I can't think straight right now..."

She nods.

"We can go to my house."

The Fishers and Conklins aren't nearly as familiar with her family's summer house as she is with theirs, but they have been inside a few times. On days when he didn't feel like being around everyone last summer, Conrad would come over and sit in the chair in the corner of her room, blowing the smoke from his joint out of the window while she cleaned, folded laundry, or read whatever book Laurel had recommended to her at the time. It was domestic in a way that made her heart skip a beat. It made her imagine how it would be in the future if they were together. If they truly ended up getting married as they pretended to when they were children while playing as Anakin and Padme.

She reaches down and entwines their fingers in order to lead him away in the direction of the house next door. It's a short walk over the fence gate that connects their yards. That was Susannah's doing. Five years into her friendship with the kids in her house, she and Y/N's parents agreed to install a new fence with a gate between their two properties to allow their children to play without having to leave the yard.

With everyone busy partying, no one should come back to sleep until way later. It wasn't until after they arrived back from their night at the country club that she remembered where her mom kept the spare key, so the others may forget their plans to sleep there. If they do, she'll shoot them a text in the group chat to remind them rather than allow them to sleep on the floor.

The door is already unlocked from when she went inside to shower and get ready with Taylor and Belly before the party, so all it takes is her turning the handle to allow them access.

She drops his hand once the door is kicked shut behind them and looks over her shoulder to say, "I think there's frozen food in the garage freezer if you're hungry," as she walks toward the kitchen. "And there's still my mom's Diet Coke in the fridge. We could always mix it with my dad's whiskey if you wanna keep drinking."

From behind, she can hear his footsteps on the freaking hardwood floor, getting closer and closer until his hand wraps around her arm to spin her around to face him.

"What—"

The question is cut short by his lips crashing against hers.

Kissing Conrad is something she doesn't think she will ever get used to or grow tired of. No matter how many times it happens, which, so far, has been at least three times since the night they spent at the country club, it takes her breath away the same as it had the first time when they were just children playing pretend.

Her arms are thrown around his neck in less than a second to pull him closer, and she doesn't hesitate to kiss him back. Not even for a second. At first, she is too intoxicated with the thrill of having him touching her to remember why they came here in the first place. Every thought revolves around him—the taste of the alcohol on his tongue, the feeling of his chest pressing against hers, and how confidently his hands find their place on her waist.

A second later, the memory of the fight he and Jere had comes back to her, and she forces herself to push him away.

"Wait," she says with her hands flattened against his chest to create some distance between them. "Wait, Connie."

When he opens his eyes, they're overflowing with concern for her. She already knows that he is assuming he made a mistake or that she doesn't truly want to do this with him, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, she is the one who is concerned for him.

"Are you okay? You and Jere just..." Her expression softens a little. "I don't wanna do this unless I know you're sure you're alright."

The confusion evident on his face disappears by the time she's finished speaking. In his mind, he anticipated something much worse than her wanting to check in on him to make sure he was okay. As the seconds passed between her telling him to wait and him looking at her, he feared she'd take back everything they shared in the past few days. All the secret kisses, gentle touches, and giggles. He wasn't sure he could take losing another one of the girls he grew up with in that way.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stares at her without saying a word. If it were anyone else, it would be uncomfortable, but it never is with them. That's part of what keeps bringing him back to her. Of course, it can't end well seeing that he dated Belly, she's friends with her, and they had such a messy break-up, but what is he supposed to do? Ignore his feelings? Pretend not to want her when he clearly does? He can't do it. He won't. Now that he's already had a taste of her, he can't resist any it longer.

His chest rises with a deep inhale, then—

"I fucked everything up, and I knew Jere must have resented me for it, but I didn't think it was that bad," Conrad says. "I'm sad and angry, of course, but that doesn't mean you'd be taking advantage." He lets the tip of his nose brush hers with how close he comes. His voice is hardly a push of air when he speaks again. "You make everything feel better. You always have."

She doesn't allow him to kiss her again. Instead, she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her eyes on his, not giving in even when their noses bump together and the heat of his exhales cloud on her skin. The kitchen table he has her pressed up against digs into her back, keeping her pinned in place exactly where he needs her.

"So, that's what you want?" she asks in a hushed tone even though they have the house to themselves. Every breath they take is pulled from the little pocket of air between their faces, and they can both smell the liquor on each other's breath every time they exhale. The hands on her waist slowly descend until they settle on her hips. "You want me to make it better?"

The moment she says the words, Conrad seems to melt into her touch. That is all it takes to turn him to putty in her hands, and he nods in response with his face pressed against hers.

"Is that okay?"

In other words, is that what you want? Have you been dying to get your hands on me the way I have been dying to get mine on you? It feels like a lifetime since they first hooked up in a secluded room at the country club, but it hasn't been more than a day.

In lieu of a verbal answer, she closes the inch of distance between them and connects their lips in a tender kiss.

He reciprocates with a passion that ramps up the intensity in a matter of seconds, quickly turning it from its initially timid and gentle nature into something more desperate and needy.  Those hands on her hips squeeze hard to keep control and steady her body as he presses her further into the table, making her back arch a little. Her hands wander to explore every part of him now that she knows he wants this again, and she slips them up underneath his shirt to feel his bare skin beneath her palms. But when her hands make contact with his nipples, he shivers.

Their lips disconnect, shining from the saliva they share, for him to murmur, "Cold hands," as explanation before reaching down for the hem of her dress. She helps him shimmy the tight material up from where it gets stuck around her breasts until it is pulled free and tossed somewhere on the kitchen floor behind her, leaving her in only her undergarments. And he is quick to dispose of those too. Nimble fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra for a few seconds, then it finally comes loose around her back.

But, that's the last thing she lets him take off of her before she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

Without saying a word, she grasps the bottom of his shirt and starts lifting it up to reveal his bare chest to her. He takes the hint without a second of confusion, pulling it the rest of the way off. It drops from his grasp the second it's off his head and abandoned in favor of aiding her in her attempt to undo his pants with those soft, trembling hands.

In a way, it feels similar to their first time. It was against a wall at the country club the other night after they became bored looking for a place to sleep. All they knew was that they needed to make it quick, so they did. His hand disappeared down the front of her panties to help her along, the pressure of his fingertips rubbing her clit bringing a wetness that soaked the cotton fabric concealing her from view, and that was all the preparation they took before it happened. He asked, voice quiet and low, if she'd done it before when she began tugging on his shirt as they made out, so once she said she had, all bets were off.

The thought of it slows him down for a second.

That time, they had to get it over with quickly. If they hadn't, the others likely would have gone looking for them and found out what was going on in the office room they snuck into. It was rough and quick and passionate, and he liked that, he truly did, but recalling that now makes him want to do it differently this time. Especially considering what happened before they came into this house.

"Slower, slower," he murmurs into her mouth.

The adjustment is made instantly, and she allows him to take back full control of the kiss. With his hands pulling her hips flush against his, he surrenders to the urge to rut against her to relieve the aching of his hard cock through the material of his boxer briefs and unzipped pants. He invades her open mouth with his tongue and kisses her slower, deeper than he had the last time. His teeth nip playfully at her lower lip in the second he takes to pull back for air.

His hands cup her face on either side to keep her in place as he dips down to kiss the underside of her jaw. He doesn't dare to leave any marks behind where anyone could see them, but he does take his time and suck gently on the sweet spot on the gentle slope where her shoulder and neck bridge together. Faintly, they can both hear the music from his house next door over the wet sound of his lips on her neck.

The other day, they didn't have the time to do everything he wanted to with her, but tonight they do. Tonight, he has her to himself for the first time in months, and he isn't going to take that opportunity for granted. Everything with her happened too fast for him to process. Last week, he'd been caught up on Belly, and part of him still is, but, then, Y/N came into the picture in a way he never expected. Despite the fear of ruining their lifelong friendship, to be with her felt as natural a process as breathing.

The hands on her face slip down the sides of her neck and down the front of her body until they find the band of the thin little thong she chose tonight for the sake of not having panty lines through her dress. Part of it also had to do with the possibility of this happening again, but she'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

It appears, however, that he already knows when she finds the end of his mouth tipping upwards in a slight smirk as his fingers hook around the fabric. Seeing that they just hooked up yesterday and that these are a decent step up from the boy-short panties patterned with flowers he saw her in before, it isn't too difficult to put together.

Conrad sinks down onto his knees to tug it down her legs, and before her cheeks can begin to burn with embarrassment, she warns him, "Don't even."

This draws a giggle from him, his head tilting back to let him look up at her. Even in the midst of their playfulness and laughter, the sight of him kneeling before her makes her go weak in the knees. The strands of hair hanging in his eyes frame his face with an effortlessness she has envied him for her whole life. His beauty is classic, statuesque, even. He is the specific type of attractive that never falls out of trend or becomes less shocking over time. At least, not for her.

"I didn't say anything."

She counters, still laughing, "You didn't have to!"

At this point, she is grinning from ear to ear, and it's difficult to be self-conscious about being laid bare in his presence when he's looking at her like that. Her left leg is lifted off of the ground for her underwear to slide off of her ankle, but he doesn't put it back down. Instead, he turns his head to kiss her sensitive inner thigh, leaving her with nothing to do except watch while the anticipation of what he plans on doing eats her alive.

Unlike her neck, he has no qualms about marking up her thighs. It may be mildly uncomfortable to forgo wearing shorts in the summer heat, but it's doable. She can wear some of the bottoms she has stored in the dresser upstairs to keep the others from seeing if need be. His other hand grips her right hip to keep her steady while his other has her bent leg propped over his shoulder. Soon, his kisses have made a path up the length of her thigh, and she can't help but breathe heavier when she feels the heat of his exhales at the apex of her thighs.

"Connie..." she breathes out.

This brings his attention up, eyes fluttering open from where they'd been closed as he inched closer and closer to where she wants him most. And when she finds him looking up at her, pupils dilated and lips swollen from kissing, she can hardly breathe.

He asks, "You nervous?"

Words fail her. All she can do is nod.

"Don't be," Conrad whispers, the hand on her hip reaching to take hers in it for the sake of comforting her. "It's just me."

To this, she chuckles a little and tries not to shift in place with the sheer discomfort of the need she feels for him in this moment. No one has ever done this specific sexual act with her before, so the nerves are strong, but not quite as strong as her curiosity or desire.

"That's exactly why I'm nervous."

Her free hand comes down to brush the hair out of his face, and he leans into the touch like a cat brushing up between your legs. His eyes shut again for a second to appreciate the sweet gesture before looking up at her again, a slight grin begging to come to fruition on his face.

"Let me make it better, then," he says softly, in that charming, distinctly Conrad way that could take any girl's breath away with ease.

The first flick of his tongue against her is gentle, a mere glimpse of what's to come, but it stuns her all the same. Never having experienced this before, she is extremely sensitive to anything he does to her, and she finds that she's far more sensitive when it's his mouth pleasuring her as opposed to his fingers. Every soft brush of his lips against her in teasing kisses makes her hips press forward into his face in a silent command to continue without her noticing that she's doing it. He is quick to notice it, though, and he doesn't continue to tease her any longer.

This time, when he spread her open on his tongue, he gives her what she wants.

Sparks of pleasure shoot through her the second she feels him lapping at her aching clit, soft and gentle at first until he feels her grinding herself forward against his face for more. With her soft sighs and stifled moans as encouragement, he dips his head between her legs and eats her like a man starved. The remaining leg she stands on is quickly guided over his other shoulder, and his hand slips out of hers in favor of taking hold of her hips. The supple flesh of her ass is soft where it is squeezed beneath his fingertips and used as leverage to bring her as close as possible.

"Mm," she whines, "Fuck..."

The ability to speak evades her in the heat of the moment, but they both know how much she's enjoying this without her having to come out and say it. If the sounds she's making weren't enough, the hand she has gripping the back of his head to keep his mouth on her would prove it.

She knew from conversations overheard between the boys that Conrad was no stranger to this kind of thing. It may have made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach to hear it back then, but, right now, she's thankful for his experience. Every lick, kiss, and caress is placed exactly where she needs it as though he's able to read her body without having to open his eyes. The pleasure he's giving her far outweighs the jealousy she feels when she remembers that he's done this with other girls, one of them possibly being Belly.

The taste of her arousal, slick on his lips and tongue, has him humming in contentment into her as though he is the one being pleasured by this. In a way, he is. There's something intoxicating about being surrounded by her in every sense like this—her weight on his shoulders, her hands in his hair, and her thighs clamped shut on either side of his face. His dick strains against the fabric of his underwear as well as his unzipped pants, pulsing with the desire to sink into her and find his release.

She cants her hips to grind down on his face in pursuit of something closer, something deeper that they can't manage like this. And it isn't long before she starts to pull gently at his hair, reaching down and trying to pull on his arm to get the message across.

Conrad's lips part from her soaked pussy with a wet sound. When he looks up at her from between her thighs, she can see how his lips and chin are smeared with her arousal. It glistens under the moonlight coming in through the kitchen window. In seconds, the moment is already gone. The hands gripping her hips slide down to take hold of her thighs in order to guide them off of his shoulders, and when he sets her back down onto the ground, her muscles are trembling.

He's standing back up at his full height with his body slotted perfectly between her legs in the time it takes her to blink. Their next kiss is hungrier, much more aggressive in nature, than the last they shared, and she can taste herself on his lips.

In the gaps between their fervent kisses, she says, breathless, "I know you wanted to go slower this time, but I can't." His tongue invades her mouth again, pushing past her soft lips to allow the taste of her lip balm to blend with the semi-sweet taste of her pussy. It's only when his tongue retreats to give him the chance to bite down on her bottom lip that she can speak again. "Please," she whines and juts her hips out until she feels him hard against her. "We can go again after, I just want you now."

This sends him into a bit of a frenzy.

He has had his fair share of hook-ups—not nearly as many as Jere but plenty—yet there's something about her that thrills him in a way few others ever could. No girl has ever said anything like that to him. With Belly, it was her first time, so everything was tender and experimental due to the nature of the situation. With Y/N, it's different in the sense that they cannot be fairly compared. How could anyone compare a gentle, sweet first time with what may end up being the best fuck of his life, surpassing the quickie at the country club that left them both breathless and weary.

Conrad is panting for air when their lips part, their mouths hanging open and brushing as he hefts her up onto the table with little effort. Beneath her hands, she can feel his biceps flex with the quick lift. Taut muscle contracts and pushes back against her fingers before relaxing again once her ass is planted on the tabletop, but if it weren't for her hands gripping his arms for support, she wouldn't have noticed it had any effect on him. It's strangely arousing. She never gave his casual strength much thought until he utilized it in this context for the first time. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead when he had to keep her lifted against the wall at the country club as he thrust into her, but he didn't struggle.

Please. He hears her whining the word on a loop in his mind as he aids her in shoving his pants and underwear down his lean thighs. We can go again after. She wraps her hand around his length and pumps a few times despite the fact that he's already hard enough for it to ache. All the while, he's still stuck on the things she said. We can go again after. Not only does she want him now, she already knows she'll want him again. I just want you now. That crucial part gave him the answers he'd been seeking for the past twenty-four hours since he pinned her to the wall at the country club and fucked her hard enough to make the framed paintings shake on their hooks. I just want you now. It was life-altering for her too.

As he angles his hips just right to guide the broad tip of his cock into her, his fingers dig into her hips so hard, she'll be shocked if it doesn't bruise by tomorrow.

She uses the legs wrapped around his hips to push him further into her, and they both gasp at the sensation it brings them. Her heels press into the backs of his thighs, urging him to take whatever he wants from her whenever he wants it. It doesn't matter that the stretch she feels the further she urges him inside of her almost makes her have to bite down on her lip to contain a wince. Nothing matters to her except for getting as close to him as physically possible.

He lets out a low, drawn-out, "Oh fuckkk," under his breath as he sinks the rest of the way into her.

Their noses bump with every slight movement made or breath taken in, and she refuses to look away from his eyes. There's something inherently vulnerable about holding unwavering eye contact with him while he is buried in her to the hilt. The hands on his biceps slide up slowly until both of her arms are wrapped behind his neck to keep him from shying away from her at any point. This is the closeness she craved more than anything. Nothing else would do, not even having him on his knees for her.

It's a wonder that he doesn't come right away with how tightly the soft, warm walls of her pussy are squeezing around him. And when she bucks her hips up in a wordless request for him to move, he shakes his head.

Eyes clenched shut, Conrad murmurs, "I just need a second."

He feels her nod against his face, her nose nudging his cheek. For the next thirty or so seconds, he remains as still as possible. It's torture for him to stay this way and resist doing what comes naturally. Although it's for his sake, not hers, he struggles to keep a firm enough hold on his self-control. He keeps his eyes shut because he knows that if he looks at her, he won't stand a chance.

It isn't until the fire that blazed in the pit of his abdomen has calmed that he allows himself to look at her again. When he opens his eyes, she's already watching him. Her fingers twirl strands of his hair absentmindedly, and when she sees him open his eyes again, she closes the gap between their lips again.

This time, as his lips slot against hers, he draws away from her, pulling out until it's only his tip inside of her.

"You don't have to be gentle," she murmurs. "I can take it. I won't break."

His response comes in the form of him snapping his hips into her until he's gone as deep as she can take him. Despite her urging him to get rougher with her, she still gasps at the sudden intrusion and looks up at him with a wide-eyed stare of disbelief. Her past hook-ups were meaningless and unfulfilling. It happened during her freshman year at Trinity College while Conrad and Belly were dating. Considering what was going on at the time, she didn't plan to talk to either of them about it afterward, and, once it was as over, she didn't want to.

It was horrible.

It was the polar opposite of her first time with Conrad. Not only was it with an uncaring frat boy she met at a party her roommate dragged her to, it was uncomfortable. He didn't do anything other than get himself hard and stick it in, and with her nerves being so bad, it was already hard for her to get aroused. But it couldn't be any more different now. It couldn't be any more different with him.

It's rougher than it was initially, yet still slow and sensual. The hands on her hips guide her into a cadence to match his movements each time he thrusts into her, stifling the sound of his own low moans by smearing his mouth against hers. It's a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues brush, saliva coating their lips, and he makes sure there isn't a single part of her left un-worshiped tonight. Whether it be her neck, her collarbone, or her jaw, he pays every part of her the attention it deserves, partly for her sake and partly because he cannot help himself.

Their lips pull apart with a loud smacking sound, and he keeps his forehead pressed to hers as he looks into her eyes, head tilting just slightly to the side. One of his hands abandons its place at her hip to slide up the length of her torso. Her stomach flinches inward at the contact of his knuckles brushing her skin on the way past, but it's when he lets his hand flatten over her breast that she lets out a shaky exhale, He doesn't spend too much time there, though. After teasing her with a gentle squeeze, his hand wraps around the back of her neck for the sake of having control of where she looks, and, right now, he wants her to look at him as he admits something to her.

"I've dreamt about this," Conrad whispers.

He delights in her slack-mouthed expression when he ruts into her a touch faster and harder for the sake of seeing the expression on her face shift.

Somehow, she finds her voice and manages to stammer out, "I"—she is interrupted by the need to take in a sharp breath of air—"I thought..."

The hand on the back of her neck squeezes harder at the implication of her unfinished statement. It isn't necessary for her to continue the thought, he already knows what it means. I thought you dreamt about Belly. He did. He dreamt of Belly every night last summer, but it was Y/N who he dreamt of first.

She was the one who awakened these feelings within him for the first time. Being the oldest alongside him, she was the first to develop, and he didn't know what to do with the feelings that surfaced the summer she came back looking less like a girl and more like a woman. She was the first person he kissed, albeit for a game they played together, not Belly. Surely, he thought she had to know that it meant something to him too, but when he looks at her now, it's clear that he thought wrong.

His brows pinch together at the sensation of her tightening up around him, but his eyes are soft. Tender. Honest. He shakes his head. Just once.

"You were first," he says it so quickly, she almost misses it. "It was you."

That doesn't mean what he had with Belly meant nothing. In fact, it means the opposite. What he had with Belly was unlike anything he experienced before, but so is this. There is no way for Conrad to compare the two because what he feels for them is so solid yet different.

With Belly, he knew what he meant to her. He knew she put him on a pedestal her whole life and believed every word he said, so it was difficult not to feel an added pressure to live up to that standard. His heart broke when he ruined prom for her, but he did it because he thought he didn't deserve her.

With Y/N, they've always mirrored one another. Both the eldest in their respective families, gifted children, and sensitive in a way that troubled them more than most of their siblings and friends. Where everyone else misunderstood Conrad, she understood him. And it was never something that had to be acknowledged out loud or spoken of. It was a law of existence.

The summer before last, when Conrad got into reading as a result of Laurel gifting him a few of her favorite classics, he ended up insisting that Y/N read Wuthering Heights shortly after he finished it. Never having read for pleasure before, she thought she'd find it difficult to devote herself to it, but she should have known. She should have known that if he wanted her to read it, there were good reasons for it. Belly and the boys were having dinner with their moms when she finally got to his favorite line.

It was underlined in red ink, she noted, not pencil. Never to be erased or undone in any way. When she read it, she knew immediately that he'd done it for her. On the page, it read, "He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same," and that was the moment she knew she loved him.

Right now, as he kisses her and reaches down with the same hand that held her neck to rub her clit, it's all she can think of. So, she says it. She takes the vulnerable confession and offers one of her own in return.

"You were first for me too," she says breathlessly.

The contact of his fingertips brushing her most sensitive spot has her jolting against him in equal parts shock and pleasure. It instantly makes the feeling of him rocking into her at a steady pace all the more gratifying. What she said is fuel to the fire for him. It urges him on, chasing the weightless, stirring feeling inside of him with reckless abandon. He decides to trust what she said about being able to handle him not being gentle, because, truth be told, he can't control himself.

Conrad, lost in the haze, starts sucking at her neck after he leans down to kiss it. Everything outside of this house no longer exists to either of them, so it doesn't occur to them that they'll have to answer for the marks left behind on her come morning. No, all he can think of is what he feels for her and how he can possibly show her the full extent of it without telling her. This is the only way, he thinks. When he talks, he fucks everything up, but she has to know how he feels through this. After all, she's always had a sixth sense when it comes to him. Why should it be any different now?

Her fingers card through his hair and tug gently on the soft strands as she tips back her head and arches her body into him, gasping into the dark, empty kitchen. Even when he kisses his way back up to her lips, he remains trapped in the trance she put him under, taking every part of her for himself. It takes her crying out in bliss at the combined sensations of his fingers on her clit and the smooth, wet drag of his cock inside of her for him to meet her gaze again. This time, he doesn't dare look away. Neither does she.

Their eye contact never wavers as she murmurs, face twisted in pleasure, "Fuck, I think—"

Her sentence can't even be finished before she's coming undone from the next caress of his fingers against her.

The arms wrapped around the back of his neck pull him in as her body tenses up with the onset of her climax. Not only does he watch and listen as the euphoria washes over her, he feels it. He can feel her spasming around him, clenching and unclenching, through every powerful wave.

Her jaw has fallen open in a gape that allows every beautiful moan, gasp, and whine to escape into the space between their lips. And it's the sensation of her coming around him that threatens to send him over the edge, but he holds out for as long as he can. Both for the sake of helping her ride it out and prolonging his own orgasm.

He pulls out quickly out of fear of finishing inside and withdraws the fingers that were rubbing her clit to wrap them around his cock, stroking himself once, twice, three times until he comes with a breathy moan. Watching it drip down her trembling stomach heightens the swift pulses of pleasure, and when his body jerks involuntarily from how good it feels, the next rope of cum lands across the hickeys on her inner thighs. It's downright filthy, but he'll be damned if it isn't the most erotic thing he's ever seen in real life.

For a second, time is suspended to allow them both the chance to catch their breath and enjoy the comfort of each other's embrace. Her arms are still linked around him, trapping him in, and he lets his face fall forward onto her shoulder with a tired sigh. It's impossible for either of them to find words in the midst of their post-orgasmic bliss, so they don't bother trying. Much like how it has been for their lives preceding this moment, the silence is comfortable. There is no misunderstanding, awkwardness, or trying to fill the space with meaningless small talk.

Once the rapid rise and fall of their chests have evened out, Conrad pulls away from his cherished spot in the crook of her neck and kisses her one last time before coming back down to earth.

He's already pulling his pants back up before moving to get a few paper towels from the kitchen counter, telling her, "Stay there, I got it."

The sound of the tap turning on reaches her ears, then vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and it isn't long before Conrad is back in front of her. Every swipe of the damp wad of paper towel is gentle on his skin, carefully minding where she's particularly sensitive in the aftermath of what they did. As he wipes his release up from her stomach and thighs, he folds the towel in half to clean her again, then, once he's finished, he leans down with one hand cupped underneath her thigh and presses a kiss to one of the marks he left behind.

Her face burns hot at this, but she tries not to let it rattle her brave face.

"You're lucky I like you so much," she says, tilting her head to show him her neck, "cause this is gonna be impossible to hide."

He can't even stop the smirk from crossing his face at the sight of her freshly bruised skin. Yet, he doesn't answer right away. He simply continues to smile to himself and walks around the island she's perched on, digging in the freezer for something for the next moment or so. When he returns, he's holding up a bag of frozen peas as though it is a coveted trophy.

"This will help," he says and gently presses the cold bag over the spot on her neck. "Thank you, by the way."

She blinks at him.

"For what?"

His shoulders pull up in a shrug as he tries to find the right way to word it without it sounding like he's only talking about the sex.

"For everything." He says softly, rubbing the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "Sometimes, I feel like you don't know what you mean to me."

The room has been plunged into silence since they stopped moaning, panting, and joining their bodies together. All that can be heard over their voices is the music next door, as well as loud voices speaking in the back and front yard. In here, though, it's just them, and he can hear how her breath hitches in her throat at what he said.

"It was confusing last summer, but ever since you underlined that part in the book you gave me, I've known. At least to some extent," she admits. "I knew you did that for me."

He nods.

"I did."

There's a long pause, then—

She breaks her gaze with him and looks down at the floor, smiling like an idiot at the thought of what has transpired in the last forty-eight hours. Seeing her clothes in a pile on the floor prompts her to take the frozen peas from him and jump down from her seat on the counter.

As explanation, she says, holding the bag to her neck, "We should probably get back to the party before anyone notices we're gone."

He casts a quick glance to the counter where they fucked for a second before looking at her again.

"And probably clean that."

A giggle escapes her when he says this.

"Yeah, we definitely should."

-

Hello! Finally wrote a Conrad fic! If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you want to be added to a tag list for future Conrad fics, let me know as well. Thank you.

[cailinsblog]

The Long Shot | arber xhekaj

Arber xhekaj x reader

Arber Xhekaj had always been focused on his game. The rink was his sanctuary, where nothing else mattered except the sharp sound of skates on ice and the rush of adrenaline as the puck glided across the surface. But there was one thing—one person—that had started to distract him.

Y/N.

She wasn’t a player. She wasn’t even a fan in the traditional sense. Y/N was a photographer, the one who captured every moment of the Montreal Canadiens’ journey through lens and light. Her job was to freeze the action in time, making sure that every slapshot, every save, every goal was immortalized for fans to relive over and over again.

And every time Arber saw her, he felt his heart skip a beat.

It wasn’t just her professionalism or the way she moved behind the camera. No, it was something about the way she seemed to see the world, the quiet confidence with which she carried herself, and the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. Arber was used to being in the spotlight—he was a defenseman for the Canadiens, after all—but whenever Y/N was near, he felt a nervous excitement he couldn’t shake.

It had started with stolen glances, then small conversations before and after practice. He’d tried to keep his feelings hidden, focusing on the game, but it wasn’t easy. Not when he could feel the warmth of her presence every time she stepped into the rink, camera in hand.

One evening, before a big home game against the Toronto Maple Leafs, Arber finally decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

The team was warming up, stretching on the ice, getting ready for the big match, but Arber had one more thing to take care of. He skated off to the sidelines, noticing Y/N standing by the boards, snapping shots of the players.

Taking a deep breath, he skated over to her, his heart racing as she glanced up from her camera.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, a little more nervously than he would’ve liked.

“Hey, Arber,” she smiled, lowering the camera. “How’s it feel to be back on home ice?”

“Great, but…” he paused, unsure how to phrase this without sounding ridiculous. “I’ve got a small favor to ask.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s up?”

Arber hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Would you… would you wear my jersey during the game? Just for tonight.”

She blinked at him, momentarily taken aback. “Your jersey?”

“Yeah.” Arber rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I thought it might be cool if, you know, you wore it while you’re taking pictures. You could show everyone my name. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Y/N laughed softly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Is this some sort of secret fan request, or are you just being sweet?”

“Maybe a little of both,” he admitted, a sheepish grin forming. “But yeah, it would mean a lot to me if you did.”

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze flickering to the ice and then back to Arber. “Alright. I’ll do it. But only because it’s you.”

Arber’s face lit up with a grin. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

Y/N turned to go change, and as Arber skated back to the locker room, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. This was silly, he knew it. But for some reason, the thought of her wearing his name on her back made him feel like the luckiest guy on the ice.

---

The game was electric, the crowd buzzing with energy as the Canadiens faced off against their longtime rivals. The atmosphere was electric, but even in the midst of it all, Arber couldn’t keep his eyes off the sidelines.

There she was, Y/N, snapping photos of the action, her camera clicking away like a machine gun. But what caught his attention more than anything was the fact that she was wearing *his* jersey. It wasn’t just any jersey—it was his #45, the number of a guy who usually had his name plastered across the back of a jersey in bright letters.

But this time, it was Y/N’s back that displayed the name "XHEKAJ."

She looked amazing in it. The jersey was a little big on her, but it gave her an effortlessly cool vibe, and Arber couldn’t stop smiling as he noticed the long letters of his last name stretching across her back. It felt like his heart was pounding in his chest, and every time she clicked the shutter, he felt like she was capturing something more than just the game—something between them.

---

By the end of the night, the Canadiens had won, and Arber’s energy was through the roof. But as the players made their way off the ice, his focus was on one thing: finding Y/N.

When he spotted her, he made a beeline toward her, his heart racing once more. Y/N was packing up her gear, but as soon as she saw him, her face lit up.

“Great game,” she said, smiling brightly. “You were awesome out there.”

Arber stepped closer, his voice suddenly serious. “I meant what I said earlier.”

Y/N frowned slightly, not sure what he was talking about.

“About the jersey,” he continued. “I wasn’t just trying to be cute. I—”

Before he could finish his thought, Y/N cut him off, stepping closer to him with a smile. “Arber, you don’t need to explain. I get it.”

She looked down at his jersey on her, then up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I kind of liked the idea of wearing it. It felt… special.”

Arber’s heart did a little flip. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It made me feel like part of something bigger. Like we were connected, even in the middle of a game.”

The tension between them hung in the air for a moment, neither of them saying anything, until Y/N took a deep breath and added, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but… I think I’m falling for you, Arber.”

His eyes widened, surprised by her words. “Really?”

“Really,” she said softly. “I think I’ve had a crush on you since the first time we talked.”

Arber let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Funny,” he said with a grin, “I think I’ve had a crush on you even longer.”

And with that, he reached out and gently took her hand in his, the connection between them now undeniable. The game, the jersey, the photos—it had all led to this moment.

And as Arber pulled Y/N close, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, sometimes the long shot was worth taking.

[saintzweig]

I’m back. are you sick of me yet. anyway!! I’ve been OBSESSED with the idea of patrick studying law, like idk that just makes so much sense and with that I propose to you: patrick on the mock trial team, or speech and debate. all of the guys on the tennis team think he’s a fucking NERD for doing it, art thinks it’s cool tho! tashi is his go to for practicing his debates before tournaments and she purposely plays devils advocate to piss him off majorly. BUTT going back to u saying reader being a like.. journalism major and working for the campus newspaper, imagine her covering a speech and debate thing and seeing patrick and being like, hm fuckin nerd, but then she goes to a tennis match the next week (bc a friend of hers is like. obsessed with art or some other guy on the team) and then she realizes that guy on the speech and debate team is on the tennis team and he’s like, actually really hot. and then that night she’s at a frat party and she’s getting pulled into a bathroom by a hot as hell guy and, surprise surprise, it’s patrick again. he writes his phone number on some university promotional flier for speech and debate in bright blue pen (using art’s back as a table) and she dies right then and there (and every weekend after when his cock is in her mouth for “stress relief”) - 🎾

(I fear I need to come out of fanfic writing retirement.)

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONGG i thought about this hard with the very little juice left in my brain. not proofread bc its 3am ... might make the smut part a whole fic :")

you walked into the auditorium, a ‘stanford daily’ id hanging from your neck and a DSLR camera in your hands as you made your way through the sparse crowd to your assigned seat. you're in your third year of uni and elected co-editor in chief at the standford daily, so your job is mostly looking over the process and production of the weekly paper– this meant that you haven't been assigned to cover an event in a while given that you were the one assigning them. but the student who was supposed to cover this debate got sick, and no one else was available so you took it upon yourself to do the job. 

you were surprised to see tashi duncan and art donaldson a few rows in front of you, talking amongst themselves. they're well known on campus, being on the tennis team. you haven't seen or read anything about their life outside of the court, but why a debate event on a tuesday morning? were they that bored? or do they genuinely think that these events are entertaining? 

your unspoken questions were answered when the debate team was called to the stage, and there stood patrick zweig with a smug look on his face. you've never seen him in person before but he was a usual subject in the paper– being a reckless and easily agitated but damn good tennis player. now you're finding out that not only is he on the debate team, he is the captain. and a pre-law student? does this guy come from money or is he just a fucking nerd. 

you've always thought debates to be boring, even if you're a liberal arts student. but patrick zweig proved you wrong. it was mesmerizing to watch how smooth he was with his arguments, he knew the right words to say, the right points to make and the right buttons to push. he riled his opponents up but in a way that doesn't cross the line and break the rules. it was mesmerizing to watch him smirk, as if he found joy in proving others that they're wrong. you didn't even notice that you're on the edge of your seat, squeezing your thighs together. 

you brought the camera up to your face, squinting as you focused the lens on the members of the debate team. and as your camera pans over to patrick, he was already looking directly at you. smirking as he watched you falter for a moment before snapping the photo. you left in a rush as soon as the event ended, heart racing against your will. what the fuck was that? 

two weeks later, you find yourself being dragged by your best friend to a tennis game on campus. stanford versus pepperdine. the men's team are playing today and your best friend bribed you with food to get you to come with her and cheer art donaldson on. the first match started and it was a doubles, art and patrick versus two players from the opposing side. if the sight of patrick defeating his opponents in uniform got your heart racing, be prepared to see him do it in shorts. his thighs were godly and you couldn't take your eyes off it. 

you finally saw him play, seeing his personality on court that everyone was talking about. his serves were unusual but his backhands were fucking hypnotizing. the sounds of the ball being hit back and forth vibrating in your ears, your heart almost exploded when you heard how loud his grunts were as he plays. like before, you found yourself at the edge of your seat, squeezing your thighs together. 

during the break, patrick took the time to scan the crowd before his eyes landed on yours. your mouth gapes slightly open as you feel him stare into you, his lips parted and wrapped around the mouth of his water bottle, the liquid dripping down his chin. he wiped it away, sending you a wink. you don't think you've seen anyone this hot before. 

as if dragging you to a tennis game wasn't enough, you found yourself in a party at some random house that you (unwillingly) and your friend crashed. however, as soon as you walked in, she was taken out of your grasp into a bedroom by her situationship, leaving you to your own devices. you decided to grab a cup of the horribly sweet yet bitter punch in the kitchen before making your way through the house, dragging your fingertips against the wall and feeling the vibration of the music. 

you yelp as someone grasped at your arm and pulled you into the bathroom, the punch nearly spilling all over them. it was patrick, smirking down on you as he crossed his arms, flexing his biceps against the fabric of his polo shirt. “you're a journalist, right?” his voice was soft towards you, unlike the tone he used in the debate and unlike the rasp when he yelled victory during the game. 

you nod, a tinge of pink dusting your cheeks. he smiled at your appearance, you look so tiny next to him and the way you looked up at him, jesus. 

he grabbed a pen from his pocket, placing the cap between his lips as he pulled it off. he takes your arm, pants tightening as he took in the size difference of your arm against his. he chuckles lowly, scribbling his number on your arm. you only stared at him, the proximity making your core throb. “call me, yeah?” he smirks, patting your cheek gently with his large hand before exiting the bathroom. leaving you frozen and aching. 

[nicnak20]

Period stains and growing pains:

*When young Vivian gets her period, she worries over her father, Nicholas's reaction and struggles with the concept of growing up. Nicholas on the other hand, is trying to figure out Vivian's little secret and trying to find what to say in this precious moment.*

The warmth of the morning sun streamed through Vivian’s floral curtains, painting stripes of light across her bedroom floor. She stretched, a sleepy smile gracing her lips, the kind only an eleven-year-old on summer vacation could possess. Life, at this moment, felt uncomplicated, filled with the promise of bike rides, ice cream trips, and maybe, just maybe, finally mastering that tricky skateboarding move she’d been working on.

Then, a discomforting stickiness brought her back to reality. A trip to the bathroom confirmed her dawning suspicion, a wave of unfamiliar panic washing over her. There it was, a small stain, but a significant one, whispering of changes she wasn't sure she was ready for.

Vivian sank onto the edge of the bathtub, her brow furrowed. She vaguely remembered hushed whispers between her friends, giggles and exchanged knowing glances she hadn't quite understood. Periods. The word felt heavy, adult, something that belonged to the ‘big girls’ in her class, the ones who wore training bras and talked about crushes with an air of confidence Vivian admired and envied in equal measure.

Her eyes drifted to the framed photograph on the counter – a picture of her and her father, Nicholas, taken just last summer. He was holding her high on his shoulders at the beach, his dark brown hair, always slicked neatly back, ruffled by the sea breeze. His brown eyes, the same shade as hers, were crinkled at the corners with a happiness that mirrored her own wide grin. He looked…younger in that photo, somehow. Or maybe she just saw him differently now, through the lens of this new, slightly scary reality.

Nicholas. Just the thought of telling him sent a flutter of anxiety through her stomach. He was her rock, her confidant, the one who could fix anything with a comforting hug and a few wise words. He taught her how to ride her bike, patiently held her hand through scary movies, and always knew the right stories to tell when she couldn't fall asleep. But this…this felt different. This felt like a step into a world that was inherently…female. A woman's rite of passage, wasn't that what the older girls called it? And Nicholas…he was a man. Would he even understand? Would he look at her differently? Would he suddenly see her as less his ‘little girl’?

The thought made her heart clench. She loved being his little girl. She loved the special nicknames he had for her, the way he still read her bedtime stories sometimes, even though she was ‘practically a teenager’ according to her best friend, Maya. This felt like a betrayal of that innocent, carefree world they shared.

At eleven, Vivian was perched on the edge of childhood, one foot tentatively reaching for the shores of adolescence. Nicholas saw it in the subtle shifts – a newfound interest in her appearance, whispered conversations with friends that abruptly ceased when he entered the room, the occasional roll of her eyes that he pretended not to notice. He knew, intellectually, that this was inevitable, this blossoming into her own person. But emotionally, he still saw the little girl who used to clamber onto his lap, demanding stories and leaving sticky fingerprints on his shirt.

He was a father, first and foremost. His life revolved around Vivian since her mother passed away when she was a toddler. He’d learned to braid hair, navigate the treacherous waters of sleepovers, and decipher the cryptic language of pre-teen fashion trends. He’d done it all with a patience that surprised even himself, fueled by a love so deep it ached sometimes.

Throughout the day, Vivian moved with a newfound awareness of her body, a constant, low-humming anxiety in the background. She’d managed to discreetly deal with the initial evidence, stuffing the stained underwear deep into the laundry hamper, hoping against hope it would just magically disappear. She felt a pang of guilt for being secretive with her father, a feeling so unfamiliar it made her uncomfortable.

Nicholas, as always, was observant. He noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor – the slight slump in her shoulders, the way she picked at her food at dinner, the unusual quietness that replaced her usual chatter.

“Everything alright, Vivi-bird?” he asked gently, placing a hand on her back as he cleared the table.

Vivian flinched slightly at the nickname, a wave of bittersweetness washing over her. “Yeah, Dad. Just tired.” It felt like a lie, heavy and clumsy on her tongue.

He studied her for a moment, his brow furrowed with concern. “You seem a little off today. Anything you want to talk about?”

Her heart pounded in her chest. This was her chance. She could tell him. She could just blurt it out and get it over with. But the words caught in her throat. The fear of changing things, of shattering the comfortable dynamic they had, held her captive.

“Nope,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just a long day.”

Nicholas didn’t push, his inherent patience a comforting presence. “Alright, sweetheart. But you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know, Dad,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

The next morning passed in a comfortable silence, filled with the rustling of the Sunday paper and the soft hum of the city outside their window. They went to the park, Vivian practicing her skateboarding while Nicholas watched from a nearby bench, his gaze never straying far. He felt a pang of melancholy watching her navigate the ramps, her movements becoming more fluid, more confident. It was a good thing, a sign of growth, but it also marked another step away from the little girl who wobbled on training wheels, her tiny hand gripping his tightly.

That evening, as Nicholas was preparing dinner, he noticed a small stain on Vivian’s jeans, folded neatly in her laundry basket. It was a brownish-reddish mark, faint but unmistakable. His heart skipped a beat. His mind raced through possibilities – a scraped knee, perhaps? But the location…

He gently picked up the jeans, examining the stain more closely. A cold dread washed over him, mixed with a strange sense of… inevitability. This was it, wasn’t it? The thing he knew was coming, but somehow hoped would hold off just a little longer.

He carefully placed the jeans back in the basket, his mind buzzing. He felt a wave of conflicting emotions. A surge of protectiveness – she was so young. A pang of sadness – his little girl was growing up. And a surprising amount of… awkwardness. How did one even broach this subject? He’d read books, of course, prepared himself as best he could, but theory was vastly different from reality.

For the next few days, Vivian became a master of avoidance. She found herself spending more time in her room, poring over books, anything to distract herself from the growing reality. She raided the bathroom cabinet, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar boxes of tampons and pads her mother had discreetly stocked before she passed away a few years ago. They seemed like foreign objects, symbols of a future she wasn’t quite sure how to navigate.

One afternoon, while retrieving a dropped pencil from under her bed, Vivian knocked over a box she’d been using to hide her evidence – a small, crumpled tissue stained with the tell-tale sign. Panic flared in her chest. What if Nicholas found it?

Later that evening, as Nicholas was putting away laundry, his gaze fell upon a small, slightly bloodied tissue tucked amongst Vivian’s clothes. His heart skipped a beat. He recognized the signs. He'd been expecting this, in a way, but the realization that it was happening, that his little girl was growing up, brought a lump to his throat.

He carefully folded the tissue and placed it discreetly in his pocket. He knew Vivian. He knew her quiet anxieties, her fear of the unknown. He knew this was something she was grappling with on her own. He decided against a direct confrontation. He wouldn't corner her, he wouldn't make her feel embarrassed or ashamed. He would wait for her to come to him.

That night, Vivian was unusually quiet at dinner. She picked at her food, her eyes darting around the room, avoiding his. He tried to engage her in conversation, asking about school, her friends, anything to break the tension he felt simmering beneath the surface.

“How was art class today?” he asked, his voice deliberately light.

“Fine,” she mumbled, pushing a piece of broccoli around her plate.

“Did Mr. Henderson show you any new techniques?”

“Uh-huh.”

The monosyllabic answers were unusual for Vivian, who usually regaled him with tales of her day, filled with the dramas and triumphs of fifth grade. He could feel her withdrawing, building an invisible wall between them.

Later, as he tucked her into bed, he lingered for a moment, watching her in the soft glow of the nightlight. Her face was pale, her brow slightly furrowed. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, to offer comfort, but the words caught in his throat. He felt a strange paralysis, a fear of shattering the delicate peace of the moment.

“Night, Dad,” she whispered, her eyes closed.

“Night, Vivi-bug,” he replied softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

He lay in bed that night, sleep eluding him. He thought about Vivian, about the changes she was going through, the secrets she was keeping. He understood her hesitation, the feeling that this was something “grown-up,” something that belonged to the world of women, a world she might feel he wouldn’t understand. And maybe, a small, selfish part of him admitted, he didn’t want to understand. He liked things the way they were, their comfortable routine, their easy companionship.

The next few days were filled with a strange dance of avoidance. Vivian became even more withdrawn, spending more time in her room, the door often closed. Nicholas tried to give her space, but his concern grew with each passing day. He saw the way she subtly adjusted her clothing, the furtive trips to the bathroom. He knew, but he waited, respecting her privacy, hoping she would confide in him when she was ready.

The next morning, he made a conscious effort to be even more present, more attentive. He made her favorite pancakes for breakfast, filled with chocolate chips, just the way she liked them. He listened intently as she recounted a funny story from school. He even offered to help her practice her skateboarding, knowing how much she wanted to land that new trick.

After a particularly frustrating attempt on the skateboard, Vivian sat down on the curb, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Nicholas sat beside her, not saying a word, just offering a comforting presence.

“It’s just not working, Dad,” she said, her voice thick with frustration.

“Some things take time, Vivi-bird,” he said gently. “Sometimes you stumble, sometimes you fall. But you get back up and try again.”

He paused, then added softly, “Growing up is a bit like that too, you know. There will be new things, things that might feel a little scary or confusing at first. But you’ll figure them out, one step at a time.”

Vivian looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and dawning understanding. Did he know? Could he possibly know?

Then came Friday. Nicholas was working from home when he heard a muffled sob coming from Vivian’s room. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t want to intrude, but the sound was filled with such distress that he couldn’t ignore it.

He gently knocked on her door. “Vivi? Are you okay?”

There was a moment of silence, then a small, tearful voice. “Go away, Dad.”

His heart ached. This was it. He knew it in his bones.

“Honey, please. Let me in.”

After another moment of hesitation, the door creaked open. Vivian stood there, her face blotchy and red, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was clutching her stomach, her body shaking.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice filled with concern, resisting the urge to pull her into a hug immediately.

“It… it hurts,” she choked out, her voice thick with tears. “Really bad.”

He gently led her to her bed, sitting beside her and pulling her close. She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. He held her tight, stroking her hair, murmuring soothing words, his mind racing. He suspected what was happening, but he wanted her to tell him.

After a few minutes, her sobs subsided slightly. She pulled back a little, her eyes red and swollen.

“Dad,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I… I think something’s wrong with me.”

He looked at her, his heart aching with a mixture of empathy and understanding. He knew this was hard for her, this vulnerability, this fear.

“What is it, Vivi-bug?” he asked softly, his voice calm and reassuring.

She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I… I got my period.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Nicholas felt a wave of relief wash over him, followed by a surge of tenderness. She had finally told him.

He took her hand, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “That’s not wrong. That’s… that’s part of growing up. It means you’re becoming a young woman.”

Vivian looked at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “But… but I didn’t want to tell you. I thought… I thought you’d still see me as your little girl.”

Nicholas’s heart squeezed. He understood. He truly did.

“Oh, Vivi,” he said gently, pulling her into another hug. “You will always be my little girl. Always. But that doesn’t mean I can’t also be proud of the young woman you’re becoming.”

He held her close, letting her cry, letting her process. He didn’t offer solutions or lectures, just his presence, his unwavering love.

Later, after Vivian had calmed down and showered, feeling a little more in control, they talked. He answered her questions, his voice patient and understanding. He explained what was happening to her body, reassured her that it was normal, healthy, and nothing to be ashamed of.

He saw the relief in her eyes, the tension melting away. She had been carrying this burden alone, afraid of disappointing him, afraid of changing their relationship.

“So… you’re not mad?” she asked tentatively.

Nicholas smiled, his heart overflowing with love for this brave, blossoming young woman. “Mad? Sweetheart, I’m just… I’m just so proud of you for telling me."

Later that evening, as Vivian was getting ready for bed, she found a small, neatly wrapped package on her pillow. Inside, nestled amongst soft tissue paper, was a box of brightly colored sanitary pads and a small, beautifully illustrated book about puberty, written in a gentle and informative way. Tucked inside the book was a handwritten note.

My Dearest Vivian,

Growing up is an adventure, and sometimes adventures bring new experiences and new changes. These changes are perfectly natural and a sign of you becoming the amazing young woman you are meant to be. There’s nothing to be scared or ashamed of. Remember, I’m always here for you, for anything. No question is silly, no worry is too small. I love you more than words can say.

Love, Dad.

Tears welled up in Vivian’s eyes as she read the note. Not tears of fear or embarrassment, but tears of relief and love. He knew. And he wasn’t angry or disgusted. He was…understanding. He was supportive. He was still her dad.

A wave of guilt washed over her for keeping this from him. He had always been there for her, through everything. Why had she doubted him?

Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room where Nicholas was reading. He looked up, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

Vivian walked straight over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight. “Thank you, Dad,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Nicholas hugged her back, his heart swelling with love. “For what, sweetheart?”

Vivian pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushed. “For…for understanding. And for the book.”

He met her gaze, his brown eyes filled with warmth and tenderness. “There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about, Vivi-bird. This is a part of growing up. And I’m so proud of the young lady you’re becoming.”

The nickname, ‘Vivi-bird’, didn't sting this time. It felt comforting, familiar, a reminder that even though she was changing, some things would always remain the same. She was still his daughter, his beloved little girl, and now, also, a young woman taking her first steps on a new path, a path he would walk beside her, every step of the way. The fear had melted away, replaced by a profound sense of love and security. She wasn't alone in this. She had her dad. And that was all that mattered.

[rise-my-angel]

every fucking person in this fandom hates brandon and i have no idea why 😭 like sure, barbrey dustin alluded that he liked sex rough but that doesn't make anyone evil. i cant believe that's something i have to explain to people. people forget that 1) barbrey was talking about it as something she enjoyed 2) she was only guessing that brandon liked it too 3) barbrey dustin is by no means an objective account of anything. seriously people are so quick to hate on him when hes a dead man who is rarely talked about 💀💀 the only times we recieve any actual info about him is either from the mouth of his lover whos a bitter old widow, the words of the obsessive maniac who challenged him to a duel and was severely beat up, or in the thoughts of his heavily traumatised brother. none of whom can serve as objective outlooks as to what kind of person he was, his traits and complexities. the guy is dead. the only concrete thing we know about him is that he was arrested for trying to save his little sister and was murdered when trying to save his father. which is enough for me.

I think because we never know anything of Brandon until after he's dead, it's really easy for people to project onto him.

A lot of people I think take what they perceive as flaws in the Starks and put them all onto him as if he was the epitome of everything wrong with the Starks, when in reality the most notable thing Brandon did in his life, was not hesitate to ride to Kings Landing to save his sister, and was murdered for it.

He got into a duel and mutiliated Petyr Baelish for life? Well, Petyr personally challenged him first, and when Brandon won, instead of killing him as is tradtion for that sort of challenge, he listened to the pleading of his betrothed, and spared his life. Yes he left a scar, but the alternative was ending his life and Brandon chose to fufill the wish of the woman he was going to marry, telling us that he valued Catelyn's wishes and did things to make her happy.

Barbrey Dustin is an unreliable narrator, because she is so bitter towards the Starks and Ned specifically, that it is very hard to know what she says is real and what is being said after being built up in her mind for decades of bitter resentment. She resented that Rickard Stark didnt betroth Brandon to her, and I think she somewhat resented the fact that he didn't fight it and he happily accepted the to be wife he was to have in Catelyn. Barbrey has a very skewed image of Brandon because she refuses to see him in any light but through the bitter lens of once lovers, instead of seeing him as the man he was outside of her.

Ned feels guilt that he wasn't closer with Brandon. The only reason they weren't as close was because they were both sent by their father as wards to two far away places. Brandon in Barrowton where he met Barbrey, and Ned in the Eyrie. He wishes they had more time together and it's clearly why he doesn't send any of his children away as wards. Brandon is literally the reason why Ned raises Jon and Robb the way he does. He wants Jon and Robb to be what he and Brandon never had a chance to be, each others closest companions. Ned would've stood by Brandons side as his closest advisor and he raised Jon to be that for Robb because he wanted them to have what he and Brandon didnt get a chance too. Ned knew Brandon best, he wouldn't wish he could've had those chances if Brandon were a bad person.

We know so little of his person, but a lot of people project their greivances onto him and exaggerate the details as if to justify why they hate him so much. In reality, we don't know enough about Brandon to say what he was truly like, but it also means we don't know enough about him to actually hate him.

They hate what they've decided he stands for, and not what he's actually done. Which is bravely ride to face the royal family beside his father to rescue his little sister, and died for it.

People think we don't know enough about Brandon to like him, but we do know enough about Brandon, to understand why you shouldn't hate him. But people do anyways, because thats easier then acually crediting that Brandon was probably a man who was nuanced and multi layered and not the short tempered meat head womanizer people have decided was all he ever was.

[shyvioletcat]

Sometimes when life gives you lemons you just have to write a self indulgent fic to make yourself feel better. this is another late submission for @throneofglassmicrofics. This one is for PHOTOSHOOT. Don't word count check me on this one.

Part 2

~~~~~

The wall of the small loft studio was cool on Rowan’s back as he waited for the set to finish being dressed. He’d already prepped his equipment, all his cameras were charged and ready to go. The focus of the room was a large bed tastefully dressed in expensive sheets, the backdrop a blank beige wall that would provide the neutrality. Rowan had a cursory say in the set, but it was his job as the photographer to work with what he was given. And he did a damn good job of it.

Rowan had enough self awareness to admit that he thought lingerie shoots were beneath him. More often than not they were tacky and overtly objective of the female form. But the way he was being overpaid was ludicrous just to make sure they got him and he’d just had a lens dropped by a clumsy assistant. The money was opportunely offered and wouldn’t go to waste. 

Heels clicked on the wooden floors, announcing the arrival of whoever Rowan was meant to be photographing. When he saw exactly who it was he stood a little straighter, surprised and more than a little excited about the shoot now. 

Aelin Galathynius walked onto set and he could feel the energy change. Besides her stunning beauty she had a presence that held the entire focus of the room, and it was part of the reason she had made such an impact as a model. Her career had started in her teens and had exploded onto every format imaginable. She’d been a cover-girl countless times, had people bidding outrageous amounts to have her as the face of their product. Aelin was the best of the best. And she knew it. 

She strutted around with unabashed confidence, even though she wore nothing more than expensive red lace strung between hems on satin. A short, thin, gauzy robe offered some semblance of modesty, but Rowan knew for a fact that Aelin wasn’t a shy woman. They’d worked together a multitude of times and their banter had progressively tilted towards flirtation. He couldn’t help himself, not when her wit was as disarmingly sharp as her beauty. They might even be considered friends, or maybe it was just friendly colleagues. 

A make-up artist was touching up Aelin’s face when her manager approached her. Arobynn Hamel was infamous within the industry, a man who could make or break a career on a whim. Much like other men of his position, he was fucking vile. Rowan watched as Hamel snapped at the make-up artist and invaded Aelin’s personal space like he owned it, like he owned her. Aelin didn’t flinch or recoil, either too brave or used to his behaviour. It made Rowan want to punch him in the face. 

Hamel said something and Rowan might have openly applauded the eye roll Aelin gave in response. Her unwavering fire is what gave her the edge to survive in this world. Then her eyes travelled across the loft and landed on Rowan. “You ready to get this party started, Whitethorn?”

There was no point in delaying, so Rowan headed over to his equipment. Meanwhile, Aelin prepped too, dropping her robe onto a fold out chair and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked like a vision, with her golden hair set in soft waves cascading down her back, that barely there underwear accentuating her curves. With her looking like that, this photoshoot might be harder to get through than he thought. 

“When you’re ready,” Rowan said as he dropped the strap around his neck and readied his camera.

Aelin was damn near flawless. She was so expressive, she could capture you through the camera with just a shift of her eyes, a tilt of her smile, her image could sell anything. And her manager knew it and exploited it. Hamel was the worst kind of man imaginable. Over his career there had been multiple allegations brought up against him, it was only his money and influence that saved him. Right now the way he was ogling Aelin and outright yelling directions at her made Rowan’s skin crawl. It was unsettling Aelin too, he could see it in the tightness of her body—how her face was never quite relaxed. The pervert was ruining his shoot. 

“We need to close the set,” Rowan announced. “Now.”

“She’s fine,” Arobynn said curtly. 

Rowan put his hands on his hips and turned slowly. “Everyone here is disrupting the creative vibe of the shoot. Hurry up and leave or I will.”

There was a firm promise in Rowan’s voice and a few people were already moving. Hamel was ready for a fight but Aelin backed up the request.

“You know these creative types,” she said, making it sound like an insult. “Full of bullish stubbornness, he won’t stop until he gets his way.”

Aelin’s disdain seemed to please Arobynn, but even then he reluctantly left. Rowan just turned his back and waited. Aelin was sitting on the bed, her eyes fixed on him. When that door finally shut, the sound echoing in the now nearly empty loft, she smiled.

”Well, that was a neat little trick.”

Rowan shrugged. “You were uncomfortable, doesn’t make for good photos.”

”Oh, this is all about your job is it?” Aelin taunted. 

Rowan gave her a look that said she wasn’t about to get a rise out of him and no, this wasn’t just about his job and she knew it. 

Aelin fluffed out her hair and tossed her shoulders back. “Let’s have some fun then, shall we?”

With a sigh she fell on the bed, sweeping her arms out and arching her back. It was hard to watch her writhing on the sheets, it was like a fantasy come to life. 

“Pick up your camera, Rowan.” The way she said his name had his skin feeling tighter. There was a huskiness to it that sounded like it belonged to the deep, dark hours of the night. “You have a job to do.”

Five minutes in, Rowan knew that Aelin was determined to torture him, slowly, painfully. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her directly, it was safer through the camera. Kept a barrier between them because Aelin wasn’t playing around. With just the two of them she let her inhibitions go. Her hands wandered over her body, lingering dangerously over, and sometimes beneath, edges of satin. It couldn’t be helped the way the camera tracked the path over her exposed cleavage, or when her nails raked up her thigh. And then there were the looks she was giving him—she was determined to unravel him completely. 

They weren’t far off gazes at nothing, she looked right down the lens, right at him. This is what Rowan imagined she might look like if she were to beg for his touch, and if he did touch her and she was caught in the throes of how good he could make her feel. Something about her looks felt like a challenge. Or maybe it was a promise. Whatever it was, his jeans had been uncomfortably tight for longer than he was brave enough to admit.

‘I think that’ll do it,” Rowan said, his voice thick and Aelin definitely noticed. He could tell from the wicked grin he gave her as she strutted across the room, barely wearing a thing. When Rowan realised he was tracking her every step he snapped his gaze away. 

He was in such deep, unending shit. 

~~~~~

this does have a mostly wriiten second part *sly smile*

[levi501ackerman]

Here Before and After Me | Hange x Reader Fluff

masterlist

Summary: Levi overheard another conversation the night before retaking Wall Maria. He didn’t know that his best friend had someone special to them.

Word Count: 1.4k

Megan's Note: Song correlation: "My Love Mine All Mine" by Mitski. FINALS ARE DONE I GOT ALL As THIS SEMESTER!! I have two weeks before summer semester and vacations start!!! I will be writing more!! I still write for Levi <3 I just want to write a little for Hange because I want her strap! Posted: 5/16/24

As Levi sat against the wall, he thought about Armin’s words. Could there really be a sea and it's full of salt? These kids are full of dreams. The stars were brighter than usual and it reminded him of the first night he saw stars. Levi thought about how far he had come. How many he has lost. He ached at the intrusive thought of every comrade he couldn’t save. If the sea were real, Erwin would want to be there. They’re so close. When they go back to Shiganshina and retake Wall Maria they will be able to see what else is beyond the wall. He didn’t want to admit it, but he would do anything for Erwin, Hange, Eren, and his squad to discover what was out there. Together. 

Levi heard a thump in the distance. He looked over his shoulder to see hair he recognized, kissing another person against the wall. It looked like another girl. Was Hange kissing a girl? How drunk was Hange? When Hange pulled away he saw your face. He’s seen you before. When Miche was alive you were in his squad. Levi barely recalled seeing you around Hange. He remembered you being one of the scouts who fired a cannon at the female titan in the forest. Were you drunk? 

He felt embarrassed hearing his best friend Hange and you make out and whimpering. Levi should not be hearing this. Hange pulled away and pressed her forehead against yours, you both were catching your breath. 

“Can I say something selfish?” Hange whispered. 

“What’s the matter, Hange?” Your inner eyebrows subtly went up and Levi watched Hange take her hands off your waist and trailed down your arms to hold both your hands in hers. Levi never heard of his friend being involved with anyone. He had never seen her flirt with you and when has this begun? Hange exhaled longingly. 

“It’s selfish . . . but sometimes I dream of running away from this . . .” Hange started and though she looked down, you fondly looked through the lens of her glasses, into her eyes. “I’ve thought about you and I . . . Somewhere safe. Like maybe in a cabin in a forest . . . and no one knows where we are.” Hange sniffed. Levi saw you and Hange’s softness. He could tell Hange cared about you and was sincere. She wasn’t drunk. Levi knew he should not be hearing your private conversation. She rubbed one of your arms gently. “I want to be selfish and have a life with you . . . I dream of you and I married. You could read your books, grow the flowers you’ve always talked about, cook, and do whatever you want. I could take care of us. We’d be safe.”  

Levi sighed. Hange had someone special. He did not know Hange had this side of her hidden away. She always been open and enthusiastic about the people and things she loves. Hange kept you deep in her heart, protected from harm. 

“Hange, you’re going to make me cry . . .” Your admiration was clear. Hange kissed you harder and grabbed your face. Levi looked away, back at the wall, pretending he didn’t know you were there. He felt awful hearing your whimpers that should be private between the two of you. 

“These years with you have brought light to my life. Y/N, you keep me going. You are the sole reason why I want to discover more of our world and the titans . . .” Levi looked back at you two and saw Hange crying into your shoulder. You were hugging and petting her. “I hope that when we discover the truth of the titans and what's beyond the walls . . . we can have a life just ours. Can you imagine it?” Levi in a sense appreciated Hange had someone like you. Someone Hange could open up to and share her desires. He thought Hange didn’t care about love and focused on her research and the scouts. She joked about dating and relationships or would brush it off. This was the first time he saw Hange in love. Four-eyes had a girlfriend.

“We could live long lives, have a beautiful garden, maybe find a pet, and invite Erwin, Moblit, and Levi over for dinners!” You said and Levi saw a large smile he hadn’t seen from Hange in a while. Levi's chest grew heavier and he felt grateful that you invited him to dinner in your dream. He was considered in your life. You knew how important he was to Hange. Levi saw Hange and you continued making out again. You just became important because Hange was important to him. “Please . . .” Whimpered through Hange’s kisses. Levi tried to dodge every thought of the two of you having sex. 

“Sleep in my room tonight . . .” Hange whispered.

“Ok.”

The morning of heading to Shiganshina, Levi saw you with Dirk’s squad. It was as if you and Hange barely knew each other.

When the beast titan was throwing crushed boulders at the scouts, Levi realized you were on his side of the wall. Seeing another member of Dirk’s squad supported his assumption that you were somewhere. Suddenly, he felt the drive to protect you. 

After Erwin told Levi his plan to charge at the beast titan while Levi sneaked up on the beast, he felt like he had a window. Levi folded a blank piece of paper twice. He recognized it was unfair to protect you and keep you away from the charge compared to the other hundred scouts. But Hange and him were going to lose Erwin and at least he could try to keep you alive for Hange. Another round of rocks flew towards the scouts and there were cries and yelling. Levi managed to spot you near a horse. You were shielding the horse's face with your cape. When the round was over, Levi flew toward you. 

“Y/N.”

“Captain Levi?” You coughed out.

“I need you to deliver a message to Commander Hange.” Levi handed you the empty folded paper. You took the paper confused and Levi noticed how pretty you were. “Tell Hange it’s from me and she’ll understand. Go over the wall and stay on that side. Take down the armor and the colossal with her squad and mine.”

“Yes, sir.” You zipped away. 

Because you weren’t in the charge, you along with nine others were the only survivors, after retaking Wall Maria. Hange never asked about the empty paper, she knew Levi did it to save your life. When Hange mentioned that she was grateful Levi chose you to relay the message during that battle. Levi finally admitted it.

“Can I say something selfish?” Levi whispered. Hange looked at him and she nodded. “It’s selfish . . . but Erwin never asked me to find someone to deliver the ‘message’ to you . . .” Hange began to stare at her feet. “I wanted Y/N to stay alive, so you could live your dream.” They said nothing else, and Levi didn’t want to talk anymore, so he left Hange. 

During the raid on Liberio, Levi was full of rage for Eren, making them come to Liberio. They got what they wanted. The scouts were in possession of Zeke. Eren and Zeke were both chained. Levi heard the rowdiness of the celebration in the main room of the airship. Mikasa and Armin were both disappointed in Eren, but glad he was safe.

As Hange was leaving the cockpit of the airship, Jean opened the door separating the threshold of the rooms. He had two kids tied up. Hange noticed them and scrunched up her face. 

“Who are these kids?” She asked. Jean said through gritted teeth.

“They somehow killed Lobov and then used his gear to climb aboard. This one shot—” Sasha ran through the door behind Jean and found her target. Hange.

“COMMANDER! It looks like Y/N’s not going to make it!” She cried out. Levi frozed, then turned to Hange staring at Sasha. Armin and Mikasa gasped then ran past Jean and Sasha. Hange was still in place. Sasha ran up to Hange and then pulled her by her wrist. Levi saw the light in Hange’s eyes disappear. They ran off into the other room. Levi exhaled in a rage and wanted to kick Eren again. 

Apparently, you pushed Sasha out of the way and got shot by the girl. 

Ever since then, Hange thought about dying. Every day. 

masterlist

Sad bitch hours I know. LOL

[cheynovak]

Shadows of the Past

Soldier boy x F/Reader (Y/N Barnes)  & Bucky Barnes ( Brother)  

Warnings: Angst, Aggression, nothing to extreme 

Side note: English isn’t my first language.    

*Multiverse: between MCU and The boys* 

--------------------------------- 

Story: 

1941

In the heart of Brooklyn, nestled among the bustling streets and towering buildings, lived Y/N Barnes, the younger sister of James Buchanan Barnes, known to many as Bucky. At the age of seventeen, Y/N was a senior at Brooklyn High School, where she spent her days immersed in books and dreams of adventure. 

But amid the ordinary rhythm of school and homework, she was like any other teenage girl, and so there was one person who made her heart race like no other – Ben, the mysterious and enigmatic badboy who will later be known as Soldier boy.  

--------------------------------- 

From the moment Y/N first laid eyes on him, she knew that he was different, someone who saw the world through a lens of possibility and adventure. 

But there was one person who didn't share Y/N's enthusiasm for Ben, her older brother, Bucky. He always thought of Ben as a bully since he had a fight with Steve once.  

Bucky had been fiercely overprotective of Y/N, his concerns for her safety drove her insane. She couldn’t understand why but she let him be, but knowing he meant well.  

Y/N wasn’t what we would call popular girl, she always stood in shadows. But she did have a crush on Ben, a guy the same age as her older brother. But she knew Bucky wouldn’t like that. Besides that, in high school Ben never dated the younger girls. So, he never noticed her back then.  

Y/N Barnes strolled through the crowd of the Brooklyn youth at the carnival, her laughter mingling with the joyful sounds of the bustling fair. Beside her walked her brother Bucky and his friend Steve, their easy camaraderie a comforting presence in the sea of strangers. 

Ben and his pals stood by the Ferris wheel as he watched Y/N weave through the colourful chaos of the carnival, he couldn't help but feel as though he was seeing her for the first time. Sure, he had known of her existence, she was Bucky's younger sister, after all. But until that moment, she had been just another face in the crowded halls of their high school.  

As he watched her laugh and joke with Bucky and Steve, there was something about her that captivated him in a way he couldn't quite explain. She was no longer just a young girl tagging along with her older brother. She had a newfound glace of womanhood over her.  

“Don’t do it man.” Ben heard his friends say. “She isn’t worth the trouble with Barnes.” Ignoring the cautionary whispers of doubt, he made his decision, determined to seize the opportunity before it slipped away. 

As Bucky and Steve became momentarily engrossed in the sights and sounds of the carnival, Ben saw his chance. With a steadying breath, he stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Y/N with purposeful strides. 

"Hey," he called out, his voice carrying over the din of the bustling fairgrounds. Y/N turned toward him, her eyes widening in surprise as she registered his approach. Y/N looked around seeing is he was talking to her before answering. "Hi," she replied, her voice tinged with curiosity.  

"I, uh, I just wanted to say hi," Ben continued, his words stumbling slightly as he fought to keep his nerves at bay. "I've seen you around school, but I've never really had the chance to talk to you before."  

"Well, I don’t blame you." she quipped, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "I figured you were too busy with all your other girlfriends to notice little old me." Ben couldn't help but chuckle at Y/N's boldness, she caught him off guard in the best possible way. 

Ben stepped closer "Trust me, none of those other girls even come close," he replied, his voice low as he locked eyes with her. "You're something special, Y/N Barnes." 

“Hey, leave her alone asshole.” Their conversation interrupted the moment Bucky caught sight of them. His expression darkened, a storm brewing behind his steely gaze as he stormed over to where they stood. "Come on Y/N, we're leaving," Bucky declared, his voice sharp with anger as he grabbed her arm, his grip tight. 

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at her brother's sudden appearance. "Hey, man, I didn't mean any harm," Ben said, his voice calm but firm. "Just wanted to say hi, that's all." But Bucky's anger simmered beneath the surface, his protective instincts overriding any sense of reason as he levelled a fierce glare at Ben. 

"You said it, now go, I don't want you anywhere near my sister," he spat, toe to toe, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "You stay away from her, understand?" “And what if she wants to talk to me?” Ben answered cocky before looking at Y/N.  

Y/N watched as his friends crossed the street, "Bucky, please," she implored, her voice gentle but firm, “Let’s go.” Knowing he might take on Ben alone, but 3 against one. She tugged his arm looking at Steve for help. “Come on Buck, he isn’t worth it.” 

“Yeah, listen to the midget. And run along.” Ben’s voice followed you. Bucky's blood boiled at Ben's audacity, his temper flaring as the younger man's words cut through him like a knife. Without a second thought, he spun around, his fist connecting with Ben's face with a sickening thud. 

It took Ben a second to straighten his back. He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Just when he wanted to return the punch Y/N places herself between the men, facing Ben. “Don’t.” she said firm.  

Ben’s green eyes pierce through her. “You’re lucky your sister is here Barnes, I don’t hit girls.” He said still looking at Y/N. “Take him away.” he said now to her. Once around the corner Y/N broke the silence. "What the hell, Bucky?" she demanded, her voice trembling with anger. "Are you insane three to one?!" 

Bucky's expression was grim as he met his sister's gaze, his own anger simmering just below the surface. “What was I supposed to do? He talked shit about Steve.” Y/N pinched her nose. “How about not interfere or if you do be nice?”  

“I don’t want him to talk to you! He is a ladies man, a player.” “Takes one to know one, right?” she bit back. Once they reached their house, she runs inside ignoring her brother. “Goodnight Steve” she hugged him before going to bed.  

-- 

The next day 

As the school bell rang, signalling the end of another day of classes, Ben made his way to the gates, his heart pounding with anticipation. He had waited anxiously all day for this moment, hoping that Y/N would show up. As he approached the school gates, he couldn't help but notice the girls walking past him. 

All trying to get his attention with flirtatious giggles and batting eyelashes. But Ben barely spared them a glance, his eyes scanning the crowd for one person and one person only. 

And then, he saw her, standing at the edge of the crowd, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity as she caught sight of him. Ben's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, his pulse quickening as he made his way toward her, pushing through the crowd with determined strides. 

"Y/N," he called out, his voice filled with relief and excitement. "I was hoping I'd see you." Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at his words, her cheeks flushing with colour as she met his gaze. "I... I didn't expect to see you here," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. 

Ben smiled, his heart swelling with warmth at the sight of her. "I wanted to talk to you," he said earnestly, taking a step closer to her. "Can we go somewhere quieter?" She nodded, feeling his hand on her lower back as he walked her through the crowd. She couldn’t help but to notice how everyone looked at them. Thinking Ben still has a way of getting attention at this high school without trying. Knowing Bucky will find out soon enough. 

As Ben and Y/N stepped into the cozy diner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon enveloped them, wrapping them in a warm embrace as they made their way to a secluded booth in the corner. 

And as he settled into the worn vinyl seat, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him in the presence of Y/N. "I come here whenever I need to clear my head," Ben explained, gesturing around the diner with a fond smile. "It's like my home away from home."  

"It's cozy," she remarked, her voice soft with appreciation. 

A waitress approached their table, her pen poised and ready to take their order. Ben glanced at Y/N with a playful grin, knowing exactly what she would want. 

"Two milkshakes, please," he said, his gaze never leaving Y/N's as he placed their order. Y/N's cheeks flushed with surprise at his gesture, her heart fluttering with warmth at the thoughtfulness of his choice. 

"You didn't have to do that," she protested softly, her eyes meeting his with gratitude. But Ben simply shrugged, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. "Consider it a peace offering," he replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "After all, I did get punched in the face yesterday." 

“Which means I have to buy you, not the other way around.” He leaned forward “I mean the date sweetheart.” That nickname left her flustered. As they settled into easy conversation, sipping on their milkshakes and sharing stories Y/N got lost track of time.  

It wasn't until a glance at the clock on the wall revealed the lateness of the hour that Y/N realized just how much time had passed. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the late hour. 

"Oh my gosh, I had no idea it was so late," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief as she turned to Ben. He chuckled softly, a warm smile playing at the corners of his lips as he met her gaze. "Time flies when you're having fun," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and affection. Y/N couldn't help but smile at his words, her heart fluttering.  

“Let me walk you home.” Ben got up, taking her coat holding it for her like a real gentlemen. As Ben and Y/N walked through the quiet streets of Brooklyn, the night air crisp and cool around them, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging question that had been weighing on her mind since their conversation at the diner. 

"Ben," she began, her voice breaking the comfortable silence between them. "I've been meaning to ask... why do you act like such a bully sometimes?" Ben's steps faltered slightly at her question, his expression clouding over with a mixture of sadness and regret.  

He sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggled to find the right words. "It's... complicated," he admitted finally. She is quiet but Ben feels the awkwardness. "My dad... he's not a good person," Ben began slowly, his voice tinged with bitterness. "He's... he's abusive, since my mom died it, just got worse." 

"I'm so sorry, Ben," she murmured, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand in a silent gesture of support. Ben offered her a small, grateful smile before continuing. 

"I guess I've always felt like I had to be tough, you know?" he confessed, his gaze distant as he spoke. "Like if I showed any weakness, he'd... it just make things worse." 

"But that's not an excuse for how I've treated people sometimes," Ben added quickly, his voice filled with remorse. 

As they reached her house she turns to him as she reached out to gently touch his arm. "It's okay, Ben," she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "We all have our struggles, I won’t tell a soul.” She promises him. 

A tension crackled between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Y/N's heart raced as Ben closed the space between them. His intent clear in the gentle brush of his lips against hers. 

But just as their breath mingled in the space between them, Y/N gently pulled away. "Ben, wait," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur, but firm with conviction. Ben's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching hers for answers as he took a step back, giving her space. "What is it?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. 

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say. 

"If you truly want to be with me, you need to stop bullying Steve or fight with my brother," she declared, her voice unwavering despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach. “They are important to me.”  

Ben nods, agreeing to her terms with a renewed determination to prove himself worthy of her trust. Feeling the warmth of Y/N's lips against his cheek, Ben's heart skipped a beat, a rush of tenderness washing over him at the simple gesture of affection. 

As Ben watched Y/N walking to the door call out to her. "Wait," he called after her, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Y/N turned back, her gaze meeting his with a curious tilt of her head. "When will I see you again?  

She smiles soft, eyes glistering, flirting, “Goodnight Ben. “Goodnight sweetheart.” And as he made his way home, a flicker of hope burned bright within him.  

Y/N stepped through the front door, the warmth of the house enveloping her as she entered. But her sense of comfort was quickly replaced by a wave of anxiety as she was met with the stern gaze of her mother, her arms crossed and her expression one of unmistakable displeasure. 

"Where have you been, young lady?" her mother demanded, her voice sharp with concern. Y/N swallowed nervously, her mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't land her in even more trouble. "I... I was out with a friend," she stammered, her voice tinged with guilt. 

Her mother's brow furrowed in frustration, her disapproval evident in the set of her jaw. "You were supposed to be home hours ago," she scolded, her voice rising with each word. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" 

"I'm sorry, Mom," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I lost track of time." Her mother's expression softened slightly at her apology, but the worry in her eyes remained. 

"Just... don't let it happen again," she said sternly, her tone softened by a hint of maternal concern. Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she hung her head in shame as she walked to her room.  

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her brother's voice outside the door, his tone tinged with a mixture of concern and disapproval. "Come in," she called out, her voice barely above a whisper as she braced herself for the conversation to come. Bucky pushed open the door, his expression stern as he entered her room, his gaze fixed on her with unwavering intensity. 

"This friend of yours... was it Ben?" he asked bluntly, his tone leaving no room for evasion. Y/N's heart sank at the question, her guilt washing over her in a tidal wave of anxiety. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly, her voice barely audible. She never lied to him why would she now.  

Bucky's jaw clenched at her response, his frustration evident in the tight set of his shoulders. "I don't like it, Y/N," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "He's trouble, and I don't want you getting mixed up with him." 

"But he's not like that," she protested weakly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. 

Bucky remained unmoved, his expression unyielding as he met her gaze with a steely resolve. "I don't care," he insisted, his voice firm but tinged with concern. "I won't have you getting hurt because of him." 

She had to make Bucky understand that Ben wasn't the person he thought he was, that there was more to him than the facade of a troublemaker. "Ben promised to stop teasing Steve," she blurred out.  

Bucky's brow furrowed at Y/N's suggestion, “why?” He knew that stopping his teasing of Steve had a price. "He's trying to change, Bucky. I believe him." Bucky shook his head. “I better not see you two together.” he said as he walked out the door. 

-- 

Y/N found herself walking along the winding paths, the soft crunch of fallen leaves beneath her feet. Her heart raced with anticipation as she made her way to their secret meeting spot at the park, a secluded clearing nestled among the trees where she and Ben had shared countless conversations and stolen moments together over the past few weeks. 

Ben, who stood waiting for her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His arms were laden with a picnic basket and a blanket spread out on the ground, a small feast laid out before them. 

"Surprise," he said with a grin, his voice filled with excitement. Y/N's heart fluttered at the sight of him, her cheeks flushing with warmth at his thoughtful gesture. 

"You didn't have to do all this," she protested, her voice tinged with gratitude. 

But Ben simply shook his head, his gaze unwavering as he met hers with a gentle smile. "I wanted to," he replied softly. "I wanted today to be special.” 

As the gentle breeze rustled through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the picnic blanket, Y/N's gaze fell upon the faint cut that marred Ben's otherwise flawless complexion. Her heart clenched with concern at the sight, a pang of worry coursing through her veins. 

"Ben, what happened to your face?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with concern. Ben's smile faltered slightly at her question, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he hesitated to answer. 

"Oh, it's nothing," he replied casually, attempting to brush off her concern with a dismissive wave of his hand. But Y/N wasn't convinced, her brow furrowing in concern as she reached out to gently touch the cut. "It doesn't look like nothing," she insisted, her voice filled with sincerity. "Have you been fighting again?" She asked disappointed.  

Ben's expression softened at her words, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he met her gaze with unwavering honesty. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I got into a scuffle with some guys. It's stupid, really." 

"You promised me you'd stop fighting," she stated, her tone tinged with disappointment. Ben's gaze faltered at her words, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he met her unwavering stare. "I promised to stop bullying Steve," he countered, his voice tinged with defensiveness. 

Y/N sighed softly, her frustration evident in the furrow of her brow. 

"But getting into fights is just as bad," she argued, her voice soft but filled with conviction. “Why do you want me to change Y/N?” Y/N's heart sank at Ben's question. 

"Because I care about you, Ben," she replied softly, her voice tinged with emotion. "I don't want to see you get hurt." “I don't understand why you can't accept me, like I accept you," he confessed, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "You're a geek, and I’m still sitting here with you. While I could have chosen popular girls." 

Y/N's heart sank at Ben's defensive words. "Ben, that's not fair," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. But Ben shook his head, his expression hardened with frustration as he met her gaze with unwavering intensity. 

"Isn't it?" he countered, his voice laced with bitterness. "You're always hanging out with your geeky friends, talking about stuff I don't understand. Maybe I'd rather be with someone who actually gets me. Instead of nagging about what I did."  

Y/N's heart shattered at Ben's hurtful words, the tears gathering in her eyes. "Fine!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. "If that's what you want, then go find those girls!" With a heavy heart, Y/N turned away from Ben, her tears blurring her vision as she fled from the park, desperate to escape the sting of his rejection. 

As Ben approached Y/N's house late that night, his heart weighed heavy with remorse for his hurtful words and actions. He knew he had crossed a line, and the thought of the pain he had caused Y/N gnawed at him. 

With a shaky breath, he reached out to knock on the door, his hand trembling with nerves. But before he could make contact, the door swung open to reveal Bucky, his expression cold and unwelcoming. 

"What are you doing here?" Bucky demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion. 

Ben swallowed hard, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders as he met Bucky's gaze. "I... I need to talk to Y/N," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.  

"She doesn't want to see you," he replied firmly. Ben's heart sank at Bucky's words, the weight of his rejection hitting him like a ton of bricks. He knew he had messed up, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing Y/N.  

"I just need to talk to her," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "Please." 

Bucky's expression hardening with determination as he stepped forward to block Ben's path. "I said leave," he growled, his voice laced with warning. "Before I make you." 

“I’ll leave if she tells me to.” Bucky's stern gaze softened at Ben's words. "Fine," Bucky relented, his voice softer than before. "Wait here." 

With a nod, Bucky retreated into the house, leaving Ben standing alone on the doorstep. Minutes ticked by like hours as Ben waited anxiously, until he hears her voice. "What is it, Buck?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. 

But before Bucky could respond, Ben stepped forward, his gaze locked on Y/N's.  

"I need to talk to you," he blurted out, his voice tinged with urgency. "Please, just hear me out." "Ben, I appreciate that you want to talk," she began, her voice tinged with hesitation. "But I think it's best if you leave." Ben's heart sank at her words, the weight of her rejection hitting him like a ton of bricks. 

“But.. I...” he looks at Bucky and then back at her. "I understand," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for bothering you."  

--  

Y/N sat in the dimly lit kitchen, her heart heavy with sorrow as she replayed the events of the evening in her mind. The ache of her recent breakup with Ben weighed heavily on her.  

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N was startled when Bucky entered the kitchen, his expression serious as he made his way over to her side. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what was to come. 

"Hey," Bucky began, his voice quiet but determined. "I need to talk to you about something." Y/N nodded, her heart pounding with apprehension as she waited for him to continue. "I've made a decision," Bucky continued, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes with a sense of resolve. "I'm going to join the army." 

She knew how much joining the army meant to Bucky, how it had always been his dream to serve his country. But she couldn't help but worry about the dangers that lay ahead, the uncertainty of what the future might hold. "Bucky, are you sure about this?" Y/N asked, her voice tinged with concern.  

"It's a big decision." Bucky nodded, his expression serious but resolute. 

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he replied firmly. "But there's something I need to ask of you before I go." "Of course," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. "Anything." 

Bucky took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he met her eyes with a sense of gratitude. "I need you to take care of Steve," he said quietly, his words heavy with meaning. "I need to know that he'll be okay while I'm gone. That you’ll be okay." 

She nodded in response.  

And as they sat together in the quiet of the kitchen, the weight of their shared responsibilities hanging heavy in the air between them. "I can't help but notice you've been down lately. Is everything okay?" 

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the pain that weighed heavily on her soul. She forced a small smile, with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

"I'm fine, Bucky," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "Just going through some stuff." Bucky nodded, his gaze softening with empathy as he took a seat beside her at the kitchen table. He knew she meant the break up.  

"Listen, Y/N," he said quietly, his tone gentle but earnest. "Why don't you give Steve a chance?" he asked gently, his voice tinged with sincerity. "Bucky, Steve's like a brother to me," Y/N replied, her voice tinged with embarrassment. "I couldn't imagine going on a date with him." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

"Sure, sure," he teased, his tone playful. "But you can't deny that you've got a thing for blond guys." Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. 

"Okay, maybe I have a type," she admitted with a shrug. "But that doesn't mean I'm interested in Steve that way." Bucky chuckled softly, his gaze warm with amusement as he regarded her fondly. "Fair enough," he conceded.  

"But you never know what might happen if you give him a chance." Y/N shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips at Bucky's persistence. "Thanks, Bucky," she said sincerely. "But I think I'll pass on you setting Steve up with me." 

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned back in his chair. "Suit yourself, kid" he replied with a playful wink.  

-- 

As Bucky and Steve excitedly discussed at the Stark Expo, Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the carefree days of her past relationship with Ben. She had heard rumours that he was considering joining the military, but seeing him in uniform at the expo brought a wave of mixed emotions crashing over her. 

"Hey, Y/N, are you coming with us?" Bucky asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. Y/N hesitated, torn between her desire to follow her friends at the expo and her need to talk to Ben. But ultimately, she knew that she couldn't let Ben slip away without at least trying to talk to him. 

"I'll catch up with you guys later," she replied, offering Bucky and Steve a small smile. "There's someone I need to talk to first." Finally, she spotted him standing near one of the military displays, his expression stoic. She approached him cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest as she prepared herself for the conversation ahead. 

"Ben," she called out softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Ben turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of her. "Y/N," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "What are you doing here?" 

Y/N took a deep breath, her nerves getting the better of her as she struggled to find the right words. "I heard about the military," she began hesitantly. "Is it true? Are you really going to enlist?" Ben nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground as he wrestled with his emotions. 

"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's something I need to do." She pleaded with him, her voice trembling with desperation, begging him not to go. "Ben, please," she implored, her eyes brimming with tears. "Don't do this. I can't bear to see you leave." 

He reached out to gently cup her face in his hands, his touch tender in its reassurance. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "But I have to do this. It’s the only way to make my old man proud.” Y/N shook her head, her heart aching with sorrow as she struggled to come to terms with the reality of their situation. 

"But what about me, Ben?" she cried, her voice cracking with emotion. "What about us?" Ben's gaze softened with sympathy, his thumb brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks. "I'll come back for you, Y/N," he promised earnestly. "I swear it.” 

As Ben turned to leave, a sense of finality settling over them, Y/N couldn't bear the thought of letting him go without one last gesture of love. With a surge of courage, she stepped forward and gently pressed her lips to his, pouring all of her love and longing into the fleeting kiss. 

When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the space between them, Ben's eyes searched hers with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability. 

"Does this mean you forgive me?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. 

Yes, Ben," she replied earnestly, her voice filled with conviction. "I forgive you." 

And as they stood together in the midst of the bustling expo, their hands intertwined, and their hearts entwined. Ben grabs her cheeks and kisses her again.  

As Ben and Y/N shared their passionate kiss, lost in the whirlwind of emotion and desire, they were unaware of the eyes that watched them from across the room. Bucky and Steve stood frozen in surprise, their gazes locked on the scene unfolding before them. 

Bucky and Steve exchanged a meaningful glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Despite their initial surprise, they couldn't deny the depth of Ben and Y/N's connection, nor the sincerity of their feelings for each other. 

Ben looked up meeting Bucky’s eyes. With a nod of acceptance, Bucky and Steve welcomed Ben into their circle, only to please Y/N. Her heart was aching, knowing she had to send the two man she cared about to war. Well, three but she didn't know that yet. But tonight was full of laughs, music and dances. 

--

Present day

Ben walked through the streets of New York, trying to understand what happened.  "I'm glad we finally found you." A familiar voice said.

As he turned around, he finally saw two faces he recognised. “Barnes, Rogers.” He said relieved and yet firm. “You need to come with us.” Steve said, “We need to fill you in what happened the last 40 years.”  

“But first,” Bucky walked up to Ben pushing him to the wall behind him. “You need to tell me what happened to my sister.”  

To be continued...  

--

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[sukibenders]

https://www.tumblr.com/sukibenders/753357046866411521/seeing-marina-gush-to-penelope-about-how-in-her

marina knew Pen feeling towards Colin. I know probably you had been in love and the other person doesnt love you back but i did. And it so painful to see another person making fun if that love you have. marina did that with the unrequited fantasy line . And now, don`t play it like marina really care or love Pen. There, Marina was making fun of Pen too, she was wishing her a life without love. it was Eloise wish to remain spinster but not Pen, she wanted love with all her heart and marina want her to be there watching her married with the man she loves with her friend being a spinster!! BE FOR FUCKING REAL!!!!

(This is going to be long)

No, no, no, let's not solely villainize Marina and go "Oh, sweet Penelope" as if she [Pen] isn't grown enough to know the extent of some of her actions. That's a big reason why I can't stand her character is because of the way fans deny her actions having consequences in comparison to others. I've never said that Marina wasn't wrong for what she did, such as attempting to marry someone and pretending their kids are yours, that's wrong on a lot of levels. But this is set in the Regency era where women don't have many choices, especially in her standing. She was literally about to be thrown out on to the street if she didn't find a suitor. And I'm supposed to care more about Pen getting her feelings hurt over a crush that, sorry, was unrequited at the time? I don't think so. Again, painting Penelope as the poor victim gets really annoying because, okay yeah, she has a crush. Everyone does in life. But that doesn't give her a right to act entitled to said crush's feelings at every turn (nor does it give the fandom the right to do so either), it doesn't give her the right to try and sabotage any other attempts said crush might have with other people behind their back, and it doesn't give her the right to expose their information on a public gossip sheet for everyone to see (both Marina's and Colin's). People get so caught up in Penelope's feelings, and demonizing Marina in the same breath, but also don't take into consideration the impact, while not as severe as Marian's, of what Penelope did to Colin as well (when they aren't busy villainizing him) I'm sorry, but me personally, I wouldn't want to be around someone who leaked private information about me (and someone I was close too) and then continued to talk about it on their gossip sheet, reaped the financial benefits of it, and gave me fake sympathies knowing they were the cause just because they had a crush. Would you? Let's be for fucking real, as you say.

And I'll be honest, I do extend a little more grace towards Penelope now than I did back in the day, but not my much. I would be more inclined of her ending up with Colin if her actions were rightfully called out and she had to work through the consequences of them. But no, that can only happen in fanfic because, apparently, it's wrong to view her actions under anything but a sympathetic lens. And, back to your point, correct me if I'm wrong, but Marina gushing to Penelope earlier in the season about Colin, after their first dance and no realization of Penelope's crush, held no mean attributes to it. Her statement was meant to create a loving bond because, whether you like it or not, Marina and Penelope were close because Marina didn't make fun of her or downplay her at every turn like her mother and sisters. Marina knew exactly how it felt to live under that household, saw a perfect opportunity for escape, and in that escape, not only, thought of bringing Penelope with her or at least providing her shelter, but with her best friend, of whom we can assume Marina knows more about Eloise than she did Penelope's relationship with Colin, because that wasn't revealed until later. So no, Marina did truly care about Penelope. Bringing it back to Colin, who made it clear that, at that point, he had feelings for Marina (and don't deny that he did) why should she throw that away over some crush? Like yeah, what Marina said was a little harsh (and she does apologize later for it), but you're ignoring the fact that, prior to this, Penelope made every attempt she could to be spiteful and rain on Marina's joy (again, before the crush was found out), even turning any positive compliment that Marina gave her as some form of pitty, which it wasn't. At that point, I'd be annoyed too and Marina was far better than me at those points. Now, again, I state this was the Regency era and Marina was running out of time with the only good and less dangerous option of a good life growing farther and farther away, she has to make tough decisions because it's not only about her but her unborn children as well, and I'm supposed to feel more sympathy for Penelope? Her calling Penelope's crush a "childish fantasy" came about when Penelope was trying to withhold Marina from doing something that could have ended up with her finding a good life because Philip showing up was something that no one expected and she was led to believe that Goerge no longer cared for her anymore. But she was supposed to throw that away over a crush? And calling it what it is, even if it was harsh, was not Marina making fun of Penelope. Let's not.

Yes, I have had crushes before, but in no way did I act THAT entitled to someone as a person, especially enough to where I purposely risked someone's life and have said crush still not even consider my feelings. And even if they did, that still doesn't warrant that behavior, and I'm tired of people justifying what Penelope did. I've had a crush on someone, they didn't know about it, moved on with different people one being my friend and you know what I did? Worked on moving on too, because they both were happy for however long they were together, the crush wasn't entitled to returning my feelings, and I knew at a certain point that I had to let go. Was it kind of sad to see Marina diss Penelope's feelings like that? Yeah. And would it hurt if someone did that to me? Yes, but I also won't lie and pretend that that could have been a reality check for Penelope if the show did right. I would have wished that Penelope didn't realize that so late, but sadly that didn't happen. And it's also sad that the fandom to won't let her have an opportunity to move on because, what do you mean Marina was denying her love? I'm sorry, but love exist in many other forms, which Penelope had, and even without Marina in the picture, Colin is clearly shown to not reciprocate Penelope's feelings that way. It's sad how dependent Penelope and some fans feel about that, when it's been shown that, when she tries (get into that later), Penelope can attract people outside of Colin. Personally, at a certain point way before s3, I would've been trying to do that a long time ago. Now, because you said that Penelope didn't want to be a spinster, the statement is kind of laughable because, until s3, we hardly see Penelope make any attempts to find a match with someone who isn't Colin, who still isn't returning her feelings. In fact, we hardly see her with anyone who isn't Eloise, and there are more scenes of her dodging attempts to find a suitor than actually looking for one. She literally uses Marina as a shield in s1 to prevent from doing so so that she can spend time with Eloise! (Ngl, if my friend did that for most of our lives, I too would think that she would want to be a spinster, but Eloise still could have talked about it more with her). It also ignores how, when Colin entered Marina's life again and basically went "Hey, I'm not against playing the second step daddy" Marina still went and pushed him to go and be with Penelope, even though, from what we can assume, they probably haven't seen each other since Marina got married and had her twins.

The reason I don't care much for Polin is because I hardly get to see much growth on Penelope's side at all in the ship, especially due to the fandom making it their life's mission to make Colin grovel for every little thing (some in which he really shouldn't). We got to see opportunities even before s3 of her associating with other characters, one being with Marina and the other being Edwina but they all get thrown out the window as soon as Colin enters the fray. Heck, even when around Eloise, as soon as Colin is mentioned or shows up she's eager to dip and make her way over. She wanted love with all her heart WITH COLIN. She had opportunities to be with other people, but she wanted Colin so bad that she was willing to do anything. Perhaps if the fandom addressed this, if they stopped trying to paint her actions as overly sympathetic and let her be morally complex, then I could get behind it. But no, we have to put the blame on others.

[bi-bard]

Catch Our Breath and Let Go - Will Graham Imagine [Hannibal]

Title: Catch Our Breath and Let Go

Pairing: Will Graham X Reader

Based On: Wires

Word Count: 1,170 words

Warning(s): none that I know of

Summary: (Y/n) and Will have worked together for a long time now. As time goes on, the pair seemingly dance around each other. When the people stuck working with them get tired of watching it, Will and (Y/n) find themselves forced to confront how they feel.

Author's Note: This is the first imagine of three. It's part of a writing challenge that I'm doing for the "Yearbook" series that Sleeping at Last did. There are more details on that masterlist (linked just below). I hope that you enjoy.

Part Two of January [Release Date: 2/22/2023]

Part Three of January [Release Date: 2/24/2023]

YEARBOOK - SLEEPING AT LAST WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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Beverly Katz was probably my best friend.

The two of us clicked as soon as I started working in the lab with her. She did everything in her power to make me feel completely at home when I first got there. It was nice to know that I had someone to lean on through it all.

Maybe that was why Jimmy, Brian, and her thought that she was the best person to send to talk to me that day.

"Can I ask you about something," she asked while I was placing a slide under a microscope.

"Sure," I replied, still focused on what I was examining.

"What's going on with you and Will?"

"Interesting conversation to have while examining crime scene evidence," I muttered, adjusting the height of the platform. "Nothing is going on between me and Will."

"You sure?"

"Should I not be?"

I heard her chuckle behind me. I leaned away from the lens and looked at her. "What?"

"You're joking, right," she asked. I raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, you're not."

"That doesn't help me understand what you're talking about."

"Well, it's just that you and Will seem a lot... closer than he is with anyone else."

"Why?"

"You want the list in chronological order or alphabetical order?"

I scoffed. "Screw you, Bev."

I did have feelings for Will. I just didn't think it was anyone else's business. Mostly because I was convinced that if I ignored them, then they'd go away. Will never seemed like one who would focus on things like that. It was just easier to never worry about it.

Which meant never bringing it up to anyone.

"Let's start with whatever happened at that last crime scene," she continued, even though I turned away from her again. "You stumbled and he reacted so fast. He was paying such close attention to you that he probably knew that you tripped before you did."

I shook my head. "He was being nice."

"That's why you both stood there staring at each other like idiots for a solid minute or two before he let you go?"

"It's nothing."

"Alright, let's talk about the dog hunt," she leaned on the counter next to me. "How long did you spend helping him get that stray dog to his house?"

I turned to her. "Not that long!"

"You went over at like ten o'clock at night."

I groaned. "Shut up already."

"No, no, because I have one more. The coffee trade."

"Did Jimmy come up with the special title for that? It sounds like a Jimmy title."

"Hush," she waved my question off. "You two trade who buys coffee for the other. You have it down to a perfect schedule."

"Yeah, whatever-"

"You buy coffee on Thursday. He buys them on Mondays and every other week on Wednesdays."

"You sound like a stalker when you recite shit like that."

I stepped around her to grab something.

"Listen. Brian and Jimmy... and me... are tired of watching you and Will stare at each other like nervous puppy dogs," she shrugged. "You might not see it, but I can."

I looked over her shoulder. "That's enough-"

"You two both need to hurry up and do something about it because I am not dealing with Jack questioning me about it."

"Bev, stop-"

"Why can't you just admit that there could be something there? Are you scared? That's okay. I'm pretty sure Will is too-"

"Please stop!" I snapped. "Turn around."

She turned around to see Will with Jimmy and Brian, who had clearly stopped in the middle of their conversation. Oh God, they had been doing the same thing to him.

Bev looked back at me. "Shit, listen-"

"Will, can I talk to you," I asked, stopping Bev in her tracks.

I didn't wait for Will to speak up before I got up to walk out. I awkwardly asked the others to take care of what I had been looking at.

I couldn't even get myself to look at Will before we were out in the hall. Even then, I found it difficult.

He always made me nervous. Every time I looked at him, it felt like there was something sitting between us. Like the tension grew heavy enough to take up physical space. I was terrified of what would happen if we were to do something about it. Not because I thought something would go wrong or anything. I just was.

A very normal part of being human in situations like this. But that didn't change how ridiculous it felt.

"What did you want to talk about," Will asked, snapping me out of my line of nervous thoughts.

"I... I need you to know that I had nothing to do with... whatever their plan was," I said. "I wouldn't force you into a conversation that was so invasive and almost creepy and... I just wouldn't."

"I didn't think that you did."

It took me a second to nod. "Good. Good. Okay."

There was a long pause between us. I saw something on Will's face change. It looked like he was considering if he should say something. His jaw shifted a bit, his eyebrows furrowed a little more. Will and I had been friends for a while now; I knew the signs.

"Were they telling the truth," he finally asked. "About... how you felt?"

I felt every possible response get caught in my throat.

I had spent such a long time hiding any and all signs that I could possibly be anything more than a co-worker and a friend. And now, I was being asked by the man himself.

It almost felt like a trick.

So, I answered a question with a question, "What would happen if I said yes?"

I saw a grin pull at the corners of Will's lips.

The silence surrounded us again.

He slowly stepped closer to me. I watched him closely, trying to ignore how much faster my heart was beating now.

He only turned away from me to look around the hall. It was a rare moment when there weren't people running around all the time. I didn't bother to look away. Mostly because I didn't want to.

He looked at me again. He let out a nervous chuckle as he did. I did the same thing.

He leaned forward slowly.

I could see him hesitating. Ready to stop the moment that he thought I was uncomfortable.

I leaned in after a moment to close the distance.

It was awkward, nervous. Almost innocent. I had expected whatever sparked between us to be an explosion or a wildfire. But it wasn't. It was this comforting wave of warmth that started in my face and spread through the rest of my body slowly.

Will pulled away first.

"Was that okay," he asked.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Yeah, it was... more than okay."

I reached out and touched his hand, smiling at him.

He smiled back at me.

This was the beginning of something brilliant.

I could just tell.

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Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[whtlckhale]

The campus dark room wasn't the worst he'd ever seen, though Jasper was probably the last person in the world to really comment on the status of such places. He wasn't the most artsy of individuals (usually he left that to the more talented members of his little family) but there was only so much in one infinite lifetime that he could avoid learning. Photography had erroneously been thought to be perhaps the simplest of stepping stones and while Jasper wasn't bad by any means he certainly didn't have the eye of someone like Emmy.

He admired her ability to see through a lens, to find the beauty in the most simplistic of things. He looked more analytically where she could write poetry with photo frames. At least he was trying.

The harsh smell of chemicals had burned his nose in earnest the first few times, but by now he was too used to it. There he stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, as they worked to develop their shots for the project ---due the following Monday. He'd been spending a lot of time with her (certainly something he attributed to partnering up with her in the class on more than one occasion) but the more scrutinizing eye could tell he was enjoying her company.

Sullen as he always was, the melancholy around him seemed to lift even in the slightest when presented with the aura of sunshine that Emmy exuded. It was hard to ignore, really. And at least in her light he wouldn't reveal what he was to the whole world.

He lifted his current picture with the developing tongs and slipped it into the second bin, submerging it in the stop bath before letting it sit for the required seconds.

Feeling the emotions of those around him at all times was a bit like cheating. He tried his best to put his little shield up, and really he was quite good at it by now, but there were times when even he subconsciously wanted to be tuned in. Emmy's immediate interest had piqued his own and days in class together bled to weeks, where hours at a time were spend learning and discussing. Now well into their second semester he could say he knew her decently well, that she was someone he thoroughly enjoyed spending time with ... and that the tension between them could be cut with a hot knife.

Seldom did Jasper let himself get close. It was a risk always, especially with his piqued hunger never really slaked, ever burning at the back of his throat and waiting for just the slightest moment of weakness. In times they had been close he'd blamed his cold hands on poor circulation (and even flexed his fingers in a way that suggested he wanted to coax warmth back through them (knowing full well it would never happen, but nobody could ever say he wasn't committed to his bit)). The laughter from their most recent joke had subsided minutes ago and yet his smirk lingered: the trademark sideward, sloppy grin that so often cut his features when he was amused (with others or himself) that the Cullens had gotten to know so well.

As did that undeniable tension. Emmy worked beside him, lifting and rinsing her own picture form the fixer and dipping it into the water to rinse excess chemicals off. He watched the way she lifted onto the tips of her toes to hang it by the clothes pin to their left, then rested back onto the whole of her feet. Even in the dim, harsh red light of the dark room she exuded brightness. It was confounding.

And then she brushed behind him to get to his right - to start the process over again - and he caught a stronger whiff of her: floral in a subtle way, with hints of citrus and honey and warm blood pulsing its way through her. He found himself swallowing, dropping black gaze down to the stop bath so he could shift over to the fixer and continue.

They needed to feed. A hunt had been scheduled for later in the night and Jasper silently cursed himself for being pinned in the dark room with someone who tempted him on the best of days, never mind now. She must have read the cue as more of that static between them because when she settled she spoke in that rasp he found himself pleasantly in tune with.

❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜

Dark eyes lifted from the fixer bath to her, where he expected to see her cheeky grin punctuating a jest. Instead he found an earnestness that didn't require use of his gift to tell she was painfully sincere. The little dam of resolve dropped, that mental block he so often employed to keep himself sane around the public and to keep from becoming overwhelmed, overloaded ... and he felt it too.

She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted a hell of a lot more than that, really, but she wanted him to kiss her.

He set the developing tongs against the plastic rim of the bath and turned to face her. The small dark room provided very little space for them, but when he pushed the slightest more into her space she moved with him, slotting her back into the wall and letting her eyes drop to his lips. He wet them - a very human response - as he rose the tips of his fingers to trace along the fine cut of her jaw. Feather-light while he watched her own tiers in turn ... really, studied the language of her body and how it worked so effortlessly with the emotional perfume she pushed out into the closet of the dark room.

Digits journeyed just below her ear, traced into the roots of thick brown waves before his thumb rubbed her cheek, he cupped the back of her neck and leaned closer.

Light ... light, impossibly gentle. He didn't trust himself, but fuck if he hadn't thought about kissing her before. A part of his mind remained sober, stuck on how soft he needed to be, aware of how impossibly fragile humans were in comparison to his kind, even now. It could be so easy to give in, to let himself push his mouth to hers with all of the roiling want and ache a lonely, tortured soul like his harnessed and lived with ... but it would spoil the moment, bruise her like a fine peach, hurt her. He didn't want that.

But he tasted at her, tongue tracing the line of her fine tiers before finding her own. He exhaled a breath he didn't need, didn't know he held, into her maw and felt the lowest and raspiest of sighs pass from his possession to hers - as if he trusted her with a deep secret. You can kiss me translated into you can taste me in the sweetest of meanings.

And between them, chest to chest, he felt her pulse quicken. The pounding of her heart against fragile sternum, beating a rhythm into his body that made him suck a breath (a mistake). God, the scent of her. Fine, coppery blood and flowers, honey and sunshine and warmth he could consume her. He could sink his teeth into that beautiful, long neck of hers and have a taste, just one. Just one, little taste was all he needed to fill him up, God he was so empty. He was so very fucking---

He pulled away. Pulled away and stepped back, dropped his gaze and heaved another unneeded (but very much needed) breath. The back of his thighs bumped the developing table and he heard the faint (to her) sloshing of liquid from the sudden jolt behind him. Fingers raised to push back strands of wavy gold and Jasper cleared his throat in the beginnings of an apology.

No, you cannot have nice things. You cannot kiss her. You will destroy something beautiful, because that is what you do.

"Sorry," voice soft from slight shame, from the undertones of want that he'd allowed to take him down their current, "I didn't mean to get carried away. We should, uh ..."

And he gestured to the table, lifted a hand to thumb at it too, as if it wasn't the primary reason for being where they were in the first place.

Emmy and Jasper are doing schoolwork together SMILE. @florrentine

[ziskandra]

1, 8, and 10 for the Violence Meme :3

1. The character everyone gets wrong

The way that ‘Loghain Mac Tir’ immediately comes to mind probably says a lot about the way he’s portrayed in fandom, huh… While I obviously don’t expect anyone to see my blorbos 100% the same as me, sometimes I’ll see takes that are so diametrically opposed mine that I’m just like: huh.

That being said, Loghain is a very complex and layered character, and all the different possible ways to read his motivations only leads credence to that fact.

Anyway, here are my own preferences/biases when it comes to Loghain:

1) Maric is Loghain's everything, and not only that, but the Maric that lives in Loghain’s head is even larger than the man himself was in real life. Personally, I like how this explains the discrepancy between the way Loghain describes Maric (as though he farts rainbows) and the way Maric is described in the tie-in novels (rather punchable).

Sure, they might've gone through a lot of shit together, but Loghain is completely abnormal about Maric and I love that for them.

2) I think Cailan’s death at Ostagar wasn't planned, per se, but rather that Loghain was willing to take that loss if necessary.

And look, Loghain did try to warn Cailan that fighting on the front lines would be foolhardy, but Cailan refused to listen and well… what can I say other than Loghain knows how to pick his battles? 😌

3) Loghain is not very politically savvy: I like to think Anora got her more astute people skills from her mother.

That being said, I think people sometimes forget how at the start of Origins, Loghain is a man deeply in mourning: in the preceding years he’s lost his best friend and his wife.

I feel this is also part of why he doesn’t realise he can rely on Anora: fully accepting that she’s a capable adult and no longer a little girl with pigtails as skinned knees would be to accept that there is no going back, he can never go back: the happiest, most purposeful part of his life is behind him and who is he, other than a father with a disobedient daughter, and the general of a nation that is starting to rise up against him?

Loghain basically suffers from like, a catastrophic loss of identity during the course of the game and is pretty much ready to die by The Landsmeet. If anything he’s glad to have found such a worthy opponent in the Warden: it means Ferelden’s fate is in good hands.

4) Leading to my last point: a combination of all the factors above means Loghain is very open to manipulation (by Howe, by Anora, by the Warden should they so choose).

That being said, I don’t think that absolves him of his complicity in his crimes, and especially not the slavery in the alienage. He very much knew the elves were being sold, but had also accepted that the alienage was lost to the darkspawn. I can certainly see someone with Loghain’s background deciding that giving the elves at least some chance of survival as well while also making more money for the war effort as the practical choice. While it’s not the moral choice, it is a pragmatic one and Loghain is a pragmatist.

Anyway my actual point is that while some Loghain fans might try and minimise his involvement in the alienage, I find it far more fascinating to explore through the lens of who he is a person. After all, I am not looking at fiction to inform my morals wholesale, but rather to explore other perspectives, and I am especially drawn to how people can justify atrocities to themselves, SO! Here I am, sharing my Loghain thoughts on tumblr dot com 😌

[choose violence ask meme]

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Twenty Questions for Fanfic Writers

Tagged by @numinousmysteries! Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

493,156

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files, pretty much exclusively.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

By the Dim and Flaring Lamps

Ripper Weather

She's Beauty, She's Grace

Between Sorrow and Bliss

Someday Your Child May Cry

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do if someone has a question, or if someone comments on the way I've written something in a way that makes me feel like I should explain the choices I made (biggest example was a commenter on BtDaFL who seemed to be viewing the story through a modern lens without taking the time period into account). I wish I did respond to every comment but honestly I get so in my head about it that I end up paralyzed most of the time. But I absolutely read every single one and return to them frequently, especially when my self-confidence is ebbing.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably the short prompt where I gave elderly Mulder pancreatic cancer?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of mine have happy endings but By the Dim and Flaring Lamps was probably the most unambiguously happy since everyone who dies in canon- Melissa, Samantha, Ahab, Bill and Teena Mulder- are all alive and well at the end of it.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? There was some out-of-the-corner-of-their-mouth sniping about Pequod (not to my face), but it was clear that person didn't understand how character arcs work. Someone sent an anonymous message that BtDaFL was boring, but lots of people find historical fiction boring.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Only if it fits into the plot of the story, and only if I can make it match the overall tone of the fic.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have one short Doctor Who crossover on AO3. I also have a Harry Potter crossover where William is a wizard and a wizard friend of Scully's secretly adopts him when she finds out Scully gave him up because she recognizes the phenomena happening around him, but that's never seeing the light of day while I'm still alive.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to the best of my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked if they could translate one of mine into Russian but I'm not sure if they did or not.

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

No.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Always gonna be MSR.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

That ballroom dancing lessons one is languishing and I doubt I'll get back to it anytime soon, mostly because I have no idea what the rest of the plot was going to be.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, plot, and distinct original characters, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not very good at making my words beautiful or lyrical. I'm in awe of authors like @aloysiavirgata, @leiascully, and @slippinmickeys whose styles are so fluid and lovely. I feel like mine is often very matter-of-fact and clinical.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've had to do it once or twice.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I wrote something about The Land Before Time when I was in elementary school, long before I knew what fanfic was.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably But Always Together.

Tagging @leiascully and @mldrgrl if they haven't done it yet!

[ecosystem-administrator]

Taken

Timeline: Late 7.0, some Dawntrail MSQ spoilers

There might be only one person in the world who understands Erenville well enough to explain what Mayhem has missed about their relationship.

It was a great surprise when, of all things, Cahciua took a moment to pull them aside.

“I don’t really know if I should be the one to say it, but I don’t have the time to wait and make sure he gets around to it,” she said, meeting their eyes with an unusually direct intensity. “What do you think of my Elene’shpya?”

“Erenville?” Mayhem corrected automatically, their eyebrows rising toward their hairline. “He’s one of the smartest people I know…or, rather, maybe it’s just that his knowledge is more useful than half of what I hear Urianger and Y’shtola talk about. That’s probably why he’s so hard to impress: he’s the best at what he does, or at least the best I’ve ever had the chance to meet. I’m just glad he’s willing to put up with the rest of us.”

“Oh, I knew it.” She seemed fondly exasperated, shaking her head. “So what you’re telling me is, you’re both fools. Why in the world wouldn’t he be impressed with you? Granted your reputation hasn’t made it across the salt, but I gather you’re some kind of world-saving champion who he’s doing his best to keep up with.”

“He talked about me?” Mayhem blinked. “Wait…he’s trying to keep up with me?”

“And that’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you.” Cahciua nodded. “…Look after him, all right? He’s more sensitive than he lets on. I don’t know where you two are going to end up, and honestly I don’t want to find out - but someone ought to understand him, and it sounds like he hasn’t made that easy.”

“I…yeah,” Mayhem managed, mind struggling under the load of running back over every interaction they’d had with Erenville through a different lens. They’d been associating with Erenville as themself all this time…but of course, of course Erenville had been reacting to and trying to impress the Warrior of Light, not goofy, down-to-earth Mayhem Moondrop who already thought he was cooler than almost anyone. Of course. “Sorry, I’m just realizing how dumb I’ve been. …He and I will have a lot to talk about once all this is over. I promise.”

[nahalism]

peace be unto you, darling. how are you feeling?

i went to bhum during the weekend and i met up with a guy at the club. he admitted he likes me. we exchanged numbers. i was with my friend who lives in bhum- she wasn’t in support of me giving my number to the guy(i didn’t care because i don’t live there). we spoke. she didn’t think he was “fine” until we met him the next day again.

when we got to my hotel, she told me how that was a weird move. my dumb ass kept telling her everything the guy said to me. (he seemed very genuine)- too early to speak on his loyalty. ik.

we went back to the club the next day and he was there (waiting to meet us). i was excited to see him again. but when we got there, i began to get so shy. he kept staring which made me uncomfortable but i loved it all together. it was intense or should i say the sexual tension was so much present. (i was on my period so there was no way- tmi)

we went to a different club which was so not it. oh lord, terrible decision. so we came back to the first club. when we got there, my friend was acting so weird. she was all over him (asking for his number and asking about personal questions ; where he lives, does he have a gf ect) even hugging him ? like wtf? when she clearly knew i sort of liked him? now, the guy was just being nice to her. he tried to talk to me and my “friend” had to interrupt. the same friend who thought it was “strange and early” to give my number out.

i spoke to her about how i felt when we got back at the hotel. she didn’t apologise and saw nothing wrong with it. bare in mind this was the second time a guy approached me (fine fine guys) and with the first guy, she said she wish he had approached her. man, now i don’t want to talk to her anymore. or slowly detach from her. it triggered me because this happened to me recently with another “friend”.

she is a very lovely person but i had never met this part of her. this was my first time seeing her in person. (it’s a long distance friendship)

any advice on this situation? i will appreciate it. <3333

my love. theres no way you need my advice on this.... would a lovely person act like the individual you described? everyone has redeeming qualities, but is someone who • judges your choices through the lens of their own insecurity • dismisses you when you communicate your feelings • tries to move to the guy showing you interest, someone you want want to call a friend? is that someone you can trust or feel safe around? is that someone who holds your best interests at heart?— not only do the people you move with represent you, they should be people you respect & believe you can learn from (especially since we tend to pick up / reflect the behaviours of people we're in proximity to). your feelings are justification enough for taking action. dont settle for mid <3

[heartsbreaking-migrated]

someone mentioned this as a potential plot once and i said no to it back then but apparently it lived in the back of my mind, i wrote a lil short oneshot type thing about it at like 2am last night.

i was hesitant to post it cause some of y'all can't be mature and recognize people can write deeply fucked up dynamic without approving of it or romanticizing it.

i only write kat and carl romantically with one person, so don't come asking me about that aspect of this piece cause that's not gonna happen. it was just the lens i chose to write this through

to clarify: i am looking for ne.gan writers for an alternate verse, and people who'd be willing to write in a world where this plot happened. i am not making this canon to my main verse

the plot in question: kat is taken hostage by the saviors and shown off as one of ne.gan's wives to fuck with rick, maggie and carl

if you're interested message me, if you absolutely hate this, i don't wanna know. yes it's meant to be gross and uncomfortable.

“you never told me what it was like,” carl started quietly.

“what what was like?” kat asked, looking up from her potato peeling to follow carl’s gaze off the porch to where an older man was working. negan. “oh.”

“you tell me pretty much everything, but,” he shrugged, “i guess i just didn’t know how to ask.” kat had put herself on the line for him and the group countless times. he remembered when she’d been so scared of walkers just the sight of one made her shit down and now she was one of their best when it came to that. he just couldn’t remember a time when she’d kept something to herself for this long. it had been years and it still bothered him when he saw negan around.

kat looked back down at the potato in her hand and started peeling again. “there’s nothing to tell.”

“really?” he didn’t believe that for a second, but he’d let the subject drop if she insisted.

she ran her tongue along her front teeth and  shot a glance back at negan. “no, i just don’t want it to bother you.”

he looked at her pointedly. “it bothers me not knowing, kat. it bothers a lot of us.” those who weren’t so keen on trusting negan remembered. it had kept them up at night then and every so often it still did. all the possibilities made his blood boil.

“he didn’t fuck me, if that’s what you’re asking about.” it was blunt and she regretted how she said it immediately. “he didn’t even touch me like that or want to…i don’t think. it was just for show. to make you and rick and maggie mad, and make me scared.” she remembered the feeling of a calloused hand on her chin tilting her face up to look at him. the sickening scent of him as he leaned down to whisper in her ear and-

“kat?” carl frowned. he never saw her drift like that before. one second she was talking, angry but talking the next she was somewhere else in her mind. 

“i’m fine it’s fine,” she took a deep breath and picked up a new potato to peel. 

“i remember he had you on his lap with the other’s.” he didn’t want to say wives because they weren’t not really. “you looked miserable.”

“i was. i kept thinking he was going to do something to try and set you off, touch me or kiss me.” she’d been straight as a board and she remembered the ache of her back as she willed no part of her body to physically touch him.

carl set his jaw, asking “he didn’t?” 

“he didn’t.” kat assured him. what carl saw was all it was, a show of power and nothing more.

“i could have killed him.”

“i know.”

“i was so happy when you came home,” carl nudged her with his shoulder and stayed there with the crest of his upper arm on her’s.

kat smiled softly. “me too, i missed you…and i was terrified alone.” they’d all hugged her and she’d let them. daryl’s she remembered the clearest, long and so tight she thought he was going to crush her. he’d said “glad to have you back, kid.” like it was just any day but she knew he’d been worried.

she’d slept in carl’s room that night, not wanting to be alone. she knew he remembered that. she’d snuck in through his window and he’d pulled the blankets up around them both. 

“you want him gone still?” carl asked, taking the knife and potato from her hand and closing his fingers around hers.

she nodded, “every single day, i don’t think he deserves a good place like this.” letting him stay hadn’t been a unilateral decision, or they would have blocked it. 

“you’re okay though?”

“i’m okay, i promise.”