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throneofsapphics · 3 months ago

Text

track 32

Fenrys x Reader x Lorcan

Summary: Cursed to fall in love, only to have everything ripped away from you, moving on to your next life already feels like a drag, only things don't quite follow their usual patterns.

Warnings: discussions of death, Maeve, brief description of torture, happy ending

Word Count: 8077

A/N: the HAPPIEST of birthdays to @whisperingmidnights <3 I hope you have an amazing day (& thank you to @rowaelinsdaughter for your help)

You tumbled into your new body. Again. At least this time the Gods let you skip through the childhood years, instead flooding your mind with memories of your new past. You could only be a toddler so many times before truly losing the last grip on your sanity.

You’d think so much pain and suffering would flood together, the lives all melting into one giant messed up pot but instead each experience remained distinctly painful to you. Distinctly full of suffering and sour memories. You, obviously, hadn’t survived a single one and your trek across the multiverse was written in blood.

It took you up until life 15 to really stop holding onto so many grudges, especially considering you seemed to be destined to fall for the same people each time. Not the same types of people, but the actual same person.

Whoever put a curse on you had been clever. If you were cursed, perhaps you were just really damn unlucky. But right now you needed a bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest. Of course you were drunk. Fresh in from a night out on the town with one of your friends, but you had good some good fortune in this life - your own apartment.

Tossing clothes off as you walked, you beelined towards where you knew the bathing room was. You were pretty certain you’d stayed in this exact apartment building before, and if you remembered correctly each apartment had near identical layouts, the entire building cheap and designed for efficiency. In this life, you’d made it your own more than in the previous ones.

You stepped into the tub, let the cold water hit your toes, partially sobering you, rivulets of now psycho-somatic grime and blood streaming from your body to pool in clear water at your feet.

A mind healer would have a field day with you and you knew it all too well.

Plugging the drain, you adjusted it to reach the perfect temperature. Yes, an efficiency building but still had hot running water. It was odd, but you didn’t question it - you were a creature of comfort after all.

You wondered when you’d see them again. You wished you could say that tall of your interactions started off on a fresh beat, that you had it together enough not to judge them based on versions of them in a different universe, but you weren’t.

Having it together? Maybe, certainly not on that level though. Having it together enough to appreciate their presence at this moment? Hell no.

After last time.

“We’re done,” he mumbled, not willing to make eye contact with you.

“Then say it to my face,” you glanced between both of them.

Heads down. Eyes downcast - first time you’d seen them like that.

“Then I really meant that little, didn’t I?”

“No,” one said - you could barely distinguish who through the raging steam in your ears and tears down your cheeks.

“Yes,” the other said. You didn’t know or care who said what. It didn’t matter. Later, just before the death took you you’d find out who made them do it and realize it still didn’t matter. She may have forced them to lie, but they didn’t have to be quite so convincing. 31 lives had taught you logic had no place in heartbreak.

The memory hit you like a physical blow to the chest, a stinging and pressure left in its wake. That heartbreak had killed you the quickest of them all.

Three days.

It was part of your curse, you’d figured out. To always know. What life you were on, the details of your past lives, how long it took you to do, what the death felt like, every little detail was committed to memory all because you’d dared to love someone a little too much, and ended up stealing them away from a wicked witch.

Well, the story didn’t go quite like that but you thought it sounded better in your head that way. In reality, you’d fallen in love and done something stupid, as all people in love do from time to time.

You and Lorcan had agreed you should try to get Fenrys out, that although it would be more difficult to get him released, Fenrys needed it more. You didn’t have the guts to tell him you needed both of them like you needed air, but there hadn’t been time for that. All of your moments were stolen and borrowed time.

“Will you please release him from your service?” You were on your knees, begging. “Please, Majesty.”

The harsh flooring dug into your knees but you kept the same subservient pose. For someone with so much pride, this was humiliating and your Queen knew it.

“No.”

One flat and toneless word.

“No?” You repeated.

Wicked red lips curved into a smile. “That is what I said.”

You had several choice words for her after, and she’d responded with a fucking curse. Cursed to always love, but to never have it stick, cursed to die from heartbreak.

Even after all of these lives the word ‘curse’ was still ugly in your mouth, still made your stomach heave and back seize at the memories. The times you’ve run into the Queen she hadn’t recognized you, but you knew she was still untouchable. Frequently made that way by the ones you loved.

The breeze sneaking through the poorly insulated window highlighted how water already chilled around you. You didn’t miss that part of this building, the tub held next to no heat and your bathwater always ended up cold in less than fifteen minutes.

You were tempted to stay still and prune, but there was no use in it. A new life, new things to do.

Dragging yourself out of the tub, you dried off as efficiently as you could make yourself, scrounged up some comfortable clothes and headed to your desk. Grabbing a notepad and pen, you began writing.

number thirty-one.

It was a ritual of sorts, perhaps your imaginary mind healer would be proud of you for it, for getting all of your pain out on paper as soon as possible.

Right before you burned it.

Tossing the five sheets of paper on the flames felt good.

Running into them happened far too quickly for your liking. It always did. Life always started and finished too damn fast.

You glanced in the mirror, at what you’d chosen to wear for the night out with your not-really-new friends. The dress fit you perfectly, and showed just enough to leave you feeling bold without being uncomfortable. The gold wrapped around your wrists helped too. Not too much to look rob worthy, but enough to make you feel like some extra type of sheen was thrown over you. Maybe, just maybe this life would bring you a little luck. Was gold supposed to be good luck? You didn’t know, but maybe you’d figure out how to look it up later. If you remembered to.

You felt something warm in your chest, not unlike the flush from the first sip of whiskey. Closing your eyes you could’ve sworn it tugged, dragged you towards another.

No, not in this or any life. It wasn’t possible.

No matter how many times you fell in love and in how many ways, you’d never found a mate and were convinced you were destined not to. 31 lives was enough time to find a mate, a life partner. You should’ve had that done in by life 10.

It was funny, how you’d started measuring your existence in lives rather than years. After all, it fit your circumstances. Permanently destined to be a temporary existence in others lives, and for their existence and influence to end yours. If there was a way out of this, a stopping or breaking of the curse you figured you would’ve found it by now.

A loud pounding on the door and you hissed as the brush slipped, you barely moving your wrist away in time to save your face from a large black streak.

“Gods,” you yelled, “hold on a damn moment.”

“We’re going to miss the bard,” someone - Ella? Yes, Ella, shouted back.

“Alright,” you groused loud enough for her to hear, “one moment.”

One more swipe of kohl and you looked ready. A few deep breaths and you felt ready.

Shoving the cosmetics to the back of the counter, you swung yourself around the doorway, grabbing your coat off the hook and flinging open the front door, finding your friend posed with their fist menacingly mid-air, probably about to break your door down. Memory clicked in, reminding you they can be a tad aggressive on a mission.

Their mouth curved into a too-satisfied smirk, probably that their threats had work. Rolling your eyes, you shoved past them into the hall, quickly locking your door.

“Anyone else for tonight?”

“Just us,” they looped their arm through yours and started for the stairs.

Ugh. Last time in this building you’d been on the ground floor, and you’d definitely miss the convenience of that, but at least you had a pretty balcony view here. It’s all give and take, you supposed.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Ella’s voice interrupted you.

How long had you zoned out? Was that a habit in this lifetime? You couldn’t remember.

“Do I really look that broke?” You deflected.

It worked, she laughed. Maybe it would’ve been nice if she pushed a little.

Fenrys breathed in the fresh air. Maeve had sent him on a mission. Alone. Staking out Varese for several months, observing, but she didn’t exactly tell him what to look for. It was perhaps the most exciting and infuriating mission he’d been assigned. Infuriating, because he truly had no idea what in Hellas’s name he was supposed to do, exciting because he had months to spend doing whatever he thought ‘observing’ looked like.

Yes, he knew it was a mockery of freedom but right now he’d take the gods-damned mockery over what he’s stuck in every day.

Walking through the street, although he stuck to the shadows, unnoticed to the masses, it still felt like each face was sent there to tease him, remind him of the invisible leash tying him to that bitch for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how Lorcan, the bastard, did it with such glee and joy. At least Whitethorn had shown a measure of discontent at some point, he’d even seen a hint of it on perfectly loyal Gavriel’s face.

Something caught his attention. Someone.

Arm in arm with your friend, strolling down the street, exuding pure confidence. Someone aware of their place in this world and what they meant to it. The light in your eyes matched his own. Dimmed, flaring when necessary and just enough to keep up appearances.

Only a fellow fraud would recognize it.

He had to follow. It was insanity, but he needed to see more of you.

That’s how he ended up nursing a drink in the corner of the bar, shadows wreathed around him, cloak pulled up to cover his face. He matched some of the many body guards of nobles around, and through some blessing not a soul had recognized him or even shot him a second glance. Perhaps Friday’s were quite a popular night for the elite to pretend, that or he’d gotten better at blending in. He didn’t know which to put his money on.

Someone, however, caught all of the attention - including his, even when he tried to ignore the magnetic attraction tugging him towards you. Throwing your head back in a laugh, you danced along with your friend, clothing absolutely sinful and fitting right in. He loved it. Every part of your energy felt like it was tugging at him, urging him closer, closer, closer, and he realized just how dangerous that made you.

Dangerous to him, and to yourself through him.

No matter what, she hung over him like a storm cloud.

Anything he might try to pursue with you would end before it could truly began, love or relationship cut off at its knees without a chance to truly blossom. Did he actually want it to? Could Fenrys actually be that selfish?

Yes, if it came to you. He glanced down at his pint. Still half full, and rather weak shit. He wasn’t drunk but still managed to think complete nonsense. Nothing could happen, but for now he supposed it couldn’t hurt to imagine a fantasy life with a stranger he’d never see again live in the corner of his mind, so long as it it stayed there. He was so, so wrong.

Lorcan Salvaterre knew about sacrifice. In fact, he was an expert at it, at this point. But, every bit was worth it for her. His Queen. The only female he’d truly loved to the point where he’d do anything and everything.

Perhaps other love could have come his way, but it had never been the right time. Timing, in his opinion, shouldn’t matter. He’d always make the time for Maeve, and everything he’d done since meeting her had been for her. When she ordered him away, he left. When she kept him by her side - but never her bed - he stayed. Maeve said jump, he asked how high.

That's why Lorcan was trying to figure out when in Hellas he’d become so disillusioned, starting thinking things so unlike him. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t tell anyone. Lorcan didn’t have any friends or confidants, that wasn’t something he dealt in. To him, there was no purpose in friends when his entire life’s purpose was bound by blood to servitude.

The closest thing he had to friends was his blood brothers, and like hell he’d ever tell them of this ... treachery waging war inside of his mind.

Lunch swirled unpleasantly in his stomach as he thought of the word. Treason.

When Maeve called him to the throne room, when he knelt before her, he mentally prepared himself for his immortal life to end rather early. She must know. She always knows.

Instead, he needed to figure out how he’d pissed her off because she’d sent him off for some kind of torturous punishment. Keeping an eye on Fenrys, currently loose in Varese.

“Anything I should watch out for in particular, majesty?” He was quite proud of how he kept the bitterness from his tone. Or thought he did.

“You’ll know if you see something off,” she dismissed him with a wave. “Consider it a vacation, of sorts.”

Blood sworn didn’t get vacations, he wanted to protest. He didn’t want - or need one. Had he really been slacking that much? The journey would provide adequate time for reflection, for him to dissect and figure out exactly where he’d gone wrong so he could prevent those mistakes in the future. That was essential. This trip however, like most things with Fenrys, would probably turn out to be a complete waste of his time. Time that could be spent doing much better things. But ... he supposed if this is what his Queen wanted him to do, it was exactly what he’d be doing, regardless of his feelings on the subject. His feeling always had been, and always would be inconsequential.

He was here. Already. Fuck.

It was day 2, and you couldn’t catch a break. Is there such thing as a resting life? One where you could go through without any relationships, just peace and enjoying your moments of solitude? No, not for someone like you.

Running away from them never worked, they would haunt your every movement until they consumed every last bit of you and scattered crumbs on the wind, only for the crumbs to reform and drag you back towards them.

Do you embrace fate or run away from it? It was inevitable, what was the point in fighting anymore? You were so tired of it. Exhaustion rippled from you in waves, you were surprised everyone around you hadn’t noticed as soon as you walked in.

Even if you wanted to, Fate, in the form of the most gorgeous man to exist, all bronze skin, onyx eyes, and golden hair, didn’t give you a choice. He slid into the bar stool next to you.

You didn’t smile, at first, but your traitorous heart warmed in his presence.

“Have we met before?” He said, jokingly.

If only he knew.

“Maybe in your dreams,” you slid your hand across the bar and grabbed your glass, drinking deeply. He winced.

“Am I that bad of company?”

“You’ve been here for,” you glanced at the clock pointedly, “a minute. It has nothing to do with you.” You’d tried every approach in the past to get them to see if it would deter them enough for them to circumvent fate, but nothing worked. Each version of you was destined for tragedy with each version of them.

“That’s fair enough,” Fenrys replied. You reminded yourself you didn’t know his name.

“What do they call you?” The words came out, regardless of your internal wince, knowing you were setting him up for a ridiculous line.

“In b-”

You held a hand up and his mouth clamped shut. “No, no, none of that.”

He laughed, deep and rich, a sound you ... had you heard that laugh from him before? Perhaps not, at least not in a few lives. Recently things had been so depressing.

“I like you,” he nudged you gently with his elbow, your heart ached.

not again not again not again.

‘Yes,’ a cruel voice from red lips whispered in your mind, ‘again, again, again. Forever. This is what you deserve.’

Someone cleared their throat. Fenrys.

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at the bottom of your nearly empty glass. Empty. Fuck. You couldn’t handle this sober. Were you sober? Your friends were long gone, all found partners for the night while you nursed your worries at the bar. “What’s your name?” You took the last sip of your drink as the last syllable left your lips, ideally it could hide any signs of a lie from him.

“Fenrys,” he leaned back enough in his stool to extend his arm to you, rather formally. When you placed your hand in his, intending to squeeze it to death, he deftly rearranged your hands and raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. “At your service.”

“Charmer,” you rolled your eyes but softly pulled your hand away and replied with your name.

He said your name quietly, extending the vowels, as if testing how it sounded on his tongue, how it might sound in other -

You chided yourself, pulling your mind out of the gutter. With the situation you knew he was always in, that was the last thing you needed to be thinking about. Or that he needed to be. You might not escape him, but you certainly wouldn’t do anything to make this harder on yourself. At least thats what you’re saying now.

“Last call,” the gruff barman said, scowling at Fenrys before shooting you a smile. Your mind rattled through details. Right, you regularly shut this tavern down and always left a good tip.

You leaned over to Fenrys and whispered low so the other male couldn’t hear, “he’s easy to win over. A good tip, manners, and easy orders.”

Fenrys hid his snort in his drink, draining the last droplets. “Thank you for the advice, love,” he whispered conspiratorially. Asshole.

“Whatever,” you mumbled and left your usual amount, sliding off the stool. Just because you were fated to make each other’s lives hell didn’t mean you had to deal with him being rude. Maybe you were just sensitive.

A ‘wait’ followed you but you ignored it. Inevitable.

He caught up to you on the street, calling your name again.

Something else struck you. He was alone in Varese. When did this happen? This was odd. Out of all of your lifetimes nothing had followed this pattern, never meeting so quickly and certainly not with Fenrys on his own with his leash rather loose for what the bitch prefers. You needed to figure out more.

“Want to come back to my place for a drink?” You said, slowly turning to look at him.

If he was surprised by your quick change of tune, he didn’t say a thing, only nodding and linking your arms together. Like he’d been waiting for a friend. The pain in your chest was physical as much as it was emotional.

Lorcan was here to keep an eye on Fenrys, and if that meant sitting in the shadows on a rooftop, peering through a beautiful female’s stupidly open window then so be it. You walked around and even acted like you didn’t give a damn whether you lived or died, but he could tell you were smart, based on how you’d handled Fenrys.

He’d ended enough lives to have an appreciation for it, and the way you were so gods-damned careless with yours pissed him off.

Lorcan should be questioning why his feelings towards you are so strong, but instead he’s observing every little detail of the interactions between you and Fenrys. For his report, of course. He always paid attention to detail, there was no other reason than being thorough. At least he kept telling himself that.

It wasn’t because he liked the way your hair moved, or how you rolled your eyes frequently at his blood-sworn brother, followed by a barely there smile that he only noticed because the shadows danced around it, as if you repelled the darkness.

Maybe you could repel the darkness in him.

What. The. Fuck.

Lorcan hadn’t drank, and even if he had he never entertained thoughts like this.

Refocusing, he committed to memory every detail of what Fenrys was doing, how he reacted to you, how attached he might be and how you might already be used against him by his Queen.

An unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach, tainting him.

Guilt.

He didn’t want to use you.

But if it came to it, he wouldn't have a choice. He never really did.

Fenrys whistled lowly on his way home, through the empty streets. Still aware of his surroundings, also aware that none would dare approach him - not with the steel and the stature he carried himself with, proof he knew how to use it.

All he’d done is sit and talk with you for hours, in fact the dawn was currently beginning to crest over the city. Hours of sitting and talking felt like mere minutes with you, and he found he had more fun in that time than he had in years, perhaps decades, perhaps since entering Maeve’s service.

It was sad, really, that you could only be a temporary fixture, for your own safety.

Still, his mind rattled with ways to do the impossible, with how he could be with you forever without ... it was useless, really, to even ponder it. The false hope and ideas would only taint the present he had, for however long Maeve let him stay here in his ... his fantasy, he supposed.

He could imagine many fantasies with you involved but the biggest was your friendship. The way you hadn’t hit on him, made any kind of sexual innuendos or advances, thats why he followed you out of the bar. Because you made him comfortable in a way nobody else had in so, so long. Like you’d been doing it for lifetimes.

The scent hit him. The male wanted him to know he was there. His entire body stiffened, posture straightened slightly, pleasant after buzz from your intoxicating presence gone just like that.

Lorcan Salvaterre. His commander.

“Who was that?” Lorcan wasted no time and matched pace with him.

“None of your business,” Fenrys snapped. Aware that he could be punished for it, but he didn’t care, he looked the male right in the eyes.

Lorcan ... Lorcan didn’t push him. At all. Instead, something like understanding passed through his eyes. Had Lorcan needed to protect someone from Maeve before?

Probably not. He was a cold hearted bastard through and through.

“Keep her away,” the words were whispered on the wind - there and gone. Just like Lorcan, who melted into the shadows.

Away from who? Lorcan didn’t say ‘keep away from her,’ and Fenrys knew everything the bastard did was intentional.

Lorcan Salvaterre was here. You knew it, having caught the faintest hint of his unfortunately familiar scent, trailing after you like a hound.

The fact that he was following you made you nervous. Yes, similar situations had occured before but everything about this time seemed so different that it filled you with mixed emotions.

What are the odds there’s actually something good in store for you? Slim, you decided, based on history and reasoning, and you knew Lorcan Salvaterre stalking anyone was bad news, but especially for you when you had ... history with the Queen he so lovingly served.

Someone whose head deserved to be ripped right from her neck, you cast the thought into the universe and hoped it landed, hoped she felt a phantom prick in the side of her neck.

Maybe she regretted cursing you to some kind of eternal half existence, always in and out of different worlds. Doubtful. More likely she tired of whatever game she decided to play for you and set the person who she knew would hurt the most to kill you. Even you could admit you were extrapolating.

Maybe an attitude change could fix everything. A tad less drama.

You glanced out the window, at the rain currently pouring down, at the moisture leaking into your apartment. The weather certainly didn’t match up for life changes, if anything it read of staying right where you were.

Accepting it wouldn’t happen today, you saved the attitude change for the next sunny day. Those practically screamed change in fortune. Or you hoped they did.

A week passed. You saw Fenrys each night at the Tavern, and scented a weirdly careless Lorcan on your trail each day.

Your attitude may not have changed with the next bout of sunshine, but you had a plan. It was rather simple, to somehow draw Lorcan out. However, there was a difference between having a plan and knowing how to execute it. You supposed that made your plan an idea more than anything.

Fenrys had mentioned business meetings he’d be attending one night, and you decided that was the perfect to do it. The perfect night to pretend to get sloshed, and you had the help of your favorite barkeep.

Knowing Lorcan, he probably had questions for you, and wouldn’t miss the opportunity to get some answers while your inhibitions were ‘lowered.’ Arrogant males like him wouldn’t let opportunities slide by, but Lorcan Salvaterre stayed Maeve’s commander for a reason, and you knew your acting skills had to be top notch to keep him from becoming suspicious.

“When will you stop pretending to drink those?” Lorcan asked gruffly as he slid into the stool next to you, his hulking frame towering over the bar and casting a shadow over you. You were a good actress, but he was better, and caught on after the first couple of drinks and exchanged looks between you and the barkeep, who you were on very friendly terms with.

The obsession with you, the flares of irrational anger when another man trailed too close, Lorcan knew what this was, and knew he was screwing both of you over with it. Fated for misery and doom, no matter how the cards played out. He’d be stuck with her, Lorcan noted how she was demoted in his mind, and you’d be ... free.

All those years he’d spent making fun of those males now served to make him feel like a lot of an asshole because he gotit. There was a crack in his armor, a weakness in his resolve, and nobody knew about it. He intended to keep it that way until you were far, far away from him and his ... his Queen, and then as long as possible after that. His stomach clenched at the thought of what she might do to you in order to help keep him in line. Nothing good, and everything��bad.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you answered primly, turning away from him. Why had he come over here again?

He laughed, low and harshly. “Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” he exaggerated the last word - turning it into an insult. It didn’t feel right. His entire being flared against any insult to you, even coming from him.

But ... the little flash of anger in your eyes, the way your nostrils flared, that was amusing. He liked the fire in you. “What did you call me?”

He shrugged.

You scoffed, muttering an insult he chose to ignore under your breath. “Nothing to say to that one?” You pushed when he didn’t answer, letting your elbow brush against his, “I thought it was creative. If you need me to I can keep going, there’s plenty where it came from.”

“It was well done,” perhaps he wasn’t particularly in the mood to be insulted all night, and he got the sense you were more than capable of doing just that.

“Well done,” you echoed, and he nodded. Your mouth curled into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

In the future, you might just deny it ever happened, but Lorcan Salvaterre ended up in your apartment that night. You ignored the fact that he seemed to know the way there. There had always been plenty you were willing to ignore when it came to that male, and that hadn’t changed over the last however many lives.

Once Lorcan - once he’d found his Queen, you’d been second. But before that, he’d made you his everything. You never could blame him for leading you to beg Maeve that first time, that cursed time.

Still, on the nights when you were alone, when the rain or a pretty mountain outline reminded you of him, when everything felt too much, it was easier to pin it on him, even if it made you a horrible person. Horrible, even for an ex-lover, but then again you were always an expert at self-depreciation.

Looking at the male now, like a statue of a God carved from granite, you knew he’d be the death of you. Again. But how could you fight him? You never had the strength to in the past. Maybe you weren’t trying to survive hard enough ...

Things had never moved this quickly in the past, they’d always been at a pace just slow enough to be torturous with your knowledge of your impending doom.

Maybe this time you needed to really try.

For Lorcan. For Fenrys. But mostly, for yourself.

The door closed behind you and you slipped back into reality, into the new situation you found yourself in.

“Drink?” You asked over your shoulder, heading right for your kitchen.

He caught your hand, spinning you back towards him.

“I had something else in mind,” he said roughly, and dipped his head towards yours.

You knew he could be patient, he could be gentle, he could be kind, but you got none of that now.

His hand gripped your jaw, tight enough to keep you still but not harsh enough to hurt, his mouth moved fervently against yours as you matched his pace. It was the collision of a thousand stars, a world breaking and re-forming into something new and beautiful and wonderful. It was everything and more. It was the multiverse coming together into a single moment and screaming yes! this is what you were waiting for. He slowed, softened, as if some kind of guilt caught up with him. You wouldn’t have that. Couldn’t. You gripped the back of his hair and pulled him back closer to you, pressing your body against his.

He would be yours for the night, but little did he know you‘d already been his for eternity.

You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing, Fenrys reminded himself as he walked out of the bar, spotting you teasing Lorcan. He’d finished his business meetings early and thought he might see if you were still haunting your favorite spot at the bar.

Still, he wanted to rush up to you and ask you if you knew who the hell you were tangling with but ... he supposed he was like Lorcan in that way, one of Maeve’s Blood Sworn, and to have two of them shown publicly taking an interest in you was nothing short of deadly and he refused to subject you to that. So Fenrys left.

And hated himself for it, but self hatred was nothing new to him.

Fenrys wasn’t sure how he found Lorcan’s rooms, considering the male probably didn’t want to be found right now. Probably wanted to bask in you. Your beauty, the time he sp-

He stopped himself from thinking of it. Even thought of shifting now, to a body where emotions were simpler and didn’t drain quite so much. Fenrys rarely shifted voluntarily when away from her, not after she kept him in that form so frequently. ‘Where he was easier to deal with,’ she’d said once, and the words still stung as His Majesty, he thought the words mockingly, intended for them to.

The door swung open.

Lorcan didn’t speak, just stood there with his arms crossed and jaw clenched.

Fenrys felt young, and not in a good way. What was he? A jealous lover? Concerned friend? Idiot?

Then it hit him.

The scent.

Yours.

His.

Entwined.

Without him.

Rage, pure and strong filled him. The scent was particular, and he’d seen it just a few times before. Lorcan, intelligently, had a shield around himself before Fenrys he was on the verge of some kind of burst.

“Not fucking possible,” Fenrys backed away, “we can’t have the same mate.”

Lorcan’s eyes widened, but he was looking beyond him. Fenrys whirled around.

You.

“I can’t have a mate,” you said quietly, desperately. “I never have before,” then to yourself, “it’s never been like this,” you switched your gaze to the window, he watched you try to angle your face so they couldn’t see the tears in your eyes but they were evident. Everything was evident when it came to you.

“Get inside,” Lorcan said roughly to both of you.

He had a point, it wasn't exactly the space for this conversation. A hallway where anyone could be walking by and overhear. That’s the last thing he wanted, anything that might put you in further danger.

When he didn’t instantly move, Lorcan grabbed his shirt, tugging him inside. There was a knife at Lorcan’s throat before the male could blink.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me,” Fenrys hissed, slowly sliding the knife away and sheathing it at his side.

He was surprised his commander hadn’t caught it, but then again he was staring at a pretty female in the hallway, your gaze still distant and fixed on the window. He called your name, just loud enough to carry across the distance. Your head snapped, you blinked a few times. He tilted his head towards the room.

An over-exaggerated sigh, probably for their sake more than anything, and then you followed them inside. Each step seemed to make you shrink further into yourself, he noticed, that confidence and bravado fading and leaving someone vulnerable behind.

It took a strong hand to tamp down on instincts rising, telling him to eliminate any immediate threats to you. The main one being Lorcan, but also any other males and possibly females in the vicinity. It was absolutely ridiculous, the way he was feeling even if he wasn’t acting on it. At least he hadn’t acted on it. Yet. If only because he was well aware it would piss you off.

“What did you mean, ‘it’s never been like this?’” Lorcan asked and you read the skepticism in his eyes. Not quite distrust, but an interesting mix of confusion and concern. That had the potential to change quickly. Could you even speak about it or would you drop dead? You’d always assumed you couldn’t but ...

“I’m cursed,” you started. They exchanged a brief glance, and for some reason that irritated you, but you kept going. “We’ve met before. Many times,” you knew that would grab and probably keep their attention, at least for a little while. You held a hand up when their brows furrowed in concern, “just hear me out before you write me off as crazy.”

“I would never write you off,” Fenrys murmured, and you shot him a thankful look but he kept his mouth shut after that. Perhaps it had something to do with the glare on Lorcan’s face.

The words were difficult.

Each one felt stilted and awkward, but they watched and listened as if each word you said was pure gold and something about that made you feel powerful. They went through the emotions with you, although it was a tad more difficult to tell with Lorcan, but you struggled together in a way. For some reason, it started to feel like this might turn into a goodbye and you weren’t quite ready for that. After all, you didn’t know how anyone could stay with someone ... someone with the kind of tainted past you have.

“Why would she do that?” You finished. It a was rare chance to ask two people who probably have more insight than any others into how the mind of the Queen works, not that you believe she’d let anyone truly understand her.

“Cruelty,” Fenrys said.

The same time as Lorcan said, “jealousy.”

“Makes sense,” you huffed, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. It was stupid.

“How do you end up reincarnated?” Lorcan asked. The question you were hoping to avoid.

“I die.”

“Of old age,” Fenrys said, but didn’t sound as if he believed it.

“No,” you said sharply, exhaling. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“Try me. Believe it or not, I don’t find your death very funny,” Fenrys said dryly. Lorcan was watching with apt attention, eyes watching you like a hawk.

“Heartbreak,” you grunted, quickly whirling towards - fuck. You’d meant to look out the window, but saw the mirror instead and the twin faces of horror behind you struck something deep inside of your heart.

“I -” your throat closed up, the words not quite getting out.

“What is it?” Fenrys curled his fingers inward, and despite a slight internal cringe you let him beckon you, let him take your hands, let him give you this kind of comfort.

“I wish you remembered,” you whispered, glancing at Lorcan too, who’s eyes and face told you, yes he knew you were changing the subject, and no the conversation was not over yet.

“I don’t -,” Lorcan Salvaterre stumbled over his words, perhaps for the first time in his life, “I don’t mind making new memories, as long as they’re with you.”

You beamed. Fenrys laughed. He debated how upset you would be if he killed the other male.

Other male.

He knew, already, that he’d have to share you.

For you, Lorcan could and would make anything work. You were worth everything, absolutely everything.

Maeve, a voice whispered in his mind. He pushed it down, ignored it for now. That was an ... his Queen would never be an issue, but a situation he could deal with at a later date.

He swore to himself he’d never make fun of a mated male again. Technically he wasn’t mated yet, but he would be ... soon, he had to be. Being your mate felt like an irrevocably necessary part of his soul, like he might die without it, without having that bond with you to tether him to this world and give him meaning. Meaning he’d been lacking his entire life.

He didn’t know or care if Fenrys felt the same way but he supposed he should. He had an obligation to his mate’s mate, after all, outside of the fact that Fenrys is his bloodsworn brother.

Bloodsworn.

His bones and blood chilled. He couldn’t be yours, not really. The realization threatened to bring tears to his eyes, but he couldn’t cry, not here - not in front of you. You needed him strong.

He stood, abruptly, but didn’t care. He jerked his chin to Fenrys. “We need to talk,” he let his eyes say the rest.

He found he didn’t like how some of the shine left Fenrys’s, how they dulled at the implication of their Queen’s existence. Too bad, for now.

“Great. Secrets,” you muttered, and a slight smile threatened his lips, but you still waved them away. Perhaps you understood secrets better than anyone else.

Lorcan led Fenrys to an adjacent room, and their shields went up at the same time. To keep any nosy females from overhearing. The more she knew, the more danger she was in. At least they were on the same page.

“Where is safe for her?” Fenrys started.

At least he had his priorities straight.

“Antica,” Lorcan answered. Maeve didn’t dare touch the southern continent, yet. “For now,” he added for honesty’s sake. “The curse won’t break until Maeve is ...” He didn’t, couldn’t bring himself to, speak the words out loud, it felt too much like treason.

“Dead,” Fenrys said for him. He had no problem with it, apparently. If Lorcan had been as insolent as the male in front of him, he would’ve been put to death long ago, and he knew that. Perhaps Fenrys didn’t, but it wasn’t the time for that conversation. “So we spirit her away, and then what? How do we keep her from dying?”

“A blood promise.”

“Like what?” Fenrys leaned back against the wall, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“When the curse is broken, we will find her.”

Antica. Hot, miserable, mate-less Antica. In truth, it wasn’t that miserable, but you'd be enjoying yourself a lot more if your mates hadn’t shipped you off here as quickly as they could.

All in the name of keeping you ‘safe,’ you grimaced in the mirror, brushing down your hair, now frizzy slightly from the rare rain that breezed in the day before. They're and gone like a phantom, almost. Almost like their presences in your life.

You could still remember their touches from that last night, firm but gentle, still tentative like new lovers can be. You thought you knew everything about their touch from the past, but even they kept some surprises across multi-verses, or maybe it had just been a while since it had been the three of you and your memory was getting poorer.

Probably that.

You pushed the door open, throwing yourself into the throng of people making their way to the one of the several monthly markets in the city. Throng of people, you thought. It was awfully busy.

‘War,’

‘Sending us-’

‘Saved the princess,’

‘Foreign lord.’

The whispers hit your ears one by one like a drum. A war. Against who?

You stopped casually at the closest table, and sure enough the seller was chittering to the person who came before you about it. A war, and the khaganate would be marching for Aelin Galathynius.

You rolled the name over on your tongue, it being vaguely familiar. Perhaps you should have kept up more with politics throughout the ages, you probably could’ve made a load of money betting, but that felt a tad too immoral, and you did fear the judgement of your own conscience.

As soon as the intrigue was there, it was gone. You’d heard of several wars over the last two decades, the longest you'd lived so far, and none of them had brought your mates back to you. You seriously doubted this would be the one.

You refused to acknowledge the ugly truth. They’d probably already forgotten about you.

In the lonely and mindless hours stuck in his Wolf form, Fenrys thought of the beautiful female in Antica, and dreamed of a life without Maeve, however impossible it was he never stopped hoping.

The female screamed on the table in front of him, but he was frozen in time and space. All he could do right now was bear witness to the horrible crime in front of him. Aelin Galathynius deserved someone to bear witness to her pain and her strength.

The female who should’ve been his Queen, and the female who was his mate had so much in common. Not necessarily appearance, but your attitude and the way you carried themselves. So much that being with her for those months had felt like an even larger blessing. It wasn’t infidelity, not by any means, but perhaps a bit wrong he was using Aelin as a proxy for you.

The screams in front of him distracted him from his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. She’d passed out, he was waking her with some foul smelling cloth. Each day, he thought he’d reached the limits of what he could bear without closing his eyes, but somehow - because he knew you would do it - he managed to watch. Witness. Wait. It was all he could do now.

Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was a miserable male to be around, but traveling through Varese had turned him downright sour. At least internally.

He knew he needed to get to Aelin, and he knew he needed to get to Fenrys. For the bond they shared with each other that they’d never told a soul about. If he didn’t get to him, you’d never ever forgive him.

He might be too much off a coward to tell you, but he would know in his soul and that’s enough. He’d find Fenrys, get her away from him, do whatever it took.

You woke up one morning with an unusual lightness, a ‘pep’ in your step, so to speak. You’d never understood that phrase until then, when you felt like all of your burdens and issues had been freed in a spare moment, like nothing could weigh you down right then.

As usual, you got your gossip through the market, and it all made sense.

Doranelle has a new Queen.

Queen Maeve was killed in Terrasen.

You were free.

You tilted your head up towards the sky, and let the sun shine down on your face, not caring you were stopped in the middle of the park. From the corner of your eye you spotted an older woman copying your movements, not in a mocking way, but in a yes the sun is quite nice today way.

The flip side of your freedom meant your mates would be coming soon. They’d be coming soon.

To Antica.

To you.

You scrambled back to your apartment to start packing. How long did it take to get from Terrasen here?

You paused halfway through throwing your closet onto your bed.

A letter would’ve arrived by now, but you’d received no such thing.

That night you fell asleep on top of your clothes.

The next day you built the courage to put them away.

You didn’t know where in the world they were now that Maeve is gone, and perhaps with the curse lifting they felt they no longer were obligated to be with you and love you, and maybe -

A familiar scent hit the same time as a knock on your door.

You rushed to it, throwing it open finding ...

Both of them. Your mouth parted, words not quite leaving your lips. Finally, you managed a lame, “you came.”

“We promised,” Lorcan said “Can we come in?”

Yes, they obviously could, you swung the door wider and ushered them inside.

“We came as soon as we could,” Fenrys promised.

The silence was awkward for a few moments as the three of you tried to figure out how to navigate this. But, it was easy enough to break as you threw yourself at both of them, managing to catch each of them in a hug at the same time.

“I forgot to tell you before I left,” you started, muffled in the shirts but knew they heard you. You’d memorized these words long ago. “I spent so long looking for all of the things that would kill me, I forgot the ones that made me feel alive. Both of you made me feel alive. Thank you.”

#fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys moonbeam x y/n #lorcan salvaterre x reader #lorcan salvaterre x y/n #fenrys x y/n #fenrys x reader #lorcan x y/n #lorcan x reader #fenrys x reader x lorcan #lorcan x reader x fenrys

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plussizefantasia · 1 year ago

Text

Trick-Or-Treat

Flufftober Day 31: Trick or Treat

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

AN: Here it is. The last one shot of October. Thank you to everyone who has left comments and reblogs you guys are awesome. I'll be taking a short break (like two weeks) and will be back soon with some more stories including a multi-chapter Steve Harrington x reader story and plans for the 100-follower celebration that we earned at the beginning of the month. As always, reblogs and feedback are really appreciated.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

Bucky Barnes didn’t think very much of himself. Which is a real shame, considering he’s one of the most amazing men you’ve ever met. You wouldn’t have moved in together if he was a bad guy like he thought he was. The two of you had moved into a two-story townhouse in Brooklyn three months ago. Bucky really wanted to get close to his roots, especially after everything that happened. Steve had moved into an apartment about a block from you guys but split most of his time between the Avenger’s initiative and being home.

“Jamie, could you help me move the couch to the stoop please?’

‘Why are we taking our indoor furniture outdoors?”

“So that we have something comfy to sit on while we hand out candy.”

“We’re handing out candy? I thought we were just going to put it in a bowl and leave it outside the door.” Bucky was confused, and more than a little apprehensive.

“Jamie. Love of my life, this is what people who have houses do. They sit out on their porches and hand out candy to children in mediocre costumes for two hours while trying not to freeze. It’s a rite of passage.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re telling me that you didn’t do trick or treat in the olden days?”

“First of all, don’t call them the olden days. Second of all, trick or treating wasn’t really a thing until I was too old to participate, and even then, people had more things to worry about than handing out candy.”

“Why don’t you want to hand out candy, Jamie?”

“Because… it will be cold.”

“You’re literally a human furnace try again.” You lifted one eyebrow at him, trying your best to capture the essence of Roger’s ‘eyebrows of disappointment’ that he had practically trademarked.

“Doll, I just don’t think it's a good idea.”

“Why not Jamie? I won’t make you hand out candy if you don’t want to but I have a feeling that whatever reason you have in your silly little noggin for not wanting to isn’t really a good one.”

“What if they hate me?” He mumbled.

“What if who hates you, baby?”

“The kids. What if the kids are scared of me.”

“James Buchanan Barnes. You are a hero, you fought to bring back literally half of the population of the entire universe, anyone who is scared of you is an idiot.”

“That’s sweet doll, but I don’t want to ruin anyone’s night.”

“The only person’s night who is a risk of being ruined is mine. I don’t know how I’ll survive without my human furnace to keep me warm out there.” You batted your eyelashes at him. “Please, Jamie? Just try, if you hate it you can go back inside but I think you’ll have a lot of fun.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” You didn’t try to fight the smile that spread from ear to ear.

‘Yeah, doll. I’ll hand out candy with you.”

Bucky wasn’t sure about any of this. But you had asked so prettily and his therapist (someone you had found for him, not one of the shitty government-appointed ones) had told him that he needed to start pushing his boundaries. He figured that spending the night next to you and watching you be happy was as good of a way to start pushing boundaries as any. He had pulled the couch out into the space that was right in front of your door. He had helped you climb over the back of it with a huge bowl of candy after you realized that the couch had practically trapped you inside. Now the two of you were waiting. The night didn’t officially start until 8:00 so you had about fifteen minutes to go.

“Jamie?”

“Hmm?’

“I forgot my phone.”

“Okay?’

“Jamie?”

“Yes?”

“Could you go get my phone?” He let out a deep sigh and one of those old man grunts as he pushed himself up off the couch and climbed over it. He walked further into the house and you took your chance. “Hey Jamie?”

“Yes, Doll?”

“Since you’re inside… could you make me some hot chocolate?”

“Doll, if you wanted hot chocolate you could’ve just asked in the first place you didn’t need to send me on a quest for your phone.”

“I did actually leave my phone on the counter so it’s not like I lied.”

As Bucky was making your hot chocolate, the beginning few kids started emerging from their houses, parents behind them bundled up to counteract the chilly October night.

You saw a few clowns, some kids show characters that you didn’t really know the name of, and some funny pun costumes that you laughed at. But what really caught your eye was the trio of boys four houses down from yours, making their way down the street.

They couldn’t have been older than eight but their costumes were impeccable. They really were mini versions of your three favorite guys. A mini Captain America complete with a homemade cardboard shield, a mini falcon with swim goggles and a plastic redwing, and last but certainly not least a mini winter soldier whose arm was wrapped in tinfoil.

You had to resist the urge to actually scream, but you did let out a few overjoyed giggles.

“Jamie! James come quick!” You yelled into the house.

“You’re hot chocolate is almost done.” He yelled back.

“Who cares about the hot chocolate this is way more important!”

He started making his way towards the open door, “What is more important than hot choco-” He completely stopped. Frozen in his place looking at the three little boys making their way up your steps. “Holy Shit”

‘Language.” You replied.

Bucky practically launched himself over the back of the couch to meet the boys,

“Mom! Mom look! It’s Sergeant Barnes.” The boy with the tinfoil arm turned with a bright smile on his face. His mom was nearly as frozen as Bucky, most likely not expecting to run into a retired superhero on Halloween night.

With a smack from you, Bucky released himself from his stupor. “Hey little man, what’s your name?”

“George, but everyone calls me Georgie.” He said with the confidence of a kid who had rehearsed.

“Well Georgie, that’s a very nice costume you’ve got there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes, Sir.”

“Call me Bucky, please.”

“Okay, Mr. Bucky, sir.” Both you and Bucky chuckled at that.

“I think a costume as good as that deserves some candy what do you think?” Bucky looked at you.

“Definitely, I think all three of these young heroes deserve their candy.”

You placed a handful into the Captain’s bucket, and the Falcon’s but let Bucky grab the candy for his mini-me. He grabbed two large handfuls and winked at the kid as he placed them inside his orange pumpkin bucket.

“Would you be okay with taking a picture?” Georgie’s mom asked.

“Absolutely!’ Bucky replied and pulled all three young boys in front of him. Kneeling behind them and giving a genuine smile.

Once pictures were done the parents got the boys to say goodbye and move on.

“There are more houses to go to Georgie, besides, I’m sure Mr. Barnes would like to be able to give candy to some other kids.”

“Okay Mom,” Georgie turned back to Bucky, “Thank you, Mr. Bucky, sir. You’re my hero.” He turned back away and skipped down your stairs and onto the next one like he hadn’t just broken your boyfriend.

The rest of the night went pretty similarly, with the occasional Avenger costume and star-struck kid. Bucky posing for pictures and actually enjoying it and you handing out way more candy per child than their parents were okay with.

Bucky’s smile never faded and he seemed to get more and more into it as the night went on.

“Hey Doll?” He asked when the two of you had finally returned your couch back to its rightful place.

“Yeah, Jamie.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You kissed him on the cheek. “You never did bring me my hot chocolate though.”

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 8 months ago

Note

Do you all have any proof that Invictus wants nothing to do with Harry or is it just a hunch based on narratives you’ve made up yourselves? Or maybe it is just wishful thinking on your part?

First off, reading and context is fundamental. No one has said Invictus wants nothing to do with Harry. We’re saying that it doesn’t make sense why Invictus keeps Harry around when he doesn’t appear to provide them any value. From a liability and risk management perspective, they have to be doing something to protect themselves from his lack of engagement.

And it is actually data-driven speculation. I don’t make stuff up here; I am always researching, I am always reading, I am always learning, and that is what informs my theories. There is very little I take at face-value.

But since your insult was polite, I’ll let you look at my homework instead of telling you to go figure it out yourself. Just this one time.

So this is the financial report from the UK charity registry:

Expenses (money going out) and income (money coming in, i.e. the donations) are virtually the same. In other words: as of 2022, Invictus is barely breaking even. This is not good; it means, more or less, they're one crisis away from some serious problems.

It also means that their actual Games - which, in 2022 would have been The Hague/Dutch IG - are expensed entirely by the host city. So basically, the charity itself is nothing more than a glorified events planner spending someone else's money. That's...not exactly the mission we're told that Invictus Games is.

Now, that orange line there on the bottom is what the UK calls "governance." (In the US, we call it "administrative.") This is what it means, from IG's 2022 financial report:

Note that this doesn't include salaries for the 12 (as of 12/31/2022) employees at IG. According to Giving is Great, a UK charity watchdog, senior staff costs (i.e. salaries and benefits) is 26%, or approximately £500,000. Add the governance/admin costs, and we're looking at £750,000 a year just to keep the charity's lights on. When your total budget is £2 million, that's a big chunk of change. 40%, in fact.

Second let's look at their income. The UK charity registry breaks the "gross income" down into several subcategories. For Invictus Games:

(The column headers were cut off but from left to right it's 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, and 2022.)

Meaning that in 2022, their income came from donations, trading, and charitable activities.

(Remember that in 2020, the Royal Foundation made a £1 million donation to Invictus Games, which I believe makes up the majority of that £1.4m donation. If that assumption is correct, then that means in 2020, Harry was only able to fundraise an additional £400,000 in donations. Now, 2020 was a very difficult year for a lot of charities and nonprofits so that steep dropoff isn't unusual to see in the financial reports.)

Now from the 2022 financial report, here's what these categories mean:

So just really quick. Unrestricted means that the recipient chooses where/how to spend the money. Restricted means that the donor directs where/how the charity spends the money. So Invictus could spend £381K of the donations (Category #2) anywhere they wanted to, but for the remaining £700K of donations they received, they had to follow specific directions on how to use it.

What this is saying is that of the total income earned by Invictus Games in 2022, only £1.08 million came from donations.

Now, in my (volunteer) experience working in nonprofit fundraising most lay people (i.e. members of the general public who donate to charities) don't usually direct or designate their donation. So most of the regular donations are going into the unrestricted pot. Corporate donors, sponsors, or partners are more likely to give restricted gifts, where they direct how the money will be spent. So based on my experience, I feel comfortable assuming, or suggesting, that £231,447 received in unrestricted donations is people like, you, me, and Sussex Squad donating to Invictus out of pocket.

That's a pretty poor showing. And in my opinion, it's a direct reflection of Harry's leadership; he isn't inspiring people to donate to Invictus. Instead, the bulk of Invictus's income/donations is coming from corporate sponsorships.

Most charities cannot survive on corporate sponsorships and partnerships. It does not guarantee long-term survival. Long-term survival is predicated on investments, endowments, and contracts...which Invictus doesn't have, which means their patron isn't doing his share.

Third let's look at the actual Games themselves. The Hague/Dutch IG was given a budget of €15 million (~$16 million). According to this leaked letter from the Dusseldorf IG Committee, the Hague IG Games actually ended up costing €25 million (~$27 million). That's a 60% increase, and it's impossible for all of that to be due to COVID-related inflation.

Going backed to the leaked Dusseldorf IG letter, their budget was about €27 million (~$29 million). It's being reported that the Dusseldorf IG actually ended up costing closer to €37 million (~$40 million). This is a 37% increase; they were also very over budget.

And in March 2023, Invictus Games 2025 signed and published, to their website, a Contribution Agreement outlining that Canada's budget for the Vancouver IG is $30 million CAD (~$22 million USD); $15 million CAD (~$11 million USD) from the province of British Columbia and $15 million CAD from the government of Canada.

So if I split the baby for budget overrun [(60% + 37%)/2=48.5%], we're looking at Vancouver IG to probably end up costing around $44.5 million CAD.

In other words...they're in trouble. Meaning that Invictus and its board should be working together with the local corporation(s) to cut costs and increase savings/get new sponsors and partners. Meaning that the patron should be out there campaigning and fundraising for money or figuring out how and where to cut costs...but he isn't.

Or those efforts aren't visible. Not when the competing PR is about Harry's attacks on the BRF, Spare, Meghan's merching, and stories like this one of key leaders being abruptly fired and whistleblowers leaking to the press.

Now why would someone be abruptly fired without notice? It's not for shock and awe. It's either for incredible malfeasance (like fraud and embezzlement) or because someone much higher up wanted it. Since there's no paper trail or proof of wrongdoing - which Vancouver IG would have leaked in some way, shape or form - all the evidence strongly suggests the two men were fired because someone else demanded it. Maybe, say, someone who costs so much more than he's actually worth, who causes more problems than solves, who has alienated a lot of public goodwill. Of course, that's just pure speculation. But it is strange. One person getting fired without notice, sure, not really worth paying attention. But two people? And two people who purportedly know a whole lot about what's happening behind closed doors? That's hinky.

Have I forgotten anything?

Oh, right. This: growing criticism and dissatisfaction from local host-nation communities, Invictus's competitors and their families, and social media over the Sussexes' inability (and disinterest) to promote anyone but themselves whilst attending events.

The last thing any brand wants (or needs) is an ambassador that alienates their core customer base and prospective supporters and dominates the news with controversy. Brands, including nonprofit organizations, rely pretty heavily on:

The goodwill and positive attention their ambassadors generate

The users, fans, supporters, customers, and consumers that follow their ambassadors and

The networks their ambassadors move in.

Harry doesn't do any of that either:

He loses public goodwill every time he opens his mouth and invites only criticism.

The customers (the veterans and their families) aren't happy that their efforts are overshadowed. The consumers (people at home following along) are unhappy and dissatisfied that they can't find information about the competitors or the Games themselves because the only press coverage is about Harry and Meghan.

Harry is completely excluded from the royal, military, international, and aristo networks that propped him up 10 years ago to launch this thing. Invictus can't tap into that anymore, so why should they keep him around?

Let's review.

Invictus's expenses and income barely break even. Further, their reserves allow them to operate for less than one whole year. That's a really uncomfortable place to be in. Where is their patron to help seek out income streams that would build up their reserves?

Based on donation data, they're wheezing along on spit and prayer. They rely almost exclusively on corporate sponsors/partners. There's no investments, no endowments, no contracts. Actual "from the people" donations is just paltry. Where is their patron to lead fundraising campaigns, recruit new sponsors, develop investment opportunities?

The costs to host the Games keeps ballooning. Some cost overrun is normal, expected, and even budgeted for, but not the amounts that Invictus keeps turning out. Where is their patron to help look for new partners or charm everyone over with budget cuts?

There was a personnel shakeup in the Vancouver 2025 leadership that caused a lot of questions and concerns about their readiness to host their events and revealed a lot of morale issues. Where was their patron to calm the chaos?

There's growing criticism over the patron's behavior that is reflecting badly on Invictus Games and their brand. Where is the patron changing his behavior, changing his attitude, changing his priority?

I'll tell you where the patron is. He and his wife are flying around the world to party at Soho Houses, whine about being cut off from his family after he spent 3 years attacking them, spending other people's money in ridiculous ways, and getting wastedly high after his wife and kids go to bed.

The longer Invictus Games is associated with that, the more it reflects on them and their brand. They can't afford that. Not when they're promoting themselves as "family friendly" or "family supporting" (which is how they've justified Meghan's involvement).

It doesn't make any sense for them to keep Harry on. He's not fundraising for them. He's not schmoozing. He costs more money than he brings in. The people they serve don't like him. He isn't bringing big donors in. He isn't speaking to or supporting his family.

And allllllllll this together is why I say "I wouldn't be surprised if Invictus is trying to phase Harry out." It's why I say "depending on how well Germany Invictys 2024 goes, that may be the proof they can survive without him."

It's data-driven speculation. Not something I've made up. The only thing that's made up is the speculation about why two senior leaders were so abruptly fired. But that isn't even part of the analysis or the calculation.

Next time, anon, you're doing your own fucking research.

#ask #brf #sussexes #invictus games

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sillygoose067 · 7 months ago

Text

Charles’s Angel(s)

Ch. 31

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: Mention of nipples like once, hot kissing/making out, I think that's it.

On the way to Charles’ place, you felt your eyes begin to droop from exhaustion. In turn, your boyfriend makes sure to bring your knuckles to his lips every time you hit a stoplight, the sensation keeping you just barely awake, the tingles traveling up your arm.

You feel him gently shake you awake when you’ve arrived. “Love, we’re here”.

He leads you to his apartment floor, stopping before the door to take a deep breath.

“Is everything alright?... I can go back to my place if you change your mind–”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just trying to recall whether I’ve left the house a mess or not.” He laughs. “Well, I guess moment of truth…”, and he opens the door, stepping aside for you to enter first.

You step into his apartment, looking around in awe. “Wow, it’s neater than I imagined…”

“You’ve imagined what my place looks like?”

“What? No, I mean, I’ve never been to a boy– A man’s house before, so I always imagined it would be… a mess”.

“Hmmm. Alright, make yourself at home, I’ll go get you some clothes, m’kay babe?”

You turn to him, eyes wide. “What… What did you just call me?”

“Babe. I– Is that okay? It just slipped out”.

You feel a grin slowly spread on your face. “No, I… I like it. It’s just… very new”. Pause. “Does this mean I can call you names too?”

“...Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Babe, baby, cutie, mon petit ami (my boyfriend), ma Chéri (my sweetheart), honey, love, Charlie, pumpkin–”

“Ok ok! I get it. Yeah, you can call me names. — Maybe except for the third and last ones”, he mumbles while trying to hide the pink dusting his cheeks, burning a trail up to his ears.

You giggle devilishly, hopping onto your tiptoes, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips, and making a run for it. But just as you do, he yanks you back by the arm and buries his hand in your hair, the braid having come halfway undone on the ride to his place. His lips crash back onto yours and it’s ferocious, hungry, demanding. Teeth bite and clash. He pulls you closer by your neck, a strong, veined hand wrapping around it. Charles walks you to his room, lips still attached, thanking every god there ever was that the layout of his apartment was so straightforward and that the living room led right into his room. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, fingers running through the hair on his nape, making him bend down lower, to meet your lips comfortably.

You feel his bed touch the back of your knees and he flips the two of you around so that he’s the one seated on the foot of the bed. Your lips part momentarily, panting and he pulls you onto his lap, your forehead resting against his. He runs his fingers through your hair, moving it out of your face and behind your ears while you trace his lips with your thumb.

“I love you”, Charles whispers against your lips before placing a delicate kiss. You repeat his words with a peck. This back-and-forth continues for a while until Charles taps your hip.

“Baby I’m so hard if I don’t take a cold shower right now, I’ll need sleep in the living room”.

Is that what that was? I thought it was just– You scramble off his lap, straightening out your clothes with a crimson blush burning your skin.

“Yeah, um, go ahead. Sorry. I’m just gonna go.. Get some water”.

Your boyfriend just looks at you with a smirk, reveling in your flustered movements. “Sure love, you go get some water. I’ll just leave you a change of clothes on the bed. You can use the shower in my bathroom– I’ll go to the guest bathroom”.

…

Charles is already in bed by the time you walk out of the bathroom, warm mist following you out. You’re dressed in one of Charles’ T-shirts and boxers, wet hair wrapped up in a towel.

“Hey Charles, do you have a blow dryer I could borrow?”

He leaves his spot on the bed to retrieve it for you when you notice that he’s shirtless. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him topless, but the sight never ceases to make your cheeks grow warm.

You dry your hair and detangle as much as you can with your fingers before taking your place next to him. Charles reaches behind him to switch off the table lamp and curls himself around you. You feel him inhale the area where your shoulder met your neck. You shiver at the sensation, and he leaves a kiss there.

“You smell like me”.

“Is that alright? There weren’t any other body washes so–”

“I like it”. Now he’s trailing butterfly kisses along your neck and collarbone. “It’ll tell everyone that you’re mine”.

Something tingles near your stomach. “Yours?”

“Mmmh, yeah. You are mine”.

You giggle. “What are you, some kind of caveman?”

Then he’s right next to your ear. “For you love, I can be anything”, and then a featherlight touch of his lips under your ear. You feel your nipples harden at his tone, knowing well enough that if his hands traveled any higher, he’d know that you weren’t wearing a bra. Twisting in his arms, you face him.

“Go to sleep, babe”

He closes his eyes with a smile and hums, pulling you close so that your legs are intertwined and his chin rests on your head.

#fluff #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #smut #f1 #formula 1

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quietlyimplode · 29 days ago

Text

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 31 - making amends (We made it!!)

Warnings: none I can think of

Word Count: 3k (gif not mine)

Summary: A decision is made about whether Natasha is all allowed to stay at Shield.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A/N: a couple of things on this one. Firstly happy Halloween or happy boops for those that celebrate. Second y’all can thank @broken--bow for the completion of this years whumptober and the decrease in errors (all mistakes are ofc my own) - thank you my friend (those words never seem enough); third, vote blue like you’re life depends on it (us politics are insidious in how they effect other countries so please brave the polls however you can) and last, this fic ended up 53k words (in a month!) It’s been an enjoyable write and I hope an enjoyable read but so hard, if you’ve ever written then I’m sure you know how hard it can be to get the words out and making it work alongside prompts and a semi coherent story line can be tricky. So to everyone who’s followed it, my love to you all, esp to those that have encouraged with words (and hearts) , you will forever have my thanks. As always a break for now, until the next fic <3

Natasha looks around the office, the way it feels generic and familiar at the same time.

Maria, on her left, flicks through the old magazine, scoffing at something whilst Clint paces.

She gets that he’s nervous, but Maria’s nonchalance betrays nerves on her side as well.

Natasha just feels numb.

Tired.

If she doesn’t pass, it’s not their fault.

She hasn’t asked what happens to her, if she doesn’t.

She feels that if they don’t want her, there’s nothing she can do.

If they don’t pass her… what would Olivia do? Would she withhold the information?

Keep it from her?

It was the only parameter; albeit a big one.

Natasha forces a small breath, realising she’d been holding it for too long.

Schooling her body into stillness, she waits with them. Coulson enters, and the woman at the front desk looks up. He nods to her and sits next to Natasha.

She feels her face grow hot.

Embarrassed, she looks at the people who are on her side. It’s not many, but it’s more than she’s ever had.

People that have fought with her and for her.

She swallows the emotions.

She doesn’t have the luxury of hope now.

A man appears at the door, his face stern and without emotion.

“We’re ready,” he announces.

“Barton, you’re first.”

Maria looks up, putting the magazine away.

He follows the man into the room, taking one last look at Natasha as he offers her a rueful smile.

“Barton,” greets Fury.

Clint thought there would be more people; not just Fury and a man he had never met before.

This feels better to him.

More fair.

“My name, is Rupert,” the man states, his accent British.

Clint can’t help but give him a lazy grin.

It’s not returned.

He wonders if it was the wrong choice, he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this, he needs to make this okay.

Natasha’s file folder sits in front of him and Clint corrects himself.

“Sir,” he nods, adjusting his posture and leaning slightly forward.

He’d learn quickly in the military, of how to manipulate men in position.

Rupert nods to that, the ranking of respect seemingly going further than Clint thought.

He opens the folder.

Natasha’s young face stares at Clint, she can’t have been more than 8 or 9, her eyes dead but still very clearly her.

Clint rips his eyes away, choosing not to look down again; lest the grief of her be his down fall.

For intents and purposes, the therapy room is a good place for this.

A place Natasha is familiar with, but also not the cold view of the debrief room, where all of them had made her relive hard memories and brutal traumas.

Fury sits forward.

“Nine months ago, you brought Romanoff in. You said that she could make a difference, and help us take down the remnants of the Red Room. Since then, tell us what you think of her now. Was your initial assessment correct?”

Clint knew the questions were coming.

“Yessir.”

“Elaborate.”

Clint swallows, he’d practiced with Maria, having all his thoughts together, but now in the moment, his fear seems to override his brain.

“I.. Uh, I..”

They look at him expectantly and he hazards a glance at the picture.

“She’s worth it. You have, everything that she’s disclosed, all the information that she willing parted with, given up locations and players in a very wide game of chess, and done it at expense to herself.”

Clint takes a breath, now started the words seem easier.

“I don’t know what your experiences are around reliving trauma, but she’s done it because we asked her, she’s relived experiences so that a piece of the puzzle makes more sense for us, so that we can see how it fits into a larger picture. Natasha is an asset, she’s proved herself, look at shield - she’s the one that confirmed - with the intelligence sources that she had, that helped us root out the gangrenous scourge.”

Fury raises an eyebrow.

“I asked her afterwards, I said to her that she could leave, because Shield was not what we promised her. We kept her in the bowels of compound for months, she was poisoned and picked on and then watched me get beaten, and you know what she said?”

He pauses for effect, but he knows they’ll wait for him.

“Where would I go?”

“That’s what she said. ‘Where would I go?’ A black widow, with no place to go, I can’t imagine anyone more dangerous. We talk of people who can do good, of people that want to make the world better, but sometimes we might just need people that see the world a little differently; not just our americanised view. Natasha, left out in the cold, would find her own way, I have no doubt, but harnessing her goodness? Her own power and insight? I can’t imagine anything else more worth it.”

Fury stares at him for a moment, nodding and then in an untidy scrawl writes something that Clint can’t quite see.

“So your initial assessment was correct?” he clarifies.

“Yessir.”

Clint suppresses the urge to take a breath, instead, he bows his head and looks at his hands.

“There’s not much I’m sure about, but I am sure of her.”

He looks up to find the two men in front of him looking at him carefully.

Fury nods again.

“Okay. You may go.”

The words are slow, and Clint feels sure he wants to say something more.

“Oh Barton, if she were to stay, she’d be your partner. Does that change your mind?”

Clint smiles at the door but when he turns around his face is impassive.

“Not at all,” he replies, his voice unwavering.

Maria passes Clint, her name called next and takes one last look at Natasha.

The scar on her forehead still healing and Maria wonders if she did the right thing.

“Sir,” she greets Fury.

The other man, introduces himself, the advisor from the world security council looks intelligent.

She’s been wrong before though.

She offers him the same courtesy but turns her attention back to Fury.

“Tell us your current assessment of Shield,” Rupert starts.

It’s not the question she’d been expecting.

“It’s messy,” she starts, thinking on her feet.

Maria thinks quickly of the hierarchies she knows, what to liken it to and how just to explain that they have a long way to go before anyone in shield is completely trustworthy.

“There are currently 628 members of Shield. I think we all know how many were just weeded out and deposed. Each of those members know something of what happened and the rumor mill is wild with stories. I think there needs to be a better system and rankings. It seems ridiculous that we use military rankings and status of missions to determine who is trustworthy. Trust is earned. Both inside and outside of the home. You have a woman working in the library who can speak languages like breathing, new graduates that feel more trustworthy than some who have been here for years but use their power for clout over earning it, and you have an opportunity.”

She looks at Fury.

“Sir.”

Fury gives her a small smile, a sign that she hadn’t gone too far with her assessment.

“So what would you do?” Rupert asks, his voice casual.

“Change it,” Maria says seriously.

“Why not have a ranking system? Levels that give more information and something to work to. Then, clearance is easier. You know who, is in each level, what that rank entails, who can access what. It sounds simplistic but I can tell you how to implement it…”

Maria stops there, embarrassed at her enthusiasm, and the project she’d been working on for the last three weeks.

“I have a presentation.”

It’s the last things she says, the man, Rupert looks at her almost approvingly.

She hazards a look at Fury, expecting anger.

Instead, he cocks his head and stares her down.

She doesn’t quite understand what he’s thinking.

“You have a presentation,” he states, a note of mirth on his voice.

“Yessir.”

Fury leans forward.

“Fine. We can talk about that later. I think you and I need to have more of a conversation about your position too.”

“Sir?”

Maria must look worried as almost immediately Fury waves her off.

“Nothing to be worried about.”

Maria doesn’t feel sure.

“Tell me about your assessment of Natasha.”

Even though Maria knew it was coming, she still feels like she’s not ready to assess her.

“Are you sure you want my opinion?”

She’s stalling she knows.

“Yes,” Fury and Rupert reply in unison.

“She’s unpredictable, wild, traumatised and dangerous,” Maria starts.

She pauses.

“But, she’s an asset. She’s intelligent, resilient, somewhat naïve to American customs but has so much potential. She’s her own person and I think that can only be a good thing. We don’t need yes people, we want people who will assess us as much as we assess them. This is to say nothing on the intelligence she has provided us, the intelligence she has likely held back. Barton has done a good job at supporting her, making this as painless as possible for all involved. I..”

Maria hesitates.

She thinks of Natasha’s shaking hands, and worried eyes in the hospital. The human beyond the black widow. The woman that, despite all she had seen; all she had done, was still kind, still worth saving.

“Barton made the right decision in saving her.”

Fury stares at her.

Rupert looks at her closely.

She doesn’t waver.

“That’s your assessment?”

Maria nods.

“Yessir.”

“Okay.”

Fury shuffles papers.

“You’re dismissed. Ask Coulson to come in. Oh, and Maria?”

She looks up.

“We will meet tomorrow at 8am.”

He smiles, and Maria returns it.

“Yessir.”

Natasha watches Maria exit and Coulson enter the room.

She doesn’t say anything but offers a smile and Clint a nod before leaving.

“It’ll be okay,” Clint whispers.

She’d been in there half an hour, but Coulson, it seems like he’s only in there for half the time.

When he exits, he sits down next to Natasha.

“You’re going to be okay,” he assures, almost echoing Clint’s words.

To Natasha it feels like a soothing balm; from both of them.

The anxiety that she feels still simmering but someone else to fight for her, to take the time to reassure her? Natasha feels a strength that differs to anything she’s felt before.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Clint reaches over and squeezes her hand.

It’s short but she feels emotional, she’s never had men helping her, and here she was, sitting between two of them who have been the biggest supporters she’d ever known.

“When you’re ready,” Coulson tells her, “it’s your turn.”

Natasha sits in front of Fury, the other man seemingly inconsequential in the therapy room.

The green couches where Olivia had asked her what she wanted, all those months ago, still the same; but Natasha feels like everything had changed.

“I’ll get right to it,” Fury opens.

“The others have spoken highly of you, of your faults but also of your strengths. I want to hear from you. You are the one the gets to speak now, give your assessment of us, of shield and your experience here.”

He leaves the question open.

The statement throws Natasha. It’s not a direct question and she’s not sure what she should say.

People in power don’t want the truth.

“Its different,” she says truthfully.

“It’s not been easy being here and being ostracized about who I am and where I’ve come from; to be labeled a traitor and… I suppose I agree that who I am is not for everyone, I come from a place that I can be anyone, and often it’s chosen for me. It stands to reason that when I choose it, it won’t always be right.”

Natasha sighs.

“I haven’t done everything right. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for what harm I’ve done but I can say that I want to do better.”

She thinks it’s what he wants to hear, and she feels it’s true for her at least.

She watches as Fury narrows his eyes.

“Why here? Why America? You had your pick of secret services or agencies. You could work for getting in the world. Why?”

Natasha thinks of Olivia, of Clint and the way he found her, drugged and tortured.

She remembers wondering what else he was going to do to her, and when he met her with kindness, instead of pain, she felt it.

It burrowed inside and settled.

“There was no choice. I chose shield because you were best placed to protect me. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Fury smirks, his one eye glinting.

“And you just… want to do better.”

Natasha suppresses the urge to shift in the chair, to touch her fingers together or clench her fists.

Interrogation training had definitely beat that out of her.

“Yes.”

She feels her face grow hot under the scrutiny and even to her ears it sounds ridiculous.

Her heart rate quickens, and she can feel the tell tale signs of a panic attack.

Slow it down, she tells herself.

Like Olivia had coached her she searched for the emotion that was giving her disquiet.

Shame, embarrassment, anger. Something else she wasn’t sure of.

Making herself take an audible breath, she looks up at both the men.

“Yes. I want to do better, I don’t want to be someone pawn. My life, is my own. Barton once told me that it didn’t have to be like this, and he’s right, I don’t have to be ashamed of who I am, and what they made me. I can use it, I can be better than that; be better than them. You’re right when you say that I could have gone anywhere, done anything yet still came here and tolerated endless debriefs and torments, and you know what? At times I wished I hadn’t, but I stayed with it because you promised more, and I think that it’s what kept me going.”

She pauses.

“I am my choices and I chose this. For better or worse.”

Rupert looks up. Fury looks down.

“How do we know you won’t defect back?” The older man asks.

Natasha was prepared for that question at least.

“Trust goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

The man nods slowly.

It seems he wants to ask more, but they all sit in the silence as Fury writes one more thing.

He stands.

Natasha copies his movement, taking one more look around the room.

The first time she was in here, she had a panic attack that made her feel like she was dying.

Today, she’d been able to push it back and defend herself.

Growth, she thinks, as she exits without a word.

“What do you think?” Fury asks, not daring to hope.

“Well. I think she passes.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Probationary. With Barton.”

Rupert bristles.

“Why not Hill? Wouldn’t she be better?”

Fury shakes his head.

“No. I need Hill for something else.”

“Fine. Barton. But Phil has to be their handler. And you both have to report back to the council. She could be a loose cannon and I want oversight.”

Fury rolls his eye.

“Fine.”

He stands and walks to the door.

“It’s like you think we all aren’t working towards the same goal.”

Rupert gathers his jacket and briefcase.

“We all need oversight, Nick. Edith’s done a lamb, come for dinner and we can talk a bit more. I’ll send you my report before I send to congress. Maybe put Barton out of his misery, her too. I still think probationary for the next 3 months, with Belova awol it’ll probably give you enough time to figure out where she’s gone and persuade her to come back.”

Fury opens the door, allowing the other man to walk through it, first.

He adopts a neutral expression, and bids him a formal farewell, watching Natasha, Clint and Coulson stand and look towards them.

Rupert waves goodbye.

“Fine,” he mutters; looking at the apprehension that none of them can conceal, “come in.”

Epilogue

Natasha lays back on the shield issue bed, contemplating the day.

She was a shield agent.

On probation, sure, but still she had a badge that said so.

Every handler in the red room would roll in their grave.

She smiles, the ones she had killed anyway.

The other ones? She would just have to make time kill them as well so they had the opportunity.

Yawning, she contemplates the last year. How much her life had changed, how far she’d come without dying.

Dreykov would hate her.

He’d want her dead.

There was still so much work to do; to dismantle what was left of the red room.

If there were any girls left that could come in, or be rehabilitated… if they wanted to be.

Olivia.

Yelena.

She was sure the latter was dead, there was no was she could have survived the brutality of the red room.

But still.

There was a molecule of hope that burned inside Natasha, for all of the things she could do and could be.

The red in her ledger.

The things she had yet to experience and still wanted to to was another - as selfish as she thought it to be.

She takes the badge out again.

Touches the silver imprint, the leather around it.

Clint had looks pleased, so had Maria.

And Coulson, just looked like himself - maybe tellin that he was pleased with all that had eventuated.

She hadn’t quite understood his tells but if he were to be her handler, she’d have to learn that.

Natasha closes her eyes, feel the feelings, just like Olivia had said.

She thinks it’s pride.

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asraxfile · 3 months ago

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Haiii :3 can I request minnie 6, 13, 31 and 43

Moonstruck.

sypnosis stargazing under the moonlight with Minnie!! genre fluff, comfort warnings established relationship, kissing scenarios no 6. stargazing and no 13. sharing earphones dialogues no 31. "Do you think we're in love in every universe?" and no 43. "I love your eyes" word count 0.8k

A/n: haii anonn ty for requestingg :D , oh how I love Minnie's song Escape and Enhypen's Moonstruck inspired me too. I guess those 2 songs I find comfort in remind me of Minnie the mostt :)). Enjoyy ^^

It was the full moon tonight. The glimmering shrine of stars matched the colors of the moonlight as the wind breezed through the trees, making the night fresh and chill. Minnie and you have wanted to do this for a while now, but you just waited for the right moment. A relaxing night, just the two of you, stargazing.

As Minnie and you walked outside towards the stairs to get to the rooftop of your apartment, you exchanged a few grinning smiles as you held your phone and a blanket while Minnie held 1 large pillow and some snacks.

“Oh, It’s windy here.” you exclaim, scanning the area as you walk to the center of the rooftop. Minnie followed you as she hummed a “mhm” in response. You placed the gray blanket on the ground and sat down, leaving space for her. Minnie threw the pack of chips down next to you, the bag rustled. Looking up at her to see why she’s being quiet you see her standing and looking up at the sky, mesmerized by the moonlight and the stars shining above. “It's so peaceful tonight.” she murmurs while slowly sitting down next to you, her eyes meeting yours with a gentle grin. As you stared at her hypnotizing eyes, you couldn’t not grin softly back at her too. “Yeah.” whispering you rest your head on Minnie’s shoulder, her head falling onto yours immediately.

Minnie took a pair of earphones and plugged them in her phone as she scrolled down your playlist to find a song for this mood. She offered you the left earbud as she put the right one in her ear. You gently accepted it and took it, curiosity filling your mind wondering which song she chose. Moonstruck by Enhypen.

For a split second, the world around you seemed to fade away into the night. The comforting song blended with the soft breeze of the wind, creating the perfect vibe to stargaze. Minnie shifted slightly, her head still resting on yours, and you could feel her warmth beside you. The moment was quiet but intimate enough, just the two of you under the stars.

After a few minutes of listening to the music, Minnie’s voice broke the silence, quiet and soft. "Do you think..." she paused for a second, shifting her eyes from the stars to your eyes, "...do you think we’re in love in every universe?"

The question caught you off guard. You looked up, her eyes wanting to know your answer, a soft but lost expression on your face. It was a question that made your heart skip a beat, a question that felt so big for a simple answer.

"I…," you finally stutter out, your voice quiet. “I like to think about that too.” Leaning your head against her shoulder again your gaze shifts onto the moon. “Only the moon knows if we are.” your answer sounded very poetic though very sweet in Minnie’s opinion. “I feel like…we most probably are?” looking down you finish your answer.

Minnie’s lips curved into a small, cheeky smile as she tilted her head slightly to lean on your head again. Her eyes were shining, whether from the reflection of the moon or something deeper, you couldn’t tell. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she turned to face you more fully, gently lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from your face.

Her gaze was filled with admiration. Pure love and admiration. Minnie had always thought you were her soulmate, but not just as a word but she viewed you as an actual 2nd half of her. She loved your unusual answers to silly questions and how you viewed the world. With every second she spent with you, she was happy.

“I love your eyes,” she whispered out of full affection. Her fingers held onto your cheek for a moment longer than necessary, her thumb gently brushing against your skin. “They always look like they’re filled with stars.”

Her words made your heart flutter, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly small, as if it was just the two of you, with nothing else but the stars and the moon to bear witness. You smiled softly, feeling a warmth that spread from your chest to every part of you. "That’s cause you’re the only star for me." you say, letting out a cheeky pick up line, but you meant every word. Minnie let out a quiet laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she leaned in closer, her presence comforting and familiar.

For a moment, everything else faded away once again as she pressed her soft plump lips on yours. Leaning into her touch, your love shines tonight just like the stars above you. Her comforting presence was all you needed, especially at this moment.

Only the moon knows how much you truly meant to each other and that makes you lovers in every universe.

#asraxfile #gidle #gidle x reader #gidle x fem reader #minnie x fem!reader #gidle minnie #minnie x reader #kpop imagines #gidle imagines #gidle fluff #writing #*• asra prompt list works •*

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ijustwanttoreadfanfiction · 2 years ago

Text

Dirty Dancing

Jim Hopper x AFAB! Reader One day I'll write a story which actually has strange things happening but today is not that day. Bob didn't die, Eleven closed the rift at the end of Season 2 everyone is happy, leave me alone. I'm a Jopper fan 'til I die, but not for the purposes of this. Set 1987 - Jim is approx 44/45, reader is approx 30/31.

Warnings: Swearing, p in v sex, lots of references to Hopper's size, creampie, multiple orgasms, slightly rough Hopper, cock bulging, age gap, nicknames - baby, babygirl.

_______________________________________________

Jim has been oddly detached and quiet since yesterday evening. The stars had aligned along with your busy schedules and you’d managed to have a rare date night, going to the movies to watch ‘Dirty Dancing'. You thought he had enjoyed it, seeming engrossed rather than trying to get under the skirt of your dress like normal, but when you asked him what he thought on the drive home he simply shrugged and went to bed.

The following morning he’s still in his funk, not saying a word, departing for work with a distracted kiss to your cheek, a far cry from his usual passionate goodbyes that often left him running late and you in a state of undress.

His attitude bothers you all the way to the Diner.

“How was date night?” Donna asks you cautiously when you arrive, instantly noticing the way you fling your purse to the side and how you punch your card in with slightly more force than necessary.

“Well, I thought it went great, I really enjoyed the movie, evidently Jim’s experience of the evening was vastly different.” You rant, trying to tie up your apron, before giving up, elbows resting on the counter, head bowed in frustration.

“He didn’t like it?”

“I’m guessing he didn’t, but how would I know? He’s barely said two words to me.” You mumble despondently, the whole thing has left you feeling rattled, you and Jim fought plenty but you’d never been given the cold shoulder without a good reason. Donna opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by Joyce coming in to collect her usual lunch order to share with Bob.

“Hey! How was the date ni-?” She greets you excitedly, cutting off at the look on your face, and Donna’s frantic shaking of her head. “What happened?”

“Jim hasn’t spoken to her since the movie.” Donna stage whispers, hastily departing to wipe down tables at your glare.

“Hop’s not talking to you?” Joyce asks in concern, sitting on one of the vinyl stools.

“Apparently not.” You grunt, making up Bob’s sandwich.

“Did you have an argument?”

“No, we went out, we watched ‘Dirty Dancing’ then he was just off with me and still is.” You snap, knife ripping through the slice of bread you had been buttering, Joyce reaches across taking your shaking hand in hers. “Sorry Joyce, I didn’t mean to -” You trail off gesturing at her apologetically, she gives you a small understanding smile in return.

“Bob and I went to see ‘Dirty Dancing’ last week, and I think I know what’s bothering Hop - he feels old.” She says softly.

“Old?” You ask, feeling lost.

“Sweetie, you gotta remember Hopper, and I -” She adds with a slight wince, “- we were in our twenties in the sixties, the stuff they do in the film, the dances, we were doing that years ago. I think maybe it’s made him feel his age.”

“That's ridiculous! You and Jim aren’t old.” You say laughing.

“But we’re not young either, certainly not as young as you” She reminds you gently.

When you and Hopper had started dating a year ago it sent shockwaves through Hawkins, which was ironic considering all the other crazy shit that had happened, kids going missing left, right and center, secret government lab, literal demon creatures crawling out of the ground. Oh no, all that was nothing compared to the chief of police dating a woman 14 years his junior, 29 to his 43 at the time, never mind that you were a fully consenting adult, and you were the one that had pursued him.

Jim couldn’t for the life of him work out why ‘a sweet young thing like you’ could ever want ‘a grumpy, fat, miserable, old guy like him’, you couldn’t give him a proper answer, all you knew was that you loved him and there wasn’t a single thing he could do or say that would change your mind.

"So what should I do to make him feel less old?” You ask Joyce somewhat desperately.

“I might have a suggestion.” She grins wickedly, leaning in close.

_______________________________________________

The plan was in place. Jane was staying at Max’s for another evening.You had primped and prepped yourself, wearing a dress not too dissimilar from Penny’s red halterneck in the film. The wine was poured, a couple of glasses already consumed for Dutch courage, you’d thrown pieces of coloured cloth over the table lamps to give the cabin an orange-reddish glow, and finally you had one of Jim’s favorites from his vinyl collection queued up and ready; Solomon Burke’s Rock ‘N Soul. You wring your hands nervously upon hearing the truck pull up outside, straightening out your dress, and quickly rechecking your hair in the small mirror on the wall as Jim tiredly trudges in toeing his boots off without looking at you.

“Hey baby, sorry I’m a little late Callahan screwed up a report and I -” He trails off finally glancing up at you, brows creased slightly in confusion, as he surveys you and the cabin. “ - what’s all this?”

“I know what’s been bothering you since yesterday, and I want you to know that I understand why, and I want to help.” You say softly, approaching him, going up on bare tiptoes to kiss him gently. He returns the kiss eagerly albeit somewhat surprised, a large hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“Baby, I'm at a loss here.” He murmurs against your lips, but allows you to pull him by his belt to the centre of the room nonetheless.

“Joyce said the film last night might have made you feel - nostalgic, and I want to show you that you’re not down and out just yet Jim Hopper.” You purr, leaning away to put the record on, Cry to Me filling the room. “Dance with me?” You ask quietly, unable to keep the pleading edge out of your voice.

Jim lets out a shaky breath, as you loop your arms around his neck, your height difference making him lean down slightly, chest to chest, his strong hands splayed across the top and small of your back.

You weren’t one hundred percent sure how to move so you simply rocked your hips, letting the music take control, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of Jim’s neck. He sighs softly, eyes closing at your touch, and you smile as you feel him start to move along with you. You experimentally lean back, pressing into his grip, he follows you lips tracing against your throat, before bringing you close again. You’re both smiling now, swaying more, his pelvis flush with yours, grinding against each other. You unbutton his police shirt, the fabric falling forgotten to the floor, leaving him in just a tight white vest, hands wandering again tracing his muscles stopping just shy of crotch.

“Tease.” He rumbles.

“Not teasing baby, just dancing.” You say sweetly.

Jim’s touch snakes from the small of your back to the flesh of your ass, gripping firmly, using his hold to hook one of your legs up, slotting his broad thigh into the gap, smirking wickedly when you gasp at the pressure against your clit, the material of your panties shifting with Jim’s movements.

“Hop -” You sigh dreamily, as he uses his strength to rock you back and forth.

“This is how we used to do it in the good old days, baby.” He says, voice gravelly. “You’d hold your best girl tight, dancing nice and close.” He grips you harder for emphasis, dress half bunched up around your waist, fingers digging into the soft swell of your ass.

“I’m your best girl?” You ask softly, clinging onto his shoulders, gyrating slightly as your head falls back.

Jim lifts you up suddenly, your legs automatically locking around his thick hips, breath catching in your throat at the look of desire in his eyes.

“My best everything.” He whispers before bringing you to his lips in a searing kiss, tongue licking languidly into your mouth. You reach up, pulling at the straps of your halterneck until they come undone, the dress slipping past your bare breasts. Hopper groans, nipping at your earlobe, your jaw line, your throat, you can feel his hardness pressed to your center straining against his slacks.

He carries you to the bedroom, lowering you gently to the bed, pupils blown wide as he steps back to watch you pull the dress off your lower half, taking your panties with it, leaving your glistening core on display.

“Shit baby, I am one lucky son of a bitch.” He breathes, yanking his vest over his head, you crawl towards him on your knees, unbuckling his belt, both of you working with frantic hands to get his pants and underwear down.

Jim wraps his arms around you again, manhandling you with ease to rest against the pillows, his large frame dwarfing you. Your kisses are messy, verging on desperation, hands petting each other heavily, hips bucking with need.

He rubs his thick cock over your dripping slit, and you let out a soft moan, back arching up into his strong chest, nipples peaked and sensitive.

“This all for me, baby girl?” He hums, grinning as you nod wordlessly, rocking the swollen head of his dick against your aching pussy, slipping in just an inch before pulling back again.

“Don’t tease me Jim.” You pout, hands on his ass trying to bring him closer.

“Not teasing baby, just dancing.” He coos smugly, filling you with a single thrust that has you crying out, cunt clenching at the delicious stretch.

His hips are flush to your own, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock tickling against your clit, heavy balls slapping your ass with each drag and hit. Hopper is marking up the delicate skin of your neck with multiple hickies, like you’re teenagers, the harsh suck and gentle soothing lick sends you higher, a fresh surge of wetness coating his cock in a ring of cream.

“I can feel you squeezing me baby.” He growls, muscular arm braced against the headboard, driving him harder and deeper into your fluttering cunt.

“Hop!” You squeak, unable to do anything other than grip his shoulders, anchoring you to him through the onslaught of pounding thrusts. You feel your slick dribbling out, pussy squelching obscenely, being made to fit around Jim’s hard length.

“You gonna cum for me baby girl?” He asks, panting, the large hand that was gripping your hip moving to stroke over your swollen clit.

“J-Jim…” You whine brokenly, orgasm rushing through you like a flash-flood, wrapping your legs around his hips again, cock hitting you relentlessly.

“Yes - shit - so good, my best girl.” He groans, flipping you suddenly so you’re on top, limp like a rag doll as Jim squeezes your hips in a bruising hold, rutting up into you. “You’re getting my balls wet baby.” He chuckles, voice strained, you can only whimper, nails digging into his chest, back arched, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat.

He sits up, strong arms wrapped tight around your back, jackhammering his cock so deep you feel your belly concave with the bulge. You’re keening into his mouth, tongues sliding against each other, your stomach tightening again with a telltale warmth.

“Jim - I’m - oh my god.” You stammer weakly, foreheads pressed together.

“That’s it baby girl cum with me, let me fill you up.” He says roughly, grunting as you clamp and spasm around his cock once more, drawing out his own release, spurting thick heavy loads deep within you.

There’s a vague ringing in your ears, and you register that the record has long stopped playing, the only sound in the cabin being your light gasps and Jim’s staggered breathing. He kisses you tenderly, as he pulls out, dick twitching at the sight of his seed dripping from your puffy cunt.

“I love you so much baby.” He murmurs, cradling your face, laying back against the pillows, with you still sprawled listless on top of him.

“I love you Jim.” You smile blissfully, pressing kiss after kiss to his lips.

“Sorry for being a grump.” He sighs.

“Hop - I don’t care how old you are, I’d have loved you when you were twenty, and I’ll love you just as much as I do now when you’re sixty.” You say sincerely, giggling when he grimaces at the word ‘sixty’. “There’s no one else I’ll ever want.”

“You keep saying sweet things like that, we’ll be dancing again.” He warns, hands slipping down to squeeze your ass.

“Sure you don’t need a rest, old man?” You tease, choking on a moan, as Jim presses his rock hard cock back into your tight wet heat.

“You’re in for it now baby girl.”

_______________________________________________

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enjoythesilentworld · 6 months ago

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Wille's Month - Voicemail (Free Day)

day 31 @youngroyals-events thank you for everything (more coming in a separate post bc i have a lot of thanks to give)

A collection of voicemails left by Wille.

read below or on ao3 (G, 800)

Simon’s phone. March 29th, 2027, 4:29pm.

“Hi baby! I’m on my way home, I’m just about to stop at the store. Did you say we needed more milk? I’ll grab some anyway, I think I have a coupon. Oh my gosh, you’ll never believe what I saw on my lunch break today. I took a walk around the park and there was this little mama duck, and she had a little trail of babies following after her. I nearly cried. I was late getting back to the shop because I stayed to watch them swim around in the pond. And I- Oh, I just remembered I sent you a video of that. Well, I’m telling you again because it bears repeating. One of these days when we move out of the city, we should get a bunch of animals or something. I think I’d make a good farmer. Or would that make us ranchers? Anyway, I’ll see you in a few. I love you!”

Felice’s phone. November 11th, 2029, 7:13am.

“Felice, we have an issue. I’ve been following this recipe you sent so closely but I’ve managed to screw it up. Why do my egg whites look like this? … I just remembered you can’t see them. I’ll text you a picture. They’re all grainy and weird, though. Are you busy right now? This would be so much easier if we could do this on FaceTime or something. I’d owe you big time. I guess call me when you wake up, if you can? Love you. Thanks in advance.”

Linda’s phone. October 20th, 2027, 5:32pm.

“Hi Linda! Simon and I are running a bit late. Someone had to spend an extra thirty minutes fixing his— Hey! I’m trying to explain to your mom why it’s not my fault we’re late! Sorry, Linda. We’ll be there soon, I promise. Simon is being very safe, though, and definitely not taking his hands off the wheel to try to steal my phone. I made some new cookies with a recipe Felice gave me, too. I’m excited for you to try them! You have to actually give me a sincere review this time. I appreciated all your kindness last time, but I want you to be brutally honest about these ones. Okay, we’re about five minutes out. See you soon!”

August’s phone. February 1st, 2034, 9:48pm.

“Hi, August. It’s Wille. I saw a short clip of the ceremony today. Sorry I couldn’t make it. Mamma seems confident in you, and I actually think you’ll do a good job. I’m not calling you ‘Your Royal Highness’, though… I wish you the best. Bye.”

Sara's phone. July 15th, 2025, 3:06pm.

“Okay, I grabbed what you said. I think— Oh, sorry. Hi. It’s Wille. You know that. Listen, I am worried he’s getting suspicious. I’m bad at keeping secrets from him, you know this. I still think no one should’ve told me and this party could’ve been a surprise for both of us. Sorry, rambling. I think I managed to find everything on the list. They only had two packs of purple balloons left, so hopefully 50 is enough. Oh! The cake looks awesome, too. Felice did a great job. He’s going to love it. Okay, I gotta go, he’s coming. See you— Hi Simon! … No, just a scam call. How—”

Kristina’s phone. September 5th, 2032, 6:11pm.

“Hi Mamma. I’m sorry I missed your call earlier. Things have been really busy over here. The movers showed up on time, thankfully, and everything went smoothly. We managed to get a lot unpacked already. Simon and I just had our first official dinner at our new kitchen table! Let me know when you and Pappa want to come visit. I’d say give us a few weeks to at least get the majority of the boxes cleared out. You’re going to love the view of the lake. It’s so beautiful, Mamma… I’m really happy here. Okay. Call me when you can… I love you. Say hi to Pappa.”

Erik’s phone. June 1st, 2026, 1:52am.

“Hi Erik. It’s your brother. Wille. Um… I graduated today. I didn’t end up finishing at Hillerska. It got shut down. You may actually know a little bit about why. I don’t want to talk about that… The past few years have been really tough, Erik. There are a lot more good days than bad ones now, but it still hurts every day. I miss you a lot. I hope you’ve forgiven me for stepping down from the throne. I think you have. You knew I never wanted it. I’m starting at uni in the fall, and Simon and I are going to live together. I’m really excited, actually. Normal life, and all that. Maybe I’ll even get a job. Imagine that. Former Crown-Prince working as a barista. Um, okay. I should probably get back to sleep. I’ll call again soon. I love you, big brother… Bye.”

#this one feels bittersweet #same vibes as that final fourth wall break #look how far we've come!!!#thank you for reading #....but this won't be the last you see of me #young royals #wilmon #willemonth2024 #yr fic #wille eriksson #simon eriksson #felice ehrencrona #sara eriksson #crown prince erik #queen kristina #linda eriksson #august horn

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lifblogs · 29 days ago

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And They Would Not Let Him Fall

@ailesswhumptober Day 31 Panic Attack, Facing a Phobia, "You need to get out of here!"

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 1972 Summary: Tech goes on a mission after he's saved from Hemlock by his family. None of them expected heights would be involved. READ ON AO3

“It’s okay. Just don’t look down,” Wrecker said.

A nervous laugh left Tech, and he responded, “Usually I’m the one telling you that.”

Tech hadn’t meant for this to happen. He hadn’t been on a mission in a very long time, and sure, they were all slowing down with them, trying to relax on Pabu as much as possible. But Tech felt there was still work to do, and so did the others, to some degree (none more than Echo). Heights were not supposed to have gotten involved in this, and yet here Tech was, having to cross between two towers. He had made it a few meters, two cables set up between the buildings—one for standing, the other to hold onto—but now he couldn’t move. He really, really couldn’t move.

His body simply wouldn’t let him, and he was hugging the thin cable they were using as a rail. He was sweating, he couldn’t breathe. Everything seemed too open. He was too vulnerable. It’d be far too easy to fall down, down, down towards the very solid ground. Wind buffeted him, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Tech admitted.

“Tech, we have to move,” Hunter called.

Tech opened his eyes, looking toward his sergeant, his leader, his brother. They were trying to escape imperial troopers. None of them had seen this contingency, though Tech always worried about heights now.

He and Wrecker still had to cross.

“I’m going back over,” Omega said.

“Be careful,” Crosshair warned.

“I know.”

Tech squeezed the rail harder, leaning against it when he felt the cable he was standing on take another’s weight. He imagined it was bouncing, and he was going to slip, he was going to fall, he was going to get thrown off. He was going to die, die, die. Painfully, painfully die.

I’m too high up. I’m too high up.

He swallowed back what might have been extra saliva.

A whimper left him.

He could feel Omega coming closer, and he wanted to yell at her, wanted to tell her that her movements were going to make him fall.

Then she was by his side, a hand on his elbow.

Her voice was tight as she said, “It’s okay,” as if she too was thinking of when he had fallen, when he’d had no other choice but to sacrifice himself.

He remembered the look on her face, remembered hearing her scream for him.

Tech started shaking.

“It’ll be okay,” Omega said. “Look, we have an easy way across. No one fell, all right? And… and I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”

“I can’t… breathe,” Tech gasped out.

There were footsteps and calls from the building they were trying to escape, and then red blaster fire flew past him. He opened his eyes a crack, and saw Crosshair firing at the troopers in return.

Now he feared a red bolt would hit him while he was all exposed like this, and that he’d fall because of his injury.

“Tech, I don’t want to rush you,” Wrecker said, “but we have to speed it up.”

“Come on, Tech,” Echo called. “You can do it.”

“You have to move,” Hunter urged.

“I’ll help you,” Omega said. “I won’t let you go.”

“What about… what about you?”

“I can get across just fine. Let’s start moving.”

The firefight continued, but Tech opened his eyes. He looked down, felt faint, and then tried to look at Omega. She was a bit taller now, hair a little longer, face less round.

She kept a hand on his arm as she started inching across. Tech followed her, Wrecker coming behind him.

“I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall…” Tech found himself accidentally muttering.

“Not helping,” Wrecker said.

“Sorry.”

“Look, it’ll be all right. We’re halfway there,” Omega said.

Tech’s foot slipped, fear gripped him, his neck and back seeming to somehow go cold with the fear, and he cried out. Wrecker and Omega righted him, and he hugged the rail again, breaths coming hard and fast now.

His whole body was wound up, leaving him wishing he was anywhere but here. Maybe if he simply died right now from how badly his chest hurt then it would be a relief. He wouldn’t have to deal with the drop below.

He’d take anything but that at this moment.

“Omega, get him across,” Hunter ordered.

“I’m working on it,” she snapped. Then she said to Tech, voice gentle, “We have to keep going. It’ll be all right. You’ll make it to the other side. We won’t let you fall.”

“Oh, here, I have an idea,” Wrecker said. “What if we all tie ourselves together, so Tech, if you fall, we can catch you.”

He wasn’t sure what he thought of the idea. What if they fell and dragged him down? But Wrecker seemed sturdier than usual, maybe for Tech’s sake, and Omega was incredibly strong, and determined.

Tech nodded, his throat too dry to speak.

Wrecker and Omega set to it.

“Here, let’s get the line attached to the tower we’re heading toward.”

Omega fired her rappelling cable, and then Tech was secured.

He felt better with the lines about his waist, but he was still shaking, still nearly frozen.

They had worked quickly, the troopers a threat behind them.

Omega held onto Tech’s arm as they started moving again.

But then there was a pull from beside Tech, the lines vibrating.

He turned his head, slowly, trying to not look at the drop below, and saw a trooper had come out onto the line.

“I don’t think so,” Wrecker said.

He managed to fire at them, and they fell, screaming, a blaster bolt through the abdomen. For some reason the trooper’s fall, his scream—it made Tech slip again.

Wrecker caught him.

Another trooper was going to go out onto the line, but the squad leader said, “Forget this. Let’s cut the line.”

“Keep moving,” Hunter said.

“Omega, Tech, Wrecker, come on!” Crosshair called.

“We’re working on it,” she told him, voice hard.

Omega and Crosshair talked like that to each other sometimes, in hard tones, but neither of them seemed hurt by it. Tech found their relationship refreshing because he loved Crosshair too.

He loved all these people who were trying to help him, amidst a firefight, amidst all this danger.

For them. He had to do it for them.

“Faster,” Tech urged Omega, the line vibrating from the troopers working on cutting it.

Omega led Tech across, and Hunter pulled him into the tower, and away from the edge.

With fumbling fingers, Tech set to untying the line connecting himself, Wrecker, and Omega. His hold kept slipping. Wrecker untied them. Hunter cut the line, and now they had to move.

Tech felt like he was living in a dream. He was still falling, passing through cloud, moisture gathering on his armor, a drop below that he couldn’t see, family up above that he had saved.

All he could do was die.

But then he’d saved himself, though in a horribly agonizing way.

All his “enhancements” felt heavy where they connected to his body, and he couldn’t move as fast as the rest of his family. Crosshair stayed with him, protecting their rear.

Tech’s vision was tunneling.

His chest hurt so badly he wondered if this was what true death felt like.

“You good?” Crosshair asked.

“I have certainly been better,” Tech managed to reply.

“Come on, if we keep moving, it’ll be okay.”

“Since when did you learn to reassure others?”

“I’ve changed.”

Tech gave him a glance, then looked at his other family members. They had all changed, but still worked well as a unit (save for Tech—he felt like he was always the problem now). It wasn’t till they were sure the troopers couldn’t follow for at least a few minutes, that Tech simply slid down a wall of the abandoned control room they were in, and sat on the floor, hard.

His breaths sawed in and out of his chest. His body seemed to think he was still above that perilous drop between the towers, that he was still hanging from the rail line on Eriadu.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t—

He was dizzy, and all he could think was he was falling, falling, falling, death chasing him, never far behind.

He was shaking so badly he wondered how he was still held together, though that drew his attention to his cybernetic eye, and mechno-fingers, and mechno-leg, the artificial part of his spine. He could hardly see, and he didn’t know where they were, what was going on.

Hunter was by his side for some reason.

“Okay, it’s okay, Tech. I’m right here. You’re not over those heights anymore. You’re safe.”

Tech managed to drag his gaze to Hunter. Hunter, who was as strong as ever, as caring as ever.

“Let me see what’s going on,” Omega said, coming to kneel by him. Tech pushed himself away, feeling crowded.

“No, give him some space,” Hunter said.

“Physically, he’ll be fine,” Crosshair responded. “I’ve… had issues with something similar before.”

“Me too,” Echo said.

“What do we do?” Hunter asked.

“Slow his breathing,” Omega suggested.

“Hey, Tech, I need you to breathe with me, okay?” Hunter said.

Tech’s gaze landed on him again. Hunter took in a deep breath. Tech tried to mimic it, but his brain told him it wasn’t getting oxygen this way, despite facts saying it was incorrect.

Hunter put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He took deep breaths in and out.

In and out.

It was calming, and Tech tried again, and again, to match his breathing. His inhales and exhales were shaky, but they were becoming longer, deeper.

The fear that had ahold of him didn’t let him go all the way, though the world started to make more sense. He was breathing, his chest hurt less, his vision was no longer tunneling.

Tech still felt shaky and sick, but he realized that he had gotten past the worst part of their mission already. He’d done it. He’d survived the heights. He hadn’t fallen. He was here, with Hunter, with everyone.

Echo helped Tech to his feet, clapping him on the back. “You’re gonna be okay,” he told him.

Tech said, “You all keep saying that.”

“Well, you’re not dead yet,” Crosshair told him, “so it looks like we’re right.”

Tech couldn’t help but laugh a little at that.

Crosshair and Echo stayed at the rear now, Hunter taking point. Omega jogged by Tech’s side. And they went down, down till there were no heights to fall from.

Tech breathed a sigh of relief once he stood on solid ground again, the towers behind him. Wrecker did too.

They had cannons and troopers to face, but that was the easy part.

Maybe Tech was okay, and his family had been correct.

At least he had them. He wouldn’t have made it without them, wouldn’t be here without them. Not for the first time, Tech felt his right eye tear up as his gratitude for his family washed over him.

They were his home, and they all fought for each other, to have a chance at some moments of peace, freedom.

Tech almost felt ashamed for how he had acted way up high, at the panic attack he was sure he’d had. His family didn’t find that odd though. They cared.

He cared.

And that’s what held them together. It was what held Tech together. He wasn’t just a human body with parts from Hemlock putting him together like some broken doll. He was his family. They held him together more than any cybernetic or mechno implant could.

And they would not let him fall.

#ailesswhumptober2024 #day 31 #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #tech #tbb tech lives #tech lives #tbb tech whump #tech whump #angst #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #whump #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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jeanbie · 2 years ago

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WORDLESS #4 ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

genre: sugar daddy & contract killer au | warnings: toxic relationships, non graphic sex | wc: 4.9k

note: hey guys, who's reading? *silence* *tumbleweed* hope u guys like it :)

★ ch1. ch2. ch3. ch4. ch5

⏤ Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Levi over the edge if he hears them again.

(31) Pulling a chair out for them to sit down at the table.

Levi’s not a gentleman.

Everybody knows it, and he’s not ashamed of admitting it. Half of the time, he thinks that it’s what makes him unique, at least. If you (or anybody else, even though since you walked out on him that one time, he’s been seeing all the others less and less) were going to be with somebody, then you might as well just make it different. Spice it up a little bit.

“It will be nice.” Levi, because he’s not a gentleman, is not really listening to you. He sits behind the steering wheel and tightens his hand against the wheel, the other is on the clutch.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Levi replies. He turns the corner, and the car slightly leans you to the right.

A sigh fills the car as he pauses as a set of traffic lights further down the street.

This red light drags forever, and Levi sighs instead and looks at you pointedly, “What, then?”

It takes reluctance to pull your gaze away from the pigeons near the bins on the side of the road, but you do, and you look at Levi. “I just think it will be really nice to grab dinner together.”

“We do that all the time,” Levi says.

“Yeah, but I don’t mean us, or just us,” you affirm, “I mean, like all of us. Family, I guess.”

Levi bristles. “Family? We don’t have any family, baby.”

“We do,” you moan. “I mean. Not family-family, but family. The kind of family we get to choose. Erwin, and Sasha and whoever.”

Levi nods sarcastically, “Oh. Wrong F word, Y/N, those people are called friends.”

“Oh, whatever then,” you huff, turning back towards the window. “Forget I said anything.”

Levi wants to forget, but he doesn’t. Something about that line, about the way that it stuck with him: The kind of family we get to choose. He thought about it all night, groaned, and then swore and called Erwin. Alright motherfucker, we’re going to dinner with Y/N so you better shut the fuck up, get a suit, and meet us at that fancy Gangnam restaurant.

So, it’s a Friday evening, and it feels like a Disney Channel crossover episode. Sasha definitely feels out of place in this restaurant, and Levi acts uncomfortable about the way Erwin sits opposite you, gauging your every move and word with overacted enthusiasm. Actually, all Levi is thinking about is the moment that they got here.

“Here, honey, let me get that for you,” had appeared to be Erwin’s favourite sentence to say to you; he used it when he opened the door for you, and again with the chair to the table. Erwin sat seething, almost red like a ruby. Sasha sips nervously from her glass as Erwin laughs again at something you said.

Dinner went great, he would have to admit that.

“Oh, we booked the patio for desserts,” Erwin says. One of Levi’s other friends, Mike (who honestly came to observe rather than to fill in for the surprising lack of family at this family dinner) looks left and right to each person on the table and follows the crowd as they leave for the patio once the main courses are done.

Erwin once again reaches for the door and lets you walk outside. As Levi passes Erwin at the door, he glares at Erwin with eyes that could murder. Erwin doesn’t waver but he does get the hint, even more so as you stroll towards the table. Before Erwin can even move towards the table, Levi curves in front and puts his hand on the back of your chair.

“Here you go, baby, let me sit next to you,” Levi says, dragging it out for you to sit. You watch him with one raised eyebrow but say nothing. Erwin says nothing for a few minutes but decides to get right back to it as the desserts begin. It pisses off Levi to the point where his hand leaves fingerprints in your thigh, but you can’t find it in you to be mad about it.

(32) Wrapping a blanket around them when they are sitting on the couch and watching a show.

“You gotta stop letting yourself in here, it scares the shit out of me.”

“I own this dump.”

You gape over your shoulder, “Fucker, you own this dump that you call a dump but you gave me this dump, it’s my dump, don’t call it a dump.”

“Say dump one more time,” Levi warns, shrugging off his jacket and ruffling his hair. It’s wet thanks to the torrential rain outside. His socks squelch across the floor because he left his slippers back at his place, and he’s not here often enough to have his own pair at your apartment.

The apartment is toasty and warm, the heating on high. Except the living room is chilly and dark, dark blue almost.

“What are you watching?”

Levi moves towards your bedroom but can still hear you as he moves.

“Just this show I found,” you reply, watching the screen. “Dead To Me.”

“Never heard of it,” he yawns, and emerges from the room. He’s holding a heavy blanket in his arms, moving to the living room to sit next to you. He plops next to you and glances at the screen, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, over your head like a cocoon.

You laugh softly, shifting it off your head and leaning up against him. “It’s American. It’s got Velma in it.”

“Linda Cardellini?” Levi asks, settling back. “She’s hot as fuck.”

“I know, that’s why I thought I’d watch it, I love her,” you say.

Levi wraps an arm around your shoulder and smushes closer towards you.

“Good day?” you ask quietly.

He takes a few seconds, like he’s truly trying to think about whether he wants to answer or not.

“Okay,” he admits. “Don’t care, it’s over, I’m here, don’t wanna think about work.”

You don’t push him to talk, and instead, let him sit next to you. He likes the darkness because there’s no way you can see his discomfort, his pain, the blood under his fingernails.

(33) Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.

Levi travels for work a lot, and it’s no secret to anybody he knows. It was midday when he got a call, just a few words over the phone, and then he was moving out of the shower and into the bedroom to get ready.

He had told you to stay, stay until he got back. Unfinished business, he said, that would need dealing with when he got home. So you did, you stayed and he left, and that was that.

Levi sighs and shuts the car door. Until next time, he thinks to himself as he watches the car pull away. Frowning, he straightens his blazer and walks up the steps to the complex he lives at and enters. When he gets to his apartment, he kicks his shoes off right away and as he steps inside, he notices that the apartment is unusually silent.

Normally at his home, his big mansion that he loves up in the hills, there’s some sort of noise. Maybe it’s the sound of the TV on in the kitchen, or the bubbles in the hot tub, or the sound of Elio prowling around the bedroom. This apartment is in central Seoul, closer to work and closer to school. He hates how silent it is, how empty it feels.

“Y/N?”

There is no instant reply. He moves across the apartment, searching silently.

“Babe, you here?”

Worry bubbles in his stomach and he moves in search of you. After searching everywhere, Levi scoffs like it’s a sick joke that you’re not here, until he hears a noise, a croak and a cough from the spare bedroom.

“Y/N?” calls Levi. He moves to the door and twists the handle, and is a few shuffles inside when a grottal, gross noise emerges from the darkness.

“What?” he asks.

“I said don’t come in here,” you croak out in reply, because it’s you, and who else would it be in his apartment?

Levi enters and reaches for the light, pausing when you grunt in his direction. He can see you in the dim light of the spare bedroom, the sun outside the curtains, and he suppresses a smile.

“What happened? I said we had unfinished business.”

“I know,” you rasp. “But one of the kids in my class came to class with a sore throat, I thought I’d be fine. But, ta-da.” He can see in the light that there’s a plethora of tissues around your body, like a barrier. So many, snotty and probably damp and scrunched into balls. “Guess he had a cold.”

He grimaces, shuffling into the bedroom despite you telling him otherwise. It’s unsurprisingly stuffy in the room, a given since the room is closed off from the sunlight that bleeds behind the curtains. Like you requested, he doesn’t turn on the lights, keeping you safe in the darkness.

“Shitty kids,” Levi grunts. Finding a lack of interest in the germs that breed in the tissues scrunched into balls, he moves them from the covers and tosses them towards the small bin next to the bedside cabinet. You sniffle, snotty and stuffed, and peer from over the duvet at him.

Levi looks tired, as he always does when he gets back from work. He sports a brand new cut on his lip, one that will probably scar when it’s done showing crimson. There is blood on his shirt, and you know that it’s probably not his. That doesn’t make you feel better.

“How long you had it?” Levi asks.

“Two or three days,” you estimate. He’s been gone almost a week, the seventh day being tomorrow. “Should go soon, don’t worry.”

He smiles, “Not worried. Did you get medicine, or something?”

You sniff once, the air hot in your nostrils. “Nope. I haven’t managed to leave since I came down with it. I only went to the door to collect soup and then I went back to bed in here. And I went out to see who it was when Mike came by to get your big kitty.” Another sniff and Levi’s eyebrows raise with amusement, “Didn’t want to infect your bedroom, so I came here instead. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure, it’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll find something for you, I’ve got a bunch of shit that might help.”

“Really?”

Levi nods, “Yeah. Stay put, buttercup, B-R-B.”

(34) Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

“Who even takes the subway anymore?”

In reply, Levi gets an appalled scoff. “I’m sorry, not all of us are rich enough to have fucking chauffeurs taking us places.”

“What’re you talking about, you’re rich,” Levi says, his voice kind of muffled due to the sewing needle between his teeth. He sits on the edge of his sofa, your skirt spread over his lap like a napkin at dinner. Down the leg, the seam is torn, showing what could have been an erotic amount of leg. Unfortunately, he’d only got a glimpse of your skin when you shuffled into his home.

As the CEO of ripping his clothes, Levi became familiar with sewing over the years, figuring it was less expensive to sew than it was to replace. So, of course, when your skirt got torn on the subway home, Levi tested his skills and dug out the sewing needle.

“No thanks to you,” you sigh. “You didn’t need to, by the way.”

“Need to what, pay you?” Levi laughs, sewing the seam. “Come on, Y/N, it’s overdue.”

“True, but I don’t really need your money that much anymore.”

“Funny, since you needed it when you didn’t have it,” he sighs dramatically. “Anyway, it’s barely a dent out of my bank account, I wanna spoil you. You’re welcome.”

You frown, shuffling to the couch and throwing yourself over the back so that your head is by his legs. Levi spares you a glance from the skirt and smiles, returning back to the work.

“Thanks,” you mumble. Nothing is said, but he appreciates it.

(35) Running out in the middle of the night to get a food item they’re craving.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“What the fuck?”

Levi shoots up from bed into a sitting position, his eyes blown wide as he stares at you. Whenever Levi invites you to stay at his apartment, he always keeps a light on in the evening. His apartment is in a somewhat busier area compared to his house, which is stationed in a private neighbourhood only touched by the wealthiest of the wealthy. His apartment was supposed to be for ease, for if he had to do dirty work in the city and didn’t want to tie his name to a hotel. It wasn’t often that you stayed the night here.

In the light of the dim lamp on your side of the bed, Levi can make out your face. You’re still lying down, staring up at the ceiling. After he stares long enough, you look over at him.

“Why the fuck would you say that,” he breathes, like it’s an insult.

“Wow, would it really be so bad?” you ask, curious now.

He blinks like an owl. “Obviously, dipshit.”

Sigh. “And here I was thinking it would be like the movies and you’d love me.”

“Even if I loved you, do you think I wanna have kids?” Levi questions rhetorically, because he’s actually already talked to you about this. Levi never wants to have children. His life is constantly on the line. There is no way he’d bring a child into the world, just for them to either be used as bait, or grow up in a world without their father. He knows how that feels.

“Fair,” you reply. “Still.”

Levi shudders, it’s cold in here. “Wait, are you for real?” He shifts, the covers make a disruptive noise in the night, “what makes you think that you’re…you know…”

“I keep getting weird cravings,” you explain, like it’s the craziest science that he won’t understand. As soon as you say it, he feels almost instantly better. It’s not like cravings are the most reliable symptom of a pregnancy. Besides, you’re on the pill, and when you’re not, he’s safe. He’s not an idiot, he’s not about to accidentally ruin both of your lives with a few squirts.

“Like what?”

You shrug, “Really craving the Fairway to Heaven ice-cream.”

Levi scoffs. Actually, it’s almost a tch under his breath. “Yeah, of course, you’re craving the most expensive ice-cream. Predictable. Cute, almost.” He pats your leg over the covers, “We all know Phish Food’s the better flavour, by the way.”

“Tell that to the cravings, sir,” you reply. You frown, then, “I’ll pick some up tomorrow. Maybe I’ll dream the cravings away…”

“As if,” Levi barks, knowing you better. If he knows you at all (which he confidently does), you’ll press about this for the rest of the night until you fall asleep bored of trying. So, Levi enjoys the last few seconds inside a warm bed before climbing out, switching on the light so it burns your eyes as the room fills with it.

“Ouch, too bright!”

“Pussy,” he smirks. “Move, get your coat, we’re going out.”

“Oh yeah, at midnight?” you ask sarcastically, sitting up. “Where’re we going?”

“Ice cream,” he replies, like it’s obvious. To him it is. “That store down the road sells it and it closes at 2, so get your big coat and let’s get moving.”

“Are we seriously going to get ice cream at midnight?” you laugh, doing as he says.

“We both know you’re not gonna shut up about it if we don’t.”

Levi grabs his own coat and zips it up. Nobody’s gonna care that he’s wearing PJ’s, and even if you’re sleepy and grumpy on the way there, it’s better than keeping you at the apartment alone. He’d have to be crazy to leave you here than he is going out for ice cream at midnight.

(36) Helping brush their hair after a shower.

You’re the best he’s had, really.

Levi knows this, because he’s not stupid or blind or oblivious. Compared to the other girls he’s had, and the ones he left not too long ago, he knows how lucky he is to have someone like you. Someone who doesn’t just want him for the sex and the money. Although scary, it’s reassuring.

Levi comes out from the kitchen to the bedroom where you’re sitting, hunched over a laptop watching a YouTube video for your class that bores you to sleep. Your hair is damp and matted, left to dry as you watch. Forty minutes into an hour video. Levi narrows his eyebrows, wondering if he’d ever have the patience to watch something like that. Probably not. He barely has the patience when he works, and he has a job that demands it 99% of the time. When he can be hasty he is, but when his job is to kill and protect, patience is a must.

As you watch, Levi moves to sit behind you and he sets his chin on your shoulder, boredly looking at the screen. Your eyes are glossed over, possibly not even watching at all. Regardless, he stays there and slowly rakes his fingers through your hair, straightening out the curls that are close to knots.

He still blames the video for you falling asleep, although it’s probably his fingers. He won’t admit it.

(37) Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap.

It’s not just that. Levi enjoys being gentle, but only when nobody can see him doing it. When you fall asleep, slouched over like a zombie, he smiles and gently closes the screen of your laptop. Whatever garbage your Uni have you watching can be watched tomorrow.

Until then, you must sleep. He moves the laptop away to the cabinet across the room and comes back, collecting you in his arms and moving you into the bed. Once the covers are draped across your body, he takes extra care to be quiet leaving the room and shutting the door. There’s some food leftover in the kitchen from dinner that he’ll eat before joining you, and you don’t wake up, not even when the bed dips as he climbs into it.

(38) Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt.

Despite his work often demanding him to be around people, Levi isn’t really a big fan of crowds. If he can get out of going out in public, he will jump at the opportunity. He just can’t see why you’re so miffed about not being with the crowds of people along the Han river waiting for the fireworks- he’s got a balcony that looks out over the city and the river, so what’s the big deal?

“It’s all about the vibe,” you say with a slight sigh. Your arms are draped over the balcony banister, legs slowly vibrating in the bitter winter air. “As a broody killing machine, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“That stings,” Levi replies, closing the door behind him as he wanders back towards you with a blanket. His eyes glaze over your face as he arrives and Levi rolls his eyes, “Hold your face that way and it’ll stick.”

“Heard it all before from my Mom,” you reply boredly. A quiet thanks is spoken as you take the blanket shield and snuggle closer to his chest, staring expectantly at the black sky. “What time will they start?”

Levi presses his cheek to your hair. “Considering three minutes ago it was only ten to midnight, I can safely assure you that it is not time yet.”

“I’m bored.”

“Why are you so hard to please today?” Levi groans. He wriggles around, “And don’t try me with that ‘I think I’m pregnant’ bullshit. Spare me the moody bitch performance for today, please?”

You pug to yourself. “Sorry. Sorry, you’re right. And I shouldn’t be so…I don’t know. I’m sorry. Thank you for tonight.”

Levi shakes his head slightly. He may never understand women.

“You really that mad over the bridge?” he asks quietly, his mouth against your head. It’s hot, and you lean back towards his minimal body warmth. “I’m sorry I didn’t pass your vibe check for tonight, but I thought it might be romantic or something for us to be up here.”

You almost laugh. “It is romantic. You’re right.”

Levi brushes it off. Lately something has shifted, a comfort in the air that grants you permission to be in his life as someone more important than a ‘sugar baby’. Dare he say it, but Levi actually considers you a friend. Now, you’re at the point where neither of you give much of a shit about the sugar clause you wrote yourselves into quite some time ago. An unspoken thing hangs there like Christmas mistletoe, seen but prayed away.

Distant laughter and a bang grows near the direction of the river and bridge, and Levi feels you perk in his arms. As a small warmth bursts across his chest, Levi hisses in the cold and stuffs his hands up your shirt, where they curve around your body to cheekily hold both of your boobs. You jump, because his hands are freezing.

“You’re cold!” you whine. “What are you doing?”

Levi shrugs, “My hands are freezing. I’m keeping them warm.”

You briefly glance down at his knuckles outlined by your jumper. “Oh yeah, because I’m sure that’s the reason why you’re literally groping my tits right now.”

“They feel warmer already,” he continues.

(39) Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favourite

On the rare occasion that guilt really overwhelmingly consumes Levi Ackerman, he allows his guilt to control his feet. Usually, they end up on a pathway to the bedroom, or in the car where he drives you somewhere nice, or perhaps he picks you up from school instead of cruelly leaving you to take the subway. Now that things have shifted slightly in your dynamic, Levi isn’t sure what flies as romantic anymore. He doesn’t want to leave you with the wrong impression. You’ve had the talk together, the one that touched upon what the future looked like and how quite definitely it looked as though you wouldn’t be with each other, but surely, dinner overlooking the sea in Busan isn’t too fancy or romantic, right?

“Here is your dessert.” The waiter circles around the table and gently lays a dish in front of you. Levi carefully watches over his glass of wine as the waiter also announces his own dessert, the exact same. His eyes move down to the display set before him.

He’s never really been keen on dessert, but Levi is the type of person who doesn’t enjoy the idea of one person eating when the other isn’t. So he had just ordered the same thing as you had, nice and simple, without giving it much thought.

“I love this,” you sigh happily, fiddling the metal spoon in your hand and peering up at him, “This is sick. Thank you.”

“I didn’t make it,” he replies.

You roll your eyes, spooning out some of the dessert, “you know what I mean.”

Something in the beach-fronted restaurant shifts as the sun sinks deeper into the ocean, and Levi twirls his spoon anxiously whilst observing the dessert. He’s never been a huge fan of bingsu in general, and he looks with slight distaste at the green blob on top of what looks like cornflakes. He doesn’t get it.

He dips his spoon into the dessert, taking a polite amount and very quickly taking a bite. For around twenty seconds, he thinks it’s okay, but the aftertaste makes his whole body shudder. Fucking hell, he really hates desserts.

After a few minutes, you finally move your attention away from the scraped clean dessert dish and take a glance over at Levi, who is already watching you with a lack of interest for his own dessert.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, subtly wiping around your mouth just in case. You take in the sight of his unfinished treat, “not hungry?”

Levi shrugs awkwardly, “I don’t really like bingsu.”

“Then why’d you order?” you question quietly.

“I panicked,” he replies, “you ordered it and I don’t like desserts but I didn’t want you to be eating alone.”

You pause, eyebrows quirked: “I don’t mind.”

He sighs. Of course. “Well…” He twirls the dessert dish and pushes it in your direction, “Since it’s your favourite, or whatever, you can have it.”

Your eyes light up, “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” you squeal, happily taking it from him. “Thank you!”

Levi rolls his eyes playfully and sits back in his chair. Whatever he didn’t eat from the dessert he instead eats up in the sight of you.

(40) Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh.

You don’t quite know how you ended up at Levi’s work, but here you are. You could probably trace it back to Erwin swinging by to get you from school since Levi felt bad he couldn’t, and to be honest, you had been confused when Erwin drove past the turning to your apartment and kept going further into the city.

Levi’s workplace is pretty big, but still significantly hidden inconspicuously to avoid attention. As you slowly wander around the hallways, you begin to daydream about where Levi’s office may be, what he might be doing and what he might think if he sees you.

Quietly passing through what appears to be a recreation room, filled with tired faces who blink curiously as you brush by, you finally step out into a web of hallways that connect to small rooms walled in glass. Each is empty, besides one at the very end that bustles with tense conversation, and you’re drawn to the sound of Levi’s voice as it carries through the silent hallways.

You push forward, stopping not too close to the doorway so that if somebody who isn’t him happens to see you, you can make a hasty escape.

The room is filled with strange faces, strange men in tight suits and briefcases next to their feet. A man stands up beside Levi at the head of the table, his hands animated as he presses on about something you’re not well read on. Hell if you know a single thing about gun models and firing ranges. You can just about tell apart Fortnite weapons and that’s only because they’ve got colours.

Levi, however, is a sight that captures your gaze. For a while, he sits with his back turned to the man standing, his eyes observing each individual around the table, of who squirm under his watch. He eventually looks back at the man, his jawline sharp and his hair styled so that it only slightly falls into his eyebrows. God damn it, he looks sexy as hell; his shirt is black, cuffed, unbuttoned at the top revealing his skinny collarbones. He’s probably wearing the tight trousers too, the ones that make his ass look good.

A thought strikes you: how would he feel if he saw you outside? While it shouldn’t, the thought fills you with adrenaline. The idea of not him but somebody else seeing you, a girl dressed in white jeans and a red shirt, your coat discarded somewhere on an office chair. Would he be mad? Would he be turned on?

Would you die?

Deciding that the worse case scenario only involved you being yelled at, you decide to dip your toes into the water and tease the sharks; you wonder how long you can hold this silly face for until he finally notices you out there.

It seems like a long shot, and you’re quite close to giving up when finally Levi returns his attention to the table. Heads begin to move in conversation, and Levi’s gaze passes from gentleman to gentleman until they pause abruptly, locking onto you behind the glass. For a moment, he does nothing besides stare. Perhaps he doesn’t care. Then, his eyes widen, like he’s confused and alarmed and slightly impressed. Before his disturbed posture is noticed, you laugh to yourself and run away, back in the direction you tiptoed through.

(Later, Levi finds you in Erwin’s office sitting on an uncomfortable and torn armchair, a Rubix cube moving back and forwards in your hands. You’re not matching any colours. It’s going nowhere. He smiles.

“Field trip?” he questions, making your head snap up suddenly. He slides next to you on the free chair, “I’ll skin that prick alive, you know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know, but I’m here against my will!” you promise, putting the cube down. “I really wanted to go home. Dead To Me episodes don’t watch themselves, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “I gotta go to a meeting again, then I’ll drive us home, okay?”

You nod. “I’m sorry I distracted you, by the way. I realise now I’m actually very lucky that it was you who saw me and nobody else.”

Levi laughs, kissing your forehead as he rises to leave. “Yeah, well, I’m the most dangerous guy in there, so consider yourself very lucky.”)

148 notes · View notes

foxes-that-run · 11 months ago

Text

2013 Haylor Timeline

Timeline Tag, or years, 2012 2014

3 January hair pinned up at restaurant in Virgin Islands. Harry's "might as well.." Tattoo first seen. Covered with Ferns now.

4 January - Taylor's blue dress on a boat. Harry bite bruise on his hip

6 January - Harry seen in NY

7 January -Harry back in London, date People reports that they broke up. Reports Scott swift told them to slow down.

9 January - Harry seen GQ dinner London. photos of Harry in Richard Bransons hot hub on front page after the break up. (I often wonder what the less famous people think now that they treated him poorly as a kid and he is massive now). Gordon Smart (1:12, warning he follows it with a bad anecdote about 18 year old H), who worked on media for One Direction, said in 2020 that Harry had said:

"Simon Cowell actually paid me to do some media training with them back in the day so I met them before they were massive and they were again really lovely kids. [...] I wrote a front page story about him sharing a jacuzzi with a girl on holiday and he told me it was bollocks and we still ran it, because we had a picture of him in the jacuzzi. It was probably totally innocuous and I really I'd like to apologize unreservedly to Harry for that because it was an error of judgment on my part and it probably tarnished our friendship."

Richard Branson also has gross sounding comments about this 18 year old that day.

10 January - made fun of his accent at Grammy's, Harry at nightclub London

12 January when asked, Niall says he listens to WANGBT, Louis says and Harry’s. 22 MV filmed.

15 January - one direction trip to Ghana for Red Nose Day comic relief

16 January - One Direction Tokyo, when movie scenes filmed

20 January - Harry in London

21 January - Taylor in London reports she saw Harry, Harry at friends house

22 January - Harry got the Butterfly and handshake tattoos

23 January - Taylor in Madrid before performing at the '40 Principales Awards'. H London

26 January Both at NRG Awards, 25 January Taylor posts Cannes Sunset situation. They both stayed in the Intercontinental Carlton Cannes Hotel.

27 January - Harry meeting with Simon Cowell Glasgow,

28, 30, 31 Jan, 1, 2, 4 , 8 Feb - Harry London, Leed 13 -16

1 February - Harry's 19th birthday. £5k tab, messy, wild party. Rumour that Taylor had booked a week in Italy which was cancelled

6 February - Savan Kotecha (WMYB writer) gave interview where he said 1D want to be write but can’t. Probably had left 1D already and doing press to build career. His last 1D credit is Happily. In 2017 praised (45 mins) Harry’s writing. In the later interview Savan also says he spent a year being sad after the 1D thing ended until Ariana came into work with him, (52mins) so that article may have been that he’d already left 1D. He said he was working on Emblem3 which may be the other bad project he talked about (released April).

10 February - Taylor at Grammy's, night Ed says inspired Tenerife Sea

18 February - Harry the Box Nightclub

21 February - both attend Brit awards - Taylor performs I knew you were trouble with Harry in the audience. In march she told the Sunday Times "Well, it's not hard to access that emotion when the person the song is directed at is standing by the side of the stage watching." She goes to an afterparty with Tom Odell and out with him the next night. Tom writes Country Star about Taylor and Harry wrote Happily about wishing they were together. Ed is asked if he would trust Harry around his girlfriend and he said “well he trusts me around his girlfriend so yeah I do. We’re friends we don’t do that.” Harry went on Nick Grimshaw from 6am a hungover.

23 February - 3 November - 1D Up all Night tour, start in Europe

7 March - Taylor sells Hyannis Point House at $1m profit

15 March - Taylor vanity fair article. Says Harry pursued her for a year before KCA, better part of a year after and it fell apart one night in London when he went out and he’s texting her to ask to see her again at the time of the interview. Pointed mentioned she was born in 1989, Easter egged wonderland, talks about Connor being 2 months and insignificant. Implies Harry was a rebound from JG and Connor was a Harry rebound. Says she’s looking for someone who is interested in her not her wiki page.

25 - 29 March - Harry in LA, then back to London

29 March - Taylor played “You're Not Sorry” in Newark. “I truly believe that when dealing with anybody you meet, you should start by trusting them. Any new friend you meet. Any new person you meet. I think you should truly believe the beat in them. And the first time that they tell you they’re sorry I think you should believe them. But then if they keep doing the same exact thing that they say they’re sorry for, that means one thing guys. That they’re not. Sorry.”- here. Appeared in Wonderland cover April 7, 2013

11 April - Louis says 'Taylor Swift' after Harry sings "I'm in love with you" in Little Things

12 April - Harry’s high school friend, Nick who was in White Eskimo says he liked Taylor since he was 15 before x-factor to the Mirror

Nick has known the One Direction star for years, and recalled the moment Harry (then just 15) admitted fancying country singer Taylor Swift when he watched one of her videos in 2009. Nick said: “He was like ‘Oh my god, she’s really, really good looking. I would do anything for a bit of that.’ Then he went and got with her years later!”

18 April - Harry holmes chapel

20 April - TS on B stage song before “I Almost Do” in Tampa, FL. “everybody’s got like one, maybe two, I don't know how many you have, but at least one person in your life that doesn’t belong in your life anymore because maybe they hurt you or maybe it’s just over but you kind of want to call them sometimes. And you think better of it. But, you almost do it.”- here. Then a Red tour break till the 25th; One Direction tour break starting in Manchester till Paris on 29th. Louis stays in Europe,

23 April - Harry arrives alone in LA without the Peace ring

24 April - Neither Harry or Taylor seen. The day Harry got the ring

25 April - First day Peace Ring is seen. Harry has dinner with Rod Stewart, Rod then plays the Troubadour and Harry stayed at Rod Stewarts house. Taylor in Cleveland

28 April - Harry posts photo of sunglasses on beach. Taylor photographed in a gym in Los Angles. Wears the ring to leave LAX and there is an absolutely insane mob because he is there alone with no security.

29 April - Arrives in Paris alone, still wearing ring, described as a riot. The ring is in This is Us in Paris

April 30 - Taylor buys Holiday House Rhode Island for $18m cash

1 May - Everything has changed released as single

7 May - Harry goes on a party bus in Norway, photos of him drunk, with blonde and talks about party bus in interviews

18 May - Taylor posted rose’s with a Great Gatsby quote: “Just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer...“

19 May - Taylor said to fans, pointly "You are the longest and best relationship I've ever had" at BBMAs and that she only writes about ex's she doesn't want to see again. In the press room she said

27 May - Taylor wrote Wish you Would

2 June - Taylor attended a pre-show meet and greet at KYGO radio in Denver where David Mueller allegedly reached under Taylors skirt. In 2015 he sued Taylor who counter sued. It was not resolved until 2017 when Taylor won damages of $1.

June - September Midnight Memories written with Happily

12 June Taylor on Grimmy, he says Trouble is the “best song ever” 4 times at 11 mins. Best song ever was released 22 July. :)

13 June - Never Gonna Dance Again tattoo seen when Harry got off a yacht in Miami, seemingly drunk, he was underage at the time lyrics from Wham song "Careless Whisper" about regret for being unfaithful. Grimmy had referred to it in September when Harry sung the song on radio

16 June 2013 - Louisville - Harry was feeling himself during “Last First Kiss” and at the end was flirting with someone in the crowd, he mimicked pole dancing then he kissed his heart tattoo

22 June - Taylor and Selena getting ice cream in Mystic Connecticut, near RI.

28 June - Harry seen with Paige

29 June - Taylor gets a fans face paint on her neck that looks like lipstick in Vancouver, Gaylor 'proof'. 1D NY

1 July - Harry cross tattoo NYC stayed at the Bowery Hotel NYC

6 July - both play in Pennsylvania, Taylor has a week off after, unseen. On the 8th Harry was sick on stage.

20 July - Harry on Ryan Seacrest in Niall’s place and says the rest of the band went back to uk on their break but he stayed in LA.

22 July - Best Song Ever released.

30 July - September GQ cover story where they badgered Harry about how many people he’d slept with (two)

6 August - Ed posts photo with Harry and snow patrol “Decent night with the ladz”

August 14 - Lover Journal: August 14, 2013, Watch Hill RI. Says she feels like a tiger in an enclosure, feels hunted, talks about paparazzi and cell phones. Also calls herself a rabbit, a flower growing in a sidewalk that is picked and how photos ruin a moment, online photos/comments and 'level of possession'.

25 August - VMAs, texting each other and shade, together at afterparty. Sang purple rain together at after party.

3 September - Harry tweeted 1975, Matty Healy told an interviewer that went from 4K followers to 15k in 10 minutes and they exchanged numbers and texted, made plans to meet up and he stood Harry up.

5 September - the 1975 cover WMYB in the live lounge

8 September - Taylor “"People think they know who I've dated and they just don't," "They don't know everything."

9 September - Harry badgered by paparazzi till he cries in London. They called him a womaniser. GQ Article where the interviewer bullied him into how many partners he had has (2)

10 September - Media that they had a heart to heart at VMAs

11 September - Harry Rose tattoo.

18 September - Harry at Pixie Geldorf’s birthday, with Nick and first time seen with model Daisy Lowe in photo pixie posted.

27 September - 1D sign another contract with Syco for 3 albums, they are each paid £10m.

28 September: On the anniversary of the Begin Again weekend in Paris 28 September- 5 October 2012 Harry tweeted: "We don't need no piece of paper from the city hall". from Australia.

5 October - Harry pulled a blonde out of the crowd and hung out with her that night in Australia

8 October - Harry tweeted Shania Twain is so good. Shania thanks him and invites him to her show in Vegas.

16 October - Harry talked about Shania Twain 'Still the One' on stage, Tweet Q's - what song would you like to listen to now?

17 October Harry cried onstage, (0:55) during over again Taylor seen with Alexander Skarsgard 3 days later

18 October - throws up on stage reports touring taking toll

28 October - Harry talked about Shania Twain 'Still the One' on stage again, What's the most embarrassing song on your ipod.

1 November - 1D, Katy Perry and John Mayer take photos backstage at a Japanese radio station in Tokyo. New Romantics was written about Taylor being sad her ex had gone to Japan with his new GF.

November -j14 article where Harry says ok to get back together with ex. Also reports Taylor is house hunting in London. Rumour Taylor was seen with Douglas booth.

13 November - Taylors first Victoria Secret show where she wears a union jack dress in NY and performed IKYWT. On 14th Harry in UK for Gemma's graduation, TS in NY for billboard awards.

18 November - Courtney Cox said she hung out with each of them at her house in Malibu

20 November - Harry has dinner with Kendall Taylor tweets ""I've listened to "Hold On" by @ColbieCaillat 45 times today. So on repeat. So important." on the 21st when dinner reported.

22 November - midnights memories release party in la with Ryan Seacrest

23 November, both at AMAs, gold dress. Kendall PDA reported but no record of it

25 November - Midnight Memories released with Something Great written with Jacknife Lee who also worked on Red.

3 December - Lover Journal - December 3, 2013, Sydney.

6 December - Harry leaves Kendalls hotel and they have breakfast. Lunch the next day NY. Harry is carrying notebooks and dressed that same as in the Spotify visual for Where Do Broken Hearts Go. Tabloids say not dating Kendall and he is texting Daisy Lowe.

11 December- Taylor ATW speech talks about songwriting like a message in a bottle, she mentions still love you and I’m really heartbroken

12 December - One Direction in Milan, record the Xfactor final interview with cushions on the floor.

13 December - Taylor posts a series of photos to IG about a rose garden party in Melbourne, Australia while on tour for her birthday. Many think 1989 will be called Roses. The captions made a sort of poem "Roses. Red Balloons. Pretty.... Sparklers. The best birthday I've ever had." Which could be a dig at Harry, Roses being common Haylor imagery, his tattoo and she famously said her 2012 birthday was her best ever when he took her to the Lakes. Harry's "better still be my winding wheel" tweet. Harry posts his Cannes photo December 14.

15 December - One Direction performs Midnight Memories on Xfactor UK Final and Harry arrives at Kendalls London hotel at 2am.

17 December - Harry, Ed and Taylor spotted together in Suffolk. Harry got injunction banning paparazzi from outside his home. Harry likely had moved into his current house. First confirmed at Ben Winston's with Morgan Spurlock in April 2012, Harry later told Rolling Stone he stayed there 20 months. He was seen house hunting in July and reports of his house were September 2012.

21 December - midnight memories MV filmed

Continue to 2014

#haylor #haylor timeline #harry styles #taylor swift #2013

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