#you remind me that I still have asks to answer

[idontcaboose]

Luthor's Cricket

Part 1

Master post

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Lex asked for the nth time.

“Of course it will.” Said the cloaked figure.

Lex wasn't sure why the magic user bothered with the cloak, he had hired him by name after all. 

Gray Warden: 36 years old. Promotes himself as a psychopomp/medium that had pretty good reviews. 

Even from other magic users. Some of his other contacts confirmed that, while not strong in physical/destructive magic, he was an above average medium. His ability to summon spirits and other supernatural beings could be trusted, what he summoned was another story. 

Gray's usual clientele were people grieving loved ones, and the occasional ‘ghost hunter’ looking to ‘prove’ their existence. While not his main job, he did make a pretty penny off of the medium business. It didn't take much for Lex to hire him for a summoning, just a sob story about summoning a spirit to ‘help’ him ‘be better’ and a few thousand dollars. Lex knew most people would expect that would mean to have him act more like the utter buffoon Bruce Wayne, but really, he just wants to be better than Superman. 

Lex waited for Gray to get done drawing a circle on the wood table he had Lex provide and other “Spell components” he said. 

A solid wood table made from oak, ash, or thorne. Preferably oak and/or ash since this is a spirit for healing and new beginnings. When asked about the thorne wood, Gray blushed a bit and asked if he wished to Marry the spirit? Lex stopped asking questions after that. 

The highest quality of chalk available.

Stones of the birth month of Lex himself. When told it was a Sapphire, Gray got excited since that is apparently the perfect stone to summon a helpful spirit with.

And lastly, an object of Lex's choosing to help find the perfect spirit to ‘help’ Lex

Gray assured Lex that the spirit could not affect the world around them other than be heard and seen by those who called upon them. Once all of the preparations were complete Lex was beckoned over.

“So, to complete this ritual you will place your object in the center, with A Drop of your blood. Not two, not three, One. It is not enough to bind, but enough to identify. You will place your hand here, and here” Gray gestures to two symbols on one side of the table. “I will be powering these two symbols, and will call upon a spirit to show itself.

I will be very clear before we start. This is the first time I have done this ritual. I have seen it done twice by my mentor. I do not know exactly what will accept the summoning, but I have placed wards to keep malicious entities from hearing the call. Do you still wish to continue?” Gray asked.

Lex scoffed and placed a baseball sized chunk of Kryptonite on the table. “Let's see who we get.”

Within moments Gray was calling to the otherside, asking for a spirit to answer their call.

“Bro, did you seriously do the equivalent of pspssps'ing a Ghost over with candy?”

There were very few things that could make Lex blue screen. Watching a teenager floating lazily while licking the Kryptonite was one such thing. He had white hair, eyes as green as the rock he was nibbling on, and wearing a black and white suit that reminded Lex of the one the Flash wears.

Gray, apparently, took exception to that. “Excuse me? I don't just call spirits like stray cats!”

“My dude, you were just lacking a windowless van, you did give me free candy after all.” the kid pointed at Gray with the Kryptonite. 

“It's not candy, it's Kryptonite, and we summoned you to help me be better.” Lex stated. 

“Did you seriously summon me to be your Jiminy Cricket? Sure, I got time to waste.” The kid laughed. 

At those words a strange light linked from the kids chest to Lex's chest, glowing gold and toxic green. 

“What the fudg-”

“Lex!”

“Cancel the sum-”

Next

Tags

@dcxdpdabbles for their wonderful prompt/own story Linked Here

[herrscherofinsanity]

A Christmas Promise

Karina plans to spend the holidays with her girlfriend... until everything comes apart.

A bit of angst, a bit of fluff

Karina (Yu Jimin) x fem!reader

Word count: 2.9k

My Christmas gift to you guys; happy holidays!

____________________

Los Angeles

y/n stared at her phone, her fingers hovering over the call button. The message from her manager still lingered on the screen, glaring at her like a cruel reminder:

"The Christmas charity concert is non-negotiable, y/n. It’s the biggest event of the season. You’re the headliner."

It wasn’t just about the concert—it was about her image, her fans, and the responsibility she carried as a so called “household name”. But this wasn’t just any Christmas; it was supposed to be her first real holiday with Jimin. A private, intimate celebration after months of stolen moments, late-night phone calls, and whispered "I love yous."

With a deep breath, she pressed the call button. The phone rang twice before Jimin’s familiar, warm voice answered.

“Hey, sunshine,” Jimin said, her tone instantly brightening y/n’s mood.

“Hi, babe,” y/n replied softly, though her usual spark was missing. She heard Jimin pause, as if sensing the shift in her tone.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asked, her voice laced with concern.

The younger girl closed her eyes, wishing she could say anything else. “I... I can’t come to Seoul for Christmas.”

The silence that followed was deafening. y/n could imagine Jimin gripping her phone tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she processed the words.

“You promised…” Jimin finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” y/n replied, her voice trembling. “I tried to push back, but it’s the charity concert. I have to be there.”

Jimin’s silence stretched again, but when she spoke, she forced her voice to remain steady. “I get it. Your fans need you, and this is important. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine, and they both knew it.

“Jimin—” y/n started, but the older girl cut her off gently.

“It’s okay, sunshine. Really,” Jimin said, though there was a tightness in her voice. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe next year…”

y/n felt her heart crack. “I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

“I know you will,” Jimin replied softly, before adding, “I should go. The girls are waiting for me.”

“Okay,” y/n said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

As the call ended, y/n stared at her screen, guilt gnawing at her. She had never hated her career more than in that moment.

-----

Meanwhile in Seoul…

Jimin sat on the dorm couch, staring blankly at the Christmas lights twinkling on the small tree the group had decorated earlier that week. The room was filled with the smell of gingerbread and hot chocolate, the warmth of the season radiating from every corner, but to her, it all felt hollow.

She barely noticed Aeri plopping down beside her, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. “Hey, what’s with the long face? I thought you’d be buzzing with holiday spirit.”

Jimin tried to muster a smile, but it fell flat. “y/n can’t come home. She’s stuck doing a charity concert.”

Aeri frowned, setting her mug down. “That sucks. I know how much you were looking forward to seeing her.”

Aeri doesn’t point out the fact that Seoul has never been home to y/n. She understands Jimin is referring to herself.

“Yeah,” Jimin said, her voice barely audible.

From across the room, Minjeong looked up from the gingerbread house she was decorating—or rather, destroying. “Wait, she canceled on Christmas? That’s rough, unnie.”

Yizhuo, ever the nice one, chimed in. “Let me guess, you’re pretending you’re okay but secretly dying inside?”

“Yizhuo!” Aeri scolded, but Jimin let out a weak laugh.

“She’s not wrong,” Jimin admitted, running a hand through her hair. “I just... I really wanted this. Just one Christmas together.”

Minjeong walked over and plopped down on the other side of Jimin, looping an arm around her shoulder. “She’ll make it up to you. y/n adores you, you know that.”

“Yeah, but it still hurts,” Jimin confessed, her voice cracking.

The three girls exchanged glances. Aeri reached out and squeezed Jimin’s hand. “We’ll get you through this, okay? No moping around. We’ve got cookies to bake, movies to watch, and—”

“Hot chocolate to spill on each other,” Yizhuo added, smirking.

“Hey!” Minjeong shot back, glaring at the youngest.

Despite herself, Jimin smiled faintly at their antics. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

-----

y/n stood backstage at the sprawling venue, the air buzzing with energy as staff members rushed around with last-minute preparations. The massive Christmas charity concert was only hours away, and she was the headliner. It was everything she’d worked for—but tonight, her heart wasn’t in it.

Her manager walked up to her, clipboard in hand. “y/n, the soundcheck’s in five minutes. You good?”

She forced a tight smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She could barely focus, her mind wandering back to Seoul. She pictured Jimin sitting by the tree, sipping hot chocolate, her smile dimmed by disappointment.

Her chest tightened as she adjusted the microphone in her hand. This was supposed to be their first real holiday together, and she had ruined it. She glanced at the bouquet of lilies resting on her dressing room table, originally meant for Jimin. It felt like a cruel reminder of what she was missing.

As the soundcheck began, y/n pushed through the motions, her usual passion absent. When her manager finally gave her a break, she retreated to her dressing room and pulled out her phone.

Her thumb hovered over Jimin’s contact. She wanted to call her, to hear her voice and apologize again. But she hesitated, unsure if she deserved to interrupt Jimin’s night with yet another reminder of her absence. Instead, she typed a quick message:

“I miss you, more than words can say. Merry Christmas, my love.”

She stared at the screen, debating whether to send it. Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed send.

-----

Jimin lay sprawled on the dorm couch, her phone resting on her chest. The girls had tried their best to cheer her up with a night of baking, board games, and Christmas karaoke, but the void in her heart remained.

She stared at the twinkling lights of the tree, the colors blurring together as tears threatened to fall. Her phone buzzed, and her heart leapt. She grabbed it, hoping it was y/n.

It was.

“I miss you, more than words can say. Merry Christmas, my love.”

Her lips trembled as she reread the message, the pain of missing her girlfriend mixing with the warmth of knowing she was thinking of her.

“Who is it?” Yizhuo asked, peeking over Jimin’s shoulder.

“No one,” Jimin said quickly, clutching the phone to her chest.

The youngest rolled her eyes. “It’s your wife, isn’t it?”

“Leave her alone, Yizhuo,” Aeri called from the kitchen. “Let her pine in peace.”

“I’m not pining,” Jimin protested weakly, earning a chorus of laughter from her members.

She sighed and sent a reply:

“I miss you too. I hope tonight goes well. Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

As soon as she hit send, she placed the phone face down and stared at the ceiling. She wanted to be happy for y/n’s success, to support her as a good partner should, but the ache in her chest made it hard to focus on anything else.

-----

y/n’s phone vibrated, and she grabbed it immediately, her heart racing.

“I miss you too. I hope tonight goes well. Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

She smiled faintly, though the sadness lingered. She wanted to believe those words were enough, but deep down, she knew Jimin was hurting as much as she was.

Her manager’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “y/n, you’re up in five.”

“Right,” she said, slipping her phone into her bag. She adjusted her outfit in the mirror, plastered on a smile, and stepped out onto the stage.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, the energy electric. She waved, smiled, and began her set, her voice flawless as always. But as she sang her holiday ballad, the lyrics hit a little too close to home.

"Your love is the only gift I need..."

The crowd cheered, but her heart ached.

-----

Jimin stayed on the couch long after her phone’s screen dimmed. The dorm was quieter now; Yizhuo had finally stopped singing carols at the top of her lungs, and Aeri had retreated to her room with a mug of mulled wine. Only Minjeong remained, silently scrolling through her phone across the room.

Jimin traced the outline of her phone case absentmindedly. Every fiber of her being wanted to call her girlfriend, to hear her voice and feel close to her in some small way. But she resisted. y/n had a packed schedule, and she didn’t want to add to her stress.

“Jimin-ah,” Minjeong called softly. “Are you okay?”

Jimin blinked and sat up, attempting a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Minjeong said, setting her phone aside. “You’ve been moping all night. It’s Christmas, unnie. You should be happy.”

“I know,” Jimin replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I was really looking forward to seeing her, you know?”

Minjeong nodded, her expression sympathetic. “I get it. But you’ll see her soon, right? It’s not like she’s gone forever.”

Jimin chuckled dryly. “It feels like it sometimes.”

Minjeong hesitated before offering a suggestion. “Why don’t we go out? There’s still time to catch the lights in Myeongdong. It might help take your mind off things.”

Before Jimin could respond, Aeri poked her head out of her room. “Lights in Myeongdong? I’m in.”

“And I’ll drag Yizhuo if I have to,” Minjeong added with a grin.

Jimin hesitated. The idea of stepping outside into the bustling city streets felt overwhelming, but the thought of sitting in the dorm, wallowing, wasn’t any better.

“Fine,” she said at last, earning a cheer from her members.

The streets of Myeongdong were alive with holiday cheer, the air filled with laughter, chatter, and the scent of roasted chestnuts. Festive lights adorned every building, casting a warm glow over the bustling crowd.

Jimin trailed behind her members, her hands stuffed in her coat pockets. She couldn’t help but compare the scene to the quiet, intimate Christmas she’d imagined spending with y/n.

Aeri suddenly linked arms with her. “You’re not allowed to look sad tonight, okay? We’re going to have fun whether you like it or not.”

Jimin managed a small smile. “I’ll try.”

“Try harder,” Yizhuo teased, tugging on Jimin’s scarf. “You’re killing the vibe.”

They stopped at a vendor selling hotteok, the warm, sugary treats bringing a brief smile to Jimin’s face. As she bit into the crispy pastry, she felt a pang of nostalgia. y/n would’ve loved this.

“Let me guess,” Minjeong said, watching her closely. “You’re thinking about her again.”

Jimin sighed. “I can’t help it. Everything reminds me of her.”

Aeri patted her shoulder. “That’s love for you. But hey, at least you’ve got us tonight. We’re not y/n, but we’re pretty great company.”

“You guys are the best,” Jimin admitted, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

As the night wore on, Jimin started to feel lighter. She even laughed when Yizhuo tripped over a snowbank, scattering her snacks across the pavement. But as they walked back to the dorm, the weight of y/n’s absence settled over her once more.

She stared up at the sky, the stars twinkling like the city lights. “Merry Christmas, my heart,” she whispered, hoping y/n could somehow feel her words.

-----

The dorm was quiet when the girls finally returned from Myeongdong. Aeri and Minjeong were sprawled on the couch, arguing over a Christmas movie to watch, while Yizhuo was humming in the kitchen as she attempted to make hot cocoa.

Jimin kicked off her boots and sank into the armchair, pulling a blanket over herself. Her heart still ached, but the night out with her members had helped dull the sting.

“Unnie, you want hot cocoa?” Yizhuo called from the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” Jimin replied, her voice soft.

“Suit yourself!” Yizhuo sang, returning to her humming.

Jimin closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the warmth of the blanket and the faint chatter of her members lull her into a calm state.

The peace was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Which one of you ordered delivery on Christmas?” Aeri wondered aloud.

“Maybe it’s a fan gift,” Minjeong said as she got up to answer it.

When she opened the door, she froze, her eyes wide.

“Who is it?” Yizhuo called, peeking out of the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks, her jaw dropping.

Jimin cracked an eye open, curious about the commotion. “What’s going on?”

Minjeong stepped aside, and there, standing in the doorway, was y/n.

Dressed in a chic winter coat and scarf, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, y/n looked slightly winded, as though she’d come straight from the airport, but her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling as they found Jimin.

“Hi, gorgeous,” y/n said, her voice warm and soft.

Jimin sat up, her blanket falling to the floor. “y/n?”

The room fell silent as the members watched the scene unfold.

y/n stepped inside, setting her bag down. “I couldn’t stay away. I told you I’d move heaven and earth to be here, and I meant it.”

For a moment, Jimin didn’t move. She simply stared, as if she couldn’t believe her girlfriend was really there, she was supposed to be in LA. Then, in an instant, she was on her feet, crossing the room and throwing her arms around y/n with enough force to lift the younger girl.

“You’re here,” Jimin whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re really here.”

y/n hugged her tightly, burying her face in Jimin’s shoulder. “I’m here,” she murmured. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

The other members exchanged knowing smiles before quietly slipping out of the room to give them privacy.

They sat together on the couch, the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights surrounding them. y/n held Jimin’s hand, her thumb gently brushing over her knuckles.

“How did you manage this?” Jimin asked, still in awe.

y/n chuckled. “It wasn’t easy. I had to rearrange a lot of things and promise a lot of favors. But I couldn’t imagine spending Christmas without you.”

Jimin’s heart swelled, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I missed you so much.”

The younger girl leaned closer, her forehead resting against Jimin’s. “I missed you too… more than words can say.”

For a moment, they simply sat there, lost in each other’s presence. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of their connection.

“Merry Christmas, angel” y/n whispered, her lips brushing against Jimin’s in a tender kiss.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine” Jimin replied, her voice filled with love.

-----

The following morning, the dorm was filled with the smell of pancakes and the sound of laughter. y/n, still in her cozy sweater and pajama pants, was seated at the dining table, watching as Yizhuo and Minjeong bickered over who got to flip the pancakes next. Aeri was perched on the couch, sipping her coffee, smirking at the chaos.

Jimin emerged from her room, her hair tousled and her face glowing with happiness. y/n couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” y/n greeted softly.

Jimin’s cheeks turned pink as she crossed the room, pressing a kiss to y/n’s forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

The moment was interrupted by Yizhuo’s exasperated voice. “Unnie, tell Minjeong that she’s burning the pancakes!”

Minjeong whirled around, spatula in hand. “I am not! They’re perfectly golden!”

“They’re crispy,” Yizhuo argued, pointing at the edges.

y/n and Jimin laughed as the bickering continued. Aeri rolled her eyes playfully, setting her coffee down, “Some of us want to eat breakfast.”

“Okay, enough,” Jimin said, stepping into the kitchen. “y/n and I will handle breakfast. You two can set the table.”

Minjeong pouted. “But I wanted to—”

“Table. Now,” Jimin said firmly, though her tone was light.

y/n joined her at the stove, the two of them working in perfect harmony as they flipped pancakes and prepared the rest of the meal. Every so often, y/n would steal a glance at Jimin, her heart full of gratitude.

When breakfast was finally ready, they all gathered around the table, their plates piled high with pancakes, fruit, and syrup. The sound of laughter and clinking forks filled the air as they enjoyed the meal together.

At one point, Yizhuo raised her glass of orange juice. “To y/n, for making our Christmas extra special and stopping Jimin-unnie from rotting on the couch!”

The others joined in, raising their glasses. “To y/n!”

y/n blushed, glancing at Jimin, who gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” y/n said softly. “But really, I’m just glad to be here with all of you.”

The rest of the day was spent exchanging gifts, watching holiday movies, and playing games. y/n fit right in, her laughter blending seamlessly with the others’. Jimin couldn’t stop smiling, her heart swelling with happiness at having y/n by her side.

As the day turned to evening, y/n and Jimin found themselves alone on the balcony, wrapped in blankets as they watched the snow fall.

“This is perfect,” Jimin murmured, leaning her head on y/n’s shoulder.

y/n kissed the top of her head. “It really is. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

Jimin looked up at her, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you for coming. For everything.”

y/n cupped her face, her thumb brushing against Jimin’s cheek. “I’d do it all over again, a thousand times, just to be here with you.”

Their lips met in a kiss, sweet and full of promise. As the snow continued to fall, the world felt warm, their hearts beating as one.

____________________

A/N: Happy holidays!

[yassbishimvintage]

Shut it Down

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

MDNI!

A/N: Merry Christmas y'all.

The sun was shining down in Imani’s face. She had to tear herself away from Terry this morning. Her sister Maya wanted to have breakfast with her to check in. “So now that he’s home how is he?” She asks. Imani sighs. She had to be careful of how she answered the next question. Even though Terry loved her family like his own, he still didn’t want to show weakness. 

Imani sipped her coffee as her sister, Maya, watched her curiously from across the diner booth. They had always been close, and Maya could read her like a book. Setting her mug down, Imani took a moment to gather her thoughts before answering.

"He’s... adjusting," Imani replied softly. "It’s been tough for him. Losing Mike, the stress of everything back in Shelby Springs... it’s a lot to process."

Maya nodded, her brow furrowing with concern. "That man has been through hell and back, hasn’t he?" she said. "But what about you? You okay? I know you’re strong, but you can’t pour from an empty cup, sis."

Imani smiled faintly at her sister's words. "I’m okay," she said, though the truth was more complicated. "I just want to be there for him, you know? He’s carrying so much, and I can see it weighing on him. Some days he’s better, but others... it’s like he’s still fighting a battle, just in his head now."

Maya reached across the table and placed her hand over Imani’s. "You’re doing more than enough, Imani. He’s lucky to have you. But make sure he knows it’s okay to lean on you, really lean on you. Sometimes men like him think they have to bear it all alone."

Imani nodded. "I try to remind him of that every day," she said. "Last night, he... he let me in a little more. It’s progress, I guess. I just want him to see that he’s not alone anymore."

Maya leaned back, studying her sister. "You love him, don’t you?"

"With everything in me," Imani said without hesitation.

Maya smiled. "Then he’s got a fighting chance. But don’t forget—taking care of yourself is part of taking care of him. Don’t lose sight of that."

Imani gave her sister a grateful look, appreciating the reminder. "I won’t," she promised. "Thanks, Maya."

"Anytime," Maya said with a wink. "Now, tell me more about this roast beef dinner you made last night. I’m starting to think you’re spoiling that man."

Imani chuckled. "I might be. But he deserves it."

They spent the rest of breakfast laughing and catching up, Imani feeling lighter after the conversation. She had her sister's support, and that meant everything.She smirks. “Now. How’s the sex?” She asks. Imani nearly choked on her coffee, her eyes widening as she looked at Maya. "Really? That’s what you’re asking me right now?" she said, trying to keep her voice down.

Maya raised an eyebrow, unbothered by Imani’s reaction. "Of course, I’m asking. You’ve been glowing lately, so either it’s the sex, or you’ve found a new skincare routine, and I know you too well to believe the latter."

Imani rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at her lips. "It’s… amazing, as always," she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. "He’s just... so attentive. Like, he takes his time, you know? Makes sure I’m good before anything else."

Maya leaned in, her interest clearly piqued. "Girl, go on. Don’t leave me hanging."

Imani laughed softly, shaking her head. "Let’s just say he knows exactly what I need, even when I don’t say it. And he’s so... gentle with me, but not too gentle, if you know what I mean."

Maya grinned mischievously. "Oh, I know what you mean. Big, strong, marine boyfriend who’s soft for you but can turn it up when needed? Imani, you’re living the dream."

Imani blushed but couldn’t help laughing. "Okay, enough about my sex life. How’s yours?"

Maya waved her hand dismissively. "Nonexistent at the moment, but that’s fine. I’m focused on me right now. But seriously, I’m happy for you. It sounds like Terry really sees you and loves you the way you deserve."

Imani nodded, her expression softening. "He does. And I don’t take that for granted, not for a second."

Maya raised her coffee mug in a toast. "To men who love us right and know how to handle business."

Imani laughed, clinking her mug against her sister’s. "I���ll drink to that.” Maya turns her head to glance out the window. She sees a black GMC Dua..ley pull into the parking lot. “Who’s that?” she asks. 

Imani turned to look where Maya was pointing and spotted the large GMC Dually parked a few spaces away. The truck was pristine, its black paint gleaming under the morning sun, with chrome accents that looked freshly polished. It stood out among the sedans and SUVs in the lot.

Imani raised an eyebrow, recognizing it immediately. "That’s Terry’s truck."

Maya’s eyes widened as she leaned closer to the window. "Wait, he followed you here? What is he, your bodyguard now?"

Imani couldn’t help but chuckle. "No, he probably just wanted to check in on me. You know how he is."

Maya smirked. "Yeah, overprotective and a little territorial. But honestly, can you blame him? Look at you."

Imani rolled her eyes but smiled, gathering her things. "Come on, let’s go say hi before he thinks I’m avoiding him."

As they stepped outside, Terry climbed out of the truck, his towering frame and confident stride impossible to miss. He wore a simple fitted T-shirt and jeans, but the way he carried himself made him look effortlessly commanding.

"Hey, babe," Imani called, walking up to him. "What are you doing here?"

Terry flashed her a small smile, his eyes softening when they met hers. "Just wanted to see you. Figured you might want to grab lunch after you’re done with your sister."

Maya crossed her arms, looking between them with a teasing grin. "You’re setting the bar way too high for the rest of us, Terry. Showing up unannounced just to take her to lunch?"

Terry shrugged, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "What can I say? I like spending time with her."

Imani shook her head, trying to hide her amusement. "Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come sit with us for a bit?"

Terry glanced at Maya, who raised her hands in mock surrender. "Don’t worry, big guy. I’ll keep the embarrassing sister stories to a minimum."

He chuckled, holding the door open for both women. "Appreciate that."

Maya smirks and quickly asks him. “So tell me Mr Marine. What kind of sex spell you got on my little sister.” She says

Terry paused mid-step, his brow arching as a slow smirk spread across his face. "Excuse me?" he asked, his deep voice laced with amusement. He glanced at Imani, who was already groaning in embarrassment, her hand covering her face.

"Maya!" Imani hissed, shooting her sister a glare.

"What?" Maya said innocently, shrugging as she took her seat. "I’m just saying. She’s been glowing since y’all got together, and I’m convinced it’s not just the happy weight."

Terry chuckled, taking the chair beside Imani and resting an arm casually on the back of her seat. His eyes flicked to Maya with a mischievous gleam. "Let’s just say I aim to please," he said smoothly, his tone playful but carrying enough weight to make Maya blink in surprise.

Imani gasped, turning to him. "Terry!"

He laughed, leaning over to kiss her temple. "What? She asked."

Maya burst out laughing, clapping her hands. "Alright, I see you, Marine. No wonder she’s hooked."

Imani shook her head, trying to hide her smile. "You’re impossible, both of you."

Maya grinned, picking up her coffee. "Hey, I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so happy all the time. If it’s because of him, then props to you, Terry. You’re doing something right."

Terry shrugged, his expression softening as he looked at Imani. "She deserves to be happy. That’s all that matters to me."

Maya tilted her head, a rare seriousness settling in her tone. "Well, as long as you keep that mindset, we’re good. I’m just looking out for my baby sister."

Terry nodded, his voice steady. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."

Imani glanced between the two, her heart full as she reached for Terry’s hand under the table, giving it a squeeze.

When she gets in his truck she rests her head on the glass. Everytime he drives his hand rests on her thigh.

As Terry drove, the hum of the engine and the subtle rhythm of the tires on the pavement filled the quiet between them. Imani leaned her head against the cool window, her thoughts wandering as the scenery blurred past. The warmth of Terry’s hand resting on her thigh was a steadying comfort, grounding her in the moment.

It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about their bond. His thumb moved in absentminded circles, a habit he had whenever his hand found its home there. She glanced down at it and smiled softly, her fingers drifting to rest lightly over his.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.

She turned her head slightly to look at him, the way his strong hands gripped the wheel and how his eyes flicked between her and the road. "I’m okay," she replied, her voice gentle. "Just thinking."

Terry gave her thigh a small squeeze, his way of saying he was there for her without needing words. "About what?"

"About how much I love this," she said softly, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before returning to the passing view outside.

"This?" he asked, his brow arching slightly.

"This," she repeated, covering his hand with hers. "The little things. You driving us, your hand here...it’s just us. I love it."

Terry smiled, his expression softening as he gave her thigh another squeeze. "I love it too," he said simply.

And with that, they fell back into a comfortable silence, letting the unspoken connection between them speak louder than words ever could.

He pulls over. She lifts her head up confused. Terry eased the truck onto the shoulder of the quiet road, the hum of the engine settling into a low idle. He turned to her, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let’s play 'wandering hand,'" he said, his voice deep and teasing, the hint of mischief in his eyes unmistakable.

Imani couldn't help but roll her eyes, though a soft laugh escaped her. "Terry," she said, her tone half-amused, half-scolding.

"What?" he replied, feigning innocence as his free hand left the steering wheel and settled on her knee. "You know the rules."

His fingers began their slow, deliberate journey, trailing up her thigh in featherlight strokes that sent a shiver through her. Imani pressed her lips together, trying to maintain composure, but the way his touch lingered just enough to tease made her heart race.

"You’re impossible," she muttered, though there was no real annoyance in her voice.

"And you love it," he shot back, his grin widening as his hand slipped just beneath the hem of her skirt.

Imani reached out, placing her hand over his to halt his progress, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her resolve. "You’re going to get us caught, Terry."

"We’re parked," he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent heat spiraling through her. "And it’s not like anyone’s around."

She bit her lip, trying to resist the pull of his charm, but when his lips brushed against her neck and his hand resumed its exploration, resistance became futile. "You’re lucky I love you," she whispered, her voice shaky as she gave in to the moment.

His soft chuckle against her skin was his only reply as the game of "wandering hand" took on a life of its own, the world outside the truck fading into the background.

Terry’s hand paused at the waistband of her panties, his fingers teasingly slipping just beneath the fabric. His breath was warm against her ear as he murmured, “You gonna let me keep going, baby?”

Imani’s breath hitched, her body responding before her mind could form words. She glanced at him, her gaze caught in the intensity of his eyes. “Terry...” she began, her voice soft, laced with a mix of hesitation and desire.

His thumb stroked the delicate skin of her hip, his lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. “Say the word, and I’ll stop,” he said, his voice calm but thick with want. “But if you want me to keep going... I need to hear you say it.”

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she let out a shaky exhale. The heat of his hand, the gentle yet deliberate pressure of his touch, sent sparks skittering through her. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her words barely audible, but they carried all the permission he needed.

Terry leaned in, capturing her lips with his as his hand slid lower, exploring her with the same care and attention that always left her breathless. The world outside the truck was forgotten entirely as they lost themselves in each other, the quiet intimacy between them deepening with every touch and kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless and tangled in the charged energy of the moment, Terry rested his forehead against hers. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

Imani smiled, her cheeks flushed. “Right back at you,” she replied softly, her hands resting on his shoulders as the truck’s engine purred quietly in the background.

“Now I’m turned on and we’re no where near home.” She says. 

Terry smirked, his eyes darkening with mischief. “Who said we need to be home for me to take care of you?” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine.

Imani raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, so you’re bold now, huh?”

He chuckled, leaning in closer so his lips brushed against her ear. “I’ve always been bold, baby. You just bring it out of me.”

Her cheeks flushed as she swatted at his chest. “Terry, you’re impossible.”

He grinned, his hand still resting possessively on her thigh. “Only for you.”

His hand moved up her thigh as they drove down the road. His thumb doing lazy circles on her exposed skin.

As Terry’s hand moved higher up her thigh, Imani let out a soft breath, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through her. She glanced over at him, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes as his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles. Her heart raced a little, the anticipation of their playful energy making her pulse quicken.

That’s when she couldn’t take it anymore. Not the first time and won’t be the last time they had car sex. In her head she thanks him for the dark tint on the windows. Imani maneuvers herself over the console. She straddles him. “You know I hate car sex.” She says.

Terry chuckles softly, his hands resting on her hips as she straddles him. “You always say that, but then you seem to enjoy it once we get started.” He smirks, his lips brushing against her ear as he speaks.

Imani laughs quietly, leaning in closer. “It’s the lack of space. I like to take my time,” she responds, her hands sliding up his chest as she finds comfort in the familiar closeness of his body.

He presses his forehead to hers, his voice turning playful but with a touch of sincerity. “If you don’t like it, we can always find somewhere else next time.”

She smiles, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Next time,” she repeats softly, her fingers trailing down his chest, slowly teasing. “But for now...” she leans in, kissing him deeply as her body melts into his.

Terry, ever responsive to her, deepens the kiss, his hands moving to the small of her back to pull her even closer. As the moment lingers, they forget about the cramped space, lost in the connection they share.

“Now. Let me hear you moan for me real fast.” He says. She moans as his hands reach their destination. One thing that always made sure that made him on rock hard was her moans. In the next breath, “Now. Tell me you love me.” He says.

-

As they arrived at their destination, Imani instinctively reached for Terry's hand, intertwining her fingers with his. She gave it a gentle squeeze, glancing up at him with a soft smile.

“You ready?” she asked, her voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

Terry nodded, his grip on her hand firm yet tender. “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything,” he replied, his tone carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayaesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @haechvn @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar @notpradagurl7 @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: because of this

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You shiver as the night air swirls round you. You keep your arms crossed as you lean forward to watch the twigs crackles at the bottom of the flames. The metal ring constrains the fire, smoke furling up to the stars with the smell of cinder. You sink your teeth into your lower lip, a groove stamped there from your constant gnawing. 

You sit, silent and still in the lawn chair. You don’t dare speak or move again. The smell of dirt clings to you as the scrapes on your legs burn. You clasp your hands around your upper arms and chatter again. 

You wince as the shadow next to you moves. Sy’s been just as quiet. No, he’s The Captain now. He stands with a sigh and strips off his flannel shirt. He drapes it over your shoulders. His sweat cloys from the fabric. You keep your head down and gulp. 

“Thank you... Captain,” you eke out. 

You tug the shirt around you even as your skin crawls. You’re freezing. You shift your legs and the tug on your ankle stills you. It isn’t a reminder of your reality because you can’t forget that. There’s no escaping it. No getting away from him. 

You stare at the rope knotted above your foot. Aika kept you down as The Captain tied it. He didn’t need her help. You have nothing left in you. Only shame. You might not have asked for any of this but it’s all your fault. It’s all because of your own poor choices. 

As The Captain sits back down, the rope bristles in the dirt. He holds the other end, wrapped around his thick fist as he watches the fire next to you, petting his loyal dog with his other hand. You languish in that tableau, waiting for it to break. 

You can’t help but wonder about him. He’s a soldier. You try to piece together why he did this. Why he is the way he is. Something horrible must have happened to him. Yet, you can’t forgive everything he’s done. It might be an explanation but it can’t be an excuse. 

You don’t know why you care. He’s a villain to you. He’s picked apart your whole life. Infiltrated it and shattered it right before you. 

Your breath wisps out sharply as he stands again. You peek over and let your lip pop free of your teeth. It sticks out in a pout as you watch him. He stirs around on the folding table and takes one of the long sticks there. Plastic crinkles and the impales a large pillowy shape; a marshmallow. 

“Good night for smores,” he comes back to you, the rope looped around two of his fingers. He could untie you. He’s won. He knows it. “Don’t let Aika snatch it from ya.” 

Despite his attempt at humour, his voice his vacant. You’re both just biding time. You take the skewer and turn it in your hand. You cough as he looms over you. 

“Thank you, Captain.” 

He clucks and backs up. He returns to the table. More crinkling as he fumbles around. You hold the marshmallow to the flames and watch the outside blacken. That’s how you feel. Ready to melt. 

“Eh!” He exclaims and grabs the skewer as the marshmallow catches alight. “Careful! Don’t wanna burn yourself, sweetie.” 

You can sense the rigidity in his words. He wants to sound like Sy but his cadence is that of a commander. What he says, he wants heard; obeyed. 

He tosses the burnt clump of sugar and pokes a new one onto the end. He roasts it himself, precisely so that it doesn’t singe. He turns back and squeezes it between the crackers and chocolate, sliding the gooeyness free before offering it to you. 

You’re not hungry. Your insides are in turmoil. You can’t deny him. You take the sandwich, another obedient thank you as you do. You consider it. Your stomach churns. 

You bite into it and the oozing middle drips onto your hands. You cup one under your chin to catch the mess and let out a squeak. You chew and pull it away, the insides dripping onto your palm. You glance up as the Captain remains right beside you, watching you. 

You lick your sticky lip and swallow. You hum, an unconvincing ‘yum’. “Really good,” you nearly choke. 

“Mm, is it?” His face is consumed in the darkness as he stands with his back to the fire. 

“Yes, sir,” you answer. 

He stares down at you. You force yourself still as he reaches for you. He drags his thumb along your chin, “got some here.” 

He trails up to your lip and over it, shoving his thumb into your mouth. You gasp as he drags the pad of his finger over your tongue. Your eyes widen as you stare up at him. He pushes deeper, pressing down as you cradle the cooling sandwich. 

“Suck it,” he snarls. 

You murmur around his thick thumb. What choice do you have? You press your lips around him and do as he says. He turns his hand to grip your chin as he keeps his finger in your mouth. You suck as he groans. 

“That’s it, sweetie. You gonna be a good girl for the Captain, aren’t you?” 

You stop and blink. Your terror surges and your eyes brim hotly. You gulp as your lips tremble around him. 

“The Captain can be good to you,” he slowly pulls his thumb free. “Finish that.” He points to your handful of cracker and slop. “Then I’m gon have some dessert of my own.” 

You dip your head down and your tears flow over. There’s no mistaking what he means. You shakily pick at the mess in your palm and try to scrap up the chocolate and marshmallow with the gram cracker shards. He watches you as he toys with the end of the rope. 

You peek at Aika. No leash for her, only you. She’s entirely unaware as she lays and listens to the distant waves. Or she might not know any better for her owner’s behaviour. 

You choke down the last of the sickly sweet glop. You hold out your sticky hands helplessly. You want to vomit it all back up. You might just do that once he has his way... 

Oh god. 

“Come on, sweetie, I’ll get ya cleaned up,” he yanks the rope and your foot kicks out at the subtle force. 

You don’t say a word. You rise and the rope goes slack. There’s just enough for you to take small steps without slipping. 

Aika sits up on her paws and he speaks to her in that mysterious language. She puts her head back down and stays as she is. You walk away from the fire, shrouded in the weight of The Captain’s shadow. 

He takes you inside. The old bulbs glow amber and almost thrum in their effort to stay lit. He leads you down to a narrow doorway and takes you into the kitchen. He removes the flannel shirt from your shoulders and folds it on the counter.

He brings you to the sink and cranks it on. It whines before spitting out water then chugs noisily. He holds your hand under as it scours your hands coldly. 

“Water heater is lit...” he mutters and does his best to scrub your hands between his large ones, the rope tucked into his belt haphazardly. It’s only a symbol now, he knows you’re not going anywhere. 

He shuts the water off and dries your hand with the coarse cloth hung from a hook. You move numbly, only to his whim as the strength drains from you. He takes you out of the kitchen and down the hallways. He gets behind you as you approach another door. 

You stop short as you see the outline of a bed. Only the light from the hallway seeps in through the door. He collides with your back as you stare. He drops the rope entirely and grips your shoulders instead. He walks you forward. 

You lock your jaw to keep from hurling up the smores. The saltiness of his skin is still stained in your mouth. He urges you towards the bed and spins you to face him. He nudges you until you sit on the mattress. 

He lumbers away, the floorboards creaking under him, and there’s a crackle over you. The single bulb hung from the ceiling sends a weary haze over the space. He approaches you again. 

You stare at the front of his shirt. The jagged letters of the band’s name blur together. His hand moves beneath your vision, a subtle snap as he frees the large hunting knife from its sheath. Your gaze moves to the blade. You quake as you brace for the incision. 

He doesn’t speak as he angles it towards you. He cuts the straps of your halter top. You mourn it in a moment of foolishness. It’s easier to cling to those small things in that moment. He slices up the sides and peels it away, exposing your bikini top. 

He spreads his hand across the top of your chest and pushes you onto your back. You go limp as you recline on the lumpy mattress. He makes quick work of your denim shorts. The rope chafes on your ankle as it dangles freely. 

He tugs free the shorts and drops them with the remnants of your shirt. You lay prone and unmoving. He puts the knife on the table near the top of the bed and steps back. He bends and unlaces his boots. You stare at the cobwebs in the corner. 

As he nears the bed again, you don’t react. He drags your weak body up and around so your head is propped between the pillows. He climbs up on his knees, legs wide as he sits on his heels between your legs. He reaches over his head to tug off his tee shirt. 

His furry chest puffs out, bigger than ever. Each time you look at him, he’s bigger than the last. His arms bulge as he whips the tee behind him and his pecs strain. His stomach is thick with muscle and a layer of excess that doesn’t detract from his physique. 

He reaches for you and you swallow a whimper. He hooks a hand under you and makes you sit up. He takes your wrist and guides you to touch his hairy chest. You wince as your fingers twine into the coarse hair. He looks down at your hand as he forces you to caress him. You comply and rub your fingertips against his skin. 

He purrs, or growls, he sounds like an animal. He pulls you onto his lap as he shifts to sit on his rear. You don’t resist. He reaches around your nape and tugs on the string of your bathing suit. It untangles easily and the cups fall away from your tits. 

He shivers out a breath and brushes his fingertips over the curve of your chest. He traces along you tits and circles your nipples, his touch growing firmer by the second. He groans and cups you, squeezing as his cheeks dimple. 

He bows his head as his other hand creeps up your back. He leans you away from him and you let your head loll over his knuckles. He nuzzles along your cleavage and his breath dampens your skin. He nibbles the swell of your breast and his tongue flicks around your nipple. You quiver as he seals his lips around the hard bud and suckles. 

He curls into you as he fondles and sucks at your chest. You close your eyes as he leans with you and lifts you as he once more brings himself to his knees. He puts you on your back, flattening you beneath him as he continues to devour you. 

You mop at your cheeks as your tears flow once more. You blink away the moisture wicking in your lashes and tilt your head to look down at the top of his head. Short hairs cover his shaved head and his shoulders round with his undefeatable power. His hand trails from beneath you and frames your hip as he groans and growls. 

You cannot move. You’re stuck. Trapped. That fear that’s been simmering under the surface for days boils over and consumes you as he does. You surrender. To inevitability. To The Captain. 

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x latina!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

“i need to learn spanish,” logan says out of the blue as you’re carefully doing your makeup. he likes to watch you get ready in the mornings, and though you don’t understand his fascination with the process you’ve been doing for years, it’s nice to have him around.

“is there a reason for this?” you ask, trying not to allow the conversation to distract you from the task at hand. you’ve gotten good at this, at both getting ready and talking to him, having conversations about everything and nothing, the kind of conversations he would never have with anyone else.

you met logan a few months ago, when he accompanied a group of mutant kids to canada, almost dying in the process to save them. he’d been on the verge of death when you found him, skin sallow and pale from the intense blood loss, breathing ragged. it hits you sometimes how lucky you are to have found him in time, to have been able to bring him back to his daughter - every day you’re infinitely grateful.

he’s struggled to adapt to life here. eden, a sanctuary for mutants that reminds him a bit too much of the x-mansion, the place where everything in his life went wrong. where he’d let his guard down little by little, letting people see past his mask, making relationships only to watch them all die. he could do nothing to save them.

so he hardly interacts with anyone other than you and laura kinney, his daughter, though lately she’s decided she wants everyone to call her laura howlett. the look on logan’s face when he told you was one you’d never forget: joy and fear and confusion, adoration for his little girl tinged with the anxiety of knowing that anyone close to him usually suffered terribly.

“laura,” he grumbles, which is the answer you expected. despite living in mexico for quite a few years, he didn’t pick up much spanish, and certainly not enough to understand laura’s rapid-fire quips. “she always says shit in spanish when she doesn’t want me to know what she’s sayin’.”

you laugh. laura’s a bright kid, and it’s true that she enjoys insulting logan in spanish, but only at the same frequency as her english insults towards him. most of the time her spanish comments are neither good nor bad, just stream of consciousness comments. she enjoys logan’s frustration at not being able to understand her, so really it doesn’t matter what she says, just that he hears it.

“i can try to teach you,” you reply, “but i’ve never taught anyone a language before, so be warned i may not be good at it.”

“a lot of people here speak spanish. i didn’t ask them.” logan says, “you’re the only person i can stand bein’ around for more than a few minutes, so you got a better shot than anyone else.”

you feel a rush of giddy excitement flow through you in response to his words. it’s not a secret that you find logan horribly, unbearably attractive with his salt-and-pepper hair and his beard and his deep eyes and his arms and honestly you could spend hours listing every one of his attractive features.

the point is, you want to kiss him stupid, and with the way he lingers around you in moments like these, makeup half-done and your bedsheets still rumpled from sleep, makes you hope that he might feel the same. maybe spending more time together is just what you need to figure it out.

“we can start tomorrow.” you agree.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

latina reader: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3 @taextannie @gl1ndathegoodwitch @uncertified-doc

[marscardigan]

to the moon and back

remus lupin x reader

summary: your son is just like his father. remus hates that.

warnings: angst, mentions of self-hatred and anxiety, panic attack, cursing, not proofread!!

When you gave birth to Teddy, the marauders delight, you noticed he looked just like his father. The same lopsided smile, the little frown, how he looked at you with pure adoration and joy... everything reminded you of Remus. You adored that. It was like you just made him a twin. And it wasn't only you who noticed it, oh no, everyone did.

From Sirius' jokes to Lily's compliments, everyone knew he looked just like Remus. It was only the named one who seemed to dislike it. So when everyone left the hospital the night teddy came, you confronted him about it. "What is it?"

Remus looked up at you, looking confused. "Come on, don't lie to me" He laughed, failing at making you calmer. "I just don't know what you're talking about, dove"

"You've been weird and quiet all day"

"I am weird and quiet always" you scoffed, frowning as if you were just insulted. "Answer me, please. I am worried over here"

He moved his gaze to the window, avoiding your eyes. "You aren't going to like it"

"Don't care, just want to know why you look sad and why you haven't looked at your son in all evening" Remus grimaced at your voice. "So you noticed" Still, his eyes didn't meet yours. "Of course I noticed" You answered, offended.

"I just... don't like... that everyone says he looks just like me" He tried explaining, but you didn't get it, you couldn't bear to get it, after how proud you were your child looked just like his father. "I just wished he looked like you, that's all"

You pouted, looking at Teddy's sleepy face. Remus kept spiraling on his own thoughts. "I don't know why I feel this way, i should be proud of it" The postpartum hormones started to hit you harder, and some tears escaped your eyes. "If it helps, I couldn't be prouder that my kid looks exactly like you"

"Oh baby, please don't cry" Remus got up from his seat, and with his warm sweater dried every single tear left on your cheeks. "Let's just hope he gets your personality"

"We better hope he doesn't get your sense of humor, because we're screwed then" You laughed, and Remus joined too. He then started to believe in the possibility of loving his own son, even if he looked just like him, and made him sick inside.

When things started to get better, and your kid was almost two years old, you received a letter from the Potter's. Teddy was staying with them for the weekend, so you two could get some time alone. But all of your plans got screwed when Remus got a letter from James. He came to you, hand shaking while grabbing the piece of paper, tears threatening to escape from his beatific chocolate eyes. You got up from the bed and swiftly went to his side, grabbing softly his cheeks, which were burning. Before he could explain himself, he started crying, panic running through his veins. You asked what was wrong multiple times, but the only thing that left Remus' lips were "I told you", repeating it until he couldn't breathe. You tried to do everything you could to stop him from the anxiety, but every time something like this happened, you never knew what to do, so you hugged him and make his head hide in your chest, tears falling from your eyes as horrid shouts left Remus' mouth.

Once he got calmer, he just gave you the letter, too tired to even open his eyes. You didn-t have to read it to know what it said. So before he could do anything, you were going to the Potter-s and taking Teddy back home.

You left your son's room after putting him to sleep, and tiredly, you searched for your husband, only to find him smoking outside the porch. Remus didn't turn around, only lightened another cigarette. "I-m going to bed" You said, hoping to get some reaction from him. After a minute without any sign of him hearing you, you sighed, going to your shared dorm. Before you could close the door, you heard him mumble something under his breath. After asking to repeat it, he finally turned around, cigarette between his lips. "I said how bad is it."

You looked at his eyes, ignored the big eye bags those carried for almost two days now. "It could-ve been wor-"

"No. Tell me how bad is it" He cut you off, voice monotone.

You started to lose patience. "Well, if you're so interested about it, why don't you just try to look at your son's face? Then you could see how fucked up it actually is". You spitted at him, angry about his behavior. "But I told you, the scar on his cheek will fade eventually"

"That's what the doctor told me with mine" He almost laughed. You crossed your arms. "Thank god we have a better doctor then." Remus' tries to look guilty were hidden behind a weird smile, "So this is funny to you now? The safety of our child?"

"Of course it's not fucking funny, for god’s sake!" He almost shouted, throwing the cigar out. "I tried to warn you, ya know. About it before we had... him. But as always, you didn't listen"

"I did listen, you dumbass" You answered back, your words sounded almost venomous. "But as I told you back then, I couldn't give a shit, not before and not now, about it."

"You do seem mad about it" He shrugged.

"I am mad about it because our son needs his father, and his fucking father can't even look him in the eye" You pointed out at him, getting closer. "He needs you, and you seem to be gone." Your voice cracked, and Remus gaze softened just a little bit. He called out your name, but you ignored him. "I swear that every day that passes I have more clear that you are going to leave us, leave him, and I, I can't stand it."

"No, listen, it's not-"

"You listen to me" His eyes looked worried at your face, almost noticing now how pale and unhealthy you look, or have been looking for the past week. "I am scared every time I wake up and not finding you in bed, because you're gone" Your throat suddenly feels dry, as if your thoughts somehow would become reality once spilled. "Teddy needs you, I need you..."

Remus grabbed your hips, caressing your skin with his thumbs. "I know, I... I have been on my mind too long" He looked down, almost ashamed. "I was so scared of passing my... condition to him that once it happened I didn't know what to do after" He finally whispered. "I had no one when it happened to me, and I would've loved to have someone" "Let's give Teddy that support he needs, especially from you." You took advantage of the closeness of your bodies to rest your head in the crook of his neck. "He really misses you"

"I miss him too..." He sighed. "God I'm such an awful father" You shushed him, not daring to open your eyes. "Don’t say that. You are wonderful, you just need someone to remind you that"

Without being aware of his smile, Remus looked down at you, hiding the biggest smirk that now rested on his lips. "I love you, dovie. Love you to the moon and back"

"And just so you know" You looked up at him, copying his smile. "I couldn't be prouder that he is just like you"

And Remus started to believe it. He started to believe the blessing he had with Teddy, but mostly he started to believe how lucky he was to found you, and how his son would found just another angel like you in a future.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: my disappearing secret

pairing: toby hawthorne x hannah rooney

synopsis: hannah thought she’d never see her toby again, he’d left her once, then twice but maybe just maybe third time’s a charm

warnings: SPOILERS FOR GAMES UNTOLD!!

a/n: for @lila-77 merry christmas my love!! 🎄❤️🤍💚

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses

She felt his gaze before she even turned around. But it couldn’t really be him, could it? She thought she might be making it all up in her mind, yet she still whispered his name aloud, just incase maybe this time she wasn’t fantasising, incase this time he was actually there.

“Harry?”

There was one beat. Disappointment flooded through her, of course he wasn’t there. She’s been stupid to think it. Massaging her temples she carried on with her job. Then there was a second beat. ‘He’s not coming back Hannah’ she silently reminded herself.

“Hannah.”

Her heart almost stopped beating as all the oxygen was robbed from her lungs. She spun around, she had to see if it was real or whether it was all a voice inside her head. With a soft gasp, she could only stare and question whether or not she was hallucinating.

There he stood, sparkling green eyes, tall laid back figure, grinning like the first day she’d ever set eyes on him. He looked thinner than she would’ve liked him to, dark circles under his eyes. She wondered when the last time he had a proper meal was or when last he slept through the night. But she stopped herself from asking because that would waste their time and she’d learnt that time was all too precious.

“Same forwards as it is backwards,” he finished, a Hawthorne smile if she ever saw one, dancing across his lips.

Hannah was still at a loss for words, which wasn’t a lot like her in front of him. Toby Hawthorne was stood in her kitchen. She’d fantasised for something like this to happen, wished on dandelion clocks and birthday cake for a moment like this and now it was here.

Only she was less relieved than she thought she might be and more panicked. What was going on? Why was he here? Why now? Her brain raced through every worst case possible scenario. But then, for a minute she silenced her thoughts and let go of caring why and took in the moment. He was here. The rest didn’t matter. He was here.

“Harry,” she exhaled shakily.

“You already said that,” he replied, taking a step closer.

Every cell in her body burned with a sudden starvation. A desire born from a sheer desperation to be in his arms. She wanted to feel his touch, she craved it. Hannah couldn’t think of anything better than for him to scoop her up and run away from the rest of the world, even if it were all just for a second.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out suddenly.

His lips twisted into a strange sort of smile, “do you want another postcard?”

She almost smiled back. Almost.

She folded her arms, “what are you doing here?” she asked again, her tone more demanding, reminding them both of her sharpness she’d once had with him as teenagers.

“Come on Hannah I thought you were meant to be astute,” he grinned, that twinkle in his eye as he cocked his head to the side, “don’t tell me that’s gone downhill after all these years.”

“You can’t avoid the question forever,” she told him.

“Why ask when you already know the answer,” he asked quietly, taking another step towards her, “I love you Hannah, I always have and I always will. I needed to see you, your face, your eyes, your everything. It was killing me not to.”

“Then you have no idea what it was doing to me,” she murmured, tilting her chin up slightly to truly meet his eyes.

His pupils slowly dilated, swallowing up the green of his iris like a malnourished lion would a human corpse.

“I love you,” he told her again, his voice strong and steady.

“I love you too,” she said, letting her hands trail up his torso until they met at the back of his neck.

“Do you still hate me,” Toby asked her, “for the way I left you, both times?”

Hannah could only chuckle, “always, but love does something funny to the hate.”

“How poetic,” he teased, snaking an arm around her waist.

“Well we both know how much you like your poems,” she murmured, melting into his touch.

It felt so natural, so right. As if this was how they were always meant to be. He softly brushed his lips over hers and something ignited. Neither had tasted each it in such a long time, they’d almost forgotten how much they craved it.

The kisses began to get rougher, more passion and fire behind the movement. Hannah had her hand buried deep in his hair, clutching at chunks and tugging them every which way. It was love on a deeper level, intense and rash. Toby’s finger squeezed tighter around her waist in an attempt to pull her even closer into him, though it wasn’t possible. It was the kind of kiss that made you forget you even existed, that made you forget anything existed, that made you forget you had to breathe until your lungs were screaming at you, begging for oxygen.

“I want my postcard,” she said, breathlessly against his lips.

He smirked, amused by the way annoyance flashed across her perfect face, “impatient, are we?”

And for a moment it felt like they’d never been apart, like the years of constant yearning and dreaming and praying had never even happened. It felt like they’d been together through it all, like Toby had never left that night in the lighthouse and never left that night in the hospital either.

“Come on Hawthorne and give me the damn postcard,” she replied, between kisses, “I want it.”

“Sometimes we don’t get what we want,” he taunted, taking her face into his hands slowly pressing a kiss on her forehead, then on the bone when her eyebrow met her nose, moving down to each of her eyes closed eyes and the tip of her nose. They were so soft, so delicate they almost tickled. He met her lips again before slowly trailing down to her jawline, neck and collarbone.

“I do,” she replied, a flicker of determination in her eyes and a fluttering in her stomach, “I get what I want.”

Toby bit his lip. Hannah Rooney, the girl he’d fallen in love with, the girl he’d never fall out of love with.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, “if you win, the postcard is all yours.”

Her eyes flickered to the clock hung on the wall. The minute hand was moving far too fast for her liking.

“Do we have enough time?” she asked, lips tingling still, “Avery will be coming home soon.”

“Avery,” he repeated tipping his head back smiling. He savoured her name on his tongue, “how is she?”

“She’s incredible,” Hannah beamed, wishing she could tell him every little thing about her, “she’s kind and sweet and caring and she’s so intelligent Harry.”

“No doubt she got all of her mother’s genes then,” he replied, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her in.

Heat crept up into Hannah’s cheeks. Of course he still managed to make her blush.

“She’s so big now,” she told him, “so much bigger than the last time you saw her.”

He raised an eyebrow, “bold of you to assume I don’t keep a closer eye on her.”

A tender hand squeezed Hannah’s heart, “you do?”

“When I can,” he shrugged, “she’s growing up to look so much like you Hannah, but she’s got Kaylie’s smile.”

He grazed her cheek with his knuckle, so gently it felt like he was barely touching her. Bittersweetness washed over Hannah like an overbearing tidal wave of feeling.

“I’m going to make sure she goes as far as she wants with her life,” she said quietly, trying to keep the emotion from seeping into her voice, “give her all the opportunities me and Kaylie didn’t have.”

“And you will,” Toby whispered, “you’re good like that.”

“She’s going to go far,” Hannah told him shakily, her eye blurring a little.

She was sure of it.

“I don’t have a doubt about it,” he replied hoarsely.

And so was he.

Her heart ached, weighted with the words she thought in her every waking hour. The words she wished for so long she could tell him. The words she thought she’d never get the opportunity to say to his face ever again.

“I miss you,” Hannah whispered, so quietly she wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her.

“I miss you too,” he replied in almost an instant.

Of course he heard her. He always did. Even when there was nothing to say. He just knew.

“He hasn’t found you, has he?” she asked, searching and scanning every line of his face for an indication of an answer.

They both know who ‘he’ was, the instant she said it. But she had to ask. The worry alone was intoxicating her internal organs, contorting them into funny shapes like some sort of psychotic balloon animal.

“Not yet,” he said firmly, “at least I don’t think so.”

“Good,” she nodded, “that’s good.”

Hannah stared at him for a long while and he only stared right back. She wanted Avery to meet him, to be able to call him ‘dad’, she wanted Avery to know about this wonderful man she loved in hopes she might find one equally as kind and as selfless and as genuine. And for a second she wondered if she might dare ask him one last time to stay with her. She wondered if maybe this time he might say yes.

“I can’t hide here Hannah,” he whispered.

Toby read her like an open book, he knew her mind like he knew his own. He also knew the risks she’d be willing to take for him and he wouldn’t let it happen.

She smiled a little sadly, “how can you read my mind?”

“Call it a talent,” he shrugged, with a wink.

“Why Harry,” she asked, her voice so small it scared him, “after everything you’ve been through, just come home.”

She touched the left side of her chest with her hand, her heart throbbing underneath. He belonged here. Hannah knew it in her bones. He belonged with her and Avery, here.

“He’d know,” he shook his head, “he’d hurt you, he’d hurt Avery.”

Hannah sighed, “so why now? Why decide to come and see me now?”

“Well I-“

A locked clicked, a handle turned and the front door swung open, “Mum you’ll never believe it! I won the science award!”

Hannah’s eyes went wide as she tore her gaze from his and rushed to greet her daughter, leaving Toby in the kitchen. He dared to stand in the doorway and silently watch as Hannah wrapped her gentle arms around Avery and congratulated her. He saw the exact moment Avery’s eye lit up in joy, happy with herself and her achievement.

Pride swelled in his chest and a few tears sprung to his eyes. Avery, his Avery had won the science award in school. He wanted nothing more than to embrace her tightly and tell her how special she truly was. How she was so like he mother and more, how he loved her to the moon and back, how he’d protect her until he was a gravestone stood in a churchyard.

But he knew what he had to do now. It had been a risk even coming at all. Even though he knew it had been coming, Toby had never been good at goodbyes. Glossy eyed with a twisting agony in the left side of his chest, he took one final look at his wonderful Avery and his beautiful Hannah. The brightest sparks he’d ever seen in his life.

“I got this certificate and everything,” Avery beamed, showing off the piece of paper.

“That’s amazing sweetheart!” Hannah said, stealing a glance back towards the kitchen.

She already knew he was gone, just like she knew when he was there. But she had to check. She hoped she was wrong, that her feeling was off but it wasn’t. It never was. Hannah didn’t know why it still hurt when she discovered he wasn’t still there. She wasn’t losing something she had.

“And I even got this medal,” Avery continued, snapping her out of the haze and bringing her back to reality. She had a daughter and a life. She had something to focus on. And even if Toby wasn’t physically there, he was there in her heart, “and Mrs Gray told me that I’m one of the best science students she’d seen of my age for years!”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Hannah smiled kissing her forehead gently, “well done sweetie, I’m so proud of you. Should we put your certificate on the fridge?”

Avery nodded enthusiastically and went to get a magnet from the drawer. Suddenly she came to a halt and with a confused look picked up a rectangluar piece of card, furrowing her little eyebrows.

“Mum?” she asked curiously, “why is there a postcard on the counter?”

Hannah felt her heart rate pick up. He left her the postcard. Of course he had.

She looked around to Avery and bit back a smile, “let’s play a game Ave.”

“What kind of game?” she asked, folding her arms.

“One of our usual ones, it’s called I Have A Secret.”

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

The Prophecy Chapter 3: Please, I've Been on My Knees

Summary: Aurelia retreats to her private quarters after their wedding feast and Lucius visits.

A/N: Thank you everyone for taking this journey with me! This may be the shortest chapter of the series but who knows. I hope you keep enjoying this story! If you want any specific blurbs from this universe, I can take requests! ALSO, I started making a playlist for this story so, if you want it, let me know and I can share it. Warnings: 18+, arranged marriage, hint of marriage consummation, she's not excited about consummation but she consented, flashback, Geta being Geta, Lucius being an okay dude and not pressuring our girl.

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

Flashbacks are labeled as such.

Aurelia’s private quarters were dimly lit by a few flickering candles, their flames casting long shadows against the marble walls. The opulent chamber was still and quiet, far removed from the jubilant clamor of the banquet hall. Aurelia stepped inside, her crimson gown trailing behind her, her face drawn with exhaustion and a kind of quiet fury that had built throughout the evening.

She crossed the room with deliberate steps, her shoes clicking softly against the polished floor and came to a stop in front of the wide window, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city below. The moon hung high, casting a pale light over the Roman rooftops. It should have been a sight of beauty, but to her, it was just another reminder of the cold empire she was a part of—one that had stolen so much from her, including her peace.

Behind her, she heard the quiet rustling of fabric as Lucius Verus entered the room. She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. His presence was unmistakable, as it always was. He had been quieter tonight than she expected, but then again, he didn’t need to speak to make his presence known. His energy filled the room with a heavy tension, the kind that always lingered after a battle—an uneasy truce between two warriors who had fought their own wars, even if they had never met on the battlefield.

"I didn’t think you’d be here so soon," she said, her voice betraying the fatigue in her bones.

Lucius didn’t answer right away, and when she finally turned to face him, he was standing by the door, his posture rigid, as if he too were unsure of what to do with the space between them. He had removed his imperial cloak and his tunic, revealing the broad expanse of his shoulders and the hard lines of his body, still as striking as ever. But there was something else about him—something softer now, something that seemed less like an emperor and more like the boy he must have been in his faraway childhood, a time before all of this.

Aurelia felt a sudden pang of something she couldn’t name—a fleeting sympathy, perhaps?—but she quickly shoved it aside. She had learned long ago to bury her emotions, to guard her heart. There was no room for such weaknesses now.

Lucius’s piercing blue eyes met hers, searching, almost as if he were attempting to read her.

"Did you mean what you said?" he asked, his voice low, but the question hung in the air like a challenge.

Aurelia didn’t flinch. She wasn’t afraid of him, not in the way others were, not anymore. She had already seen what he was capable of—he was a gladiator, a killer, a man forged in the heat of battle. What could he possibly do now, except attempt to break her.

But she was already broken.

"I meant every word," she replied sharply, her voice gaining strength. "I will never love you, Lucius. I will never be your ally by choice. But I am here. I will play my part, for Rome and for the Empire."

Lucius didn’t react at first. He just stood there, watching her. His gaze was steady, unwavering, but there was something different in it now—less of the emperor’s cold authority and more of a man who had seen too much of life’s cruelty to believe in anything like love.

"You think I want your love?" His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, but it carried a certain bitterness that made her pause. "You think I came into this marriage with the hope that we’d be some great power couple, ruling Rome with passion and glory? I have no illusions, Aurelia Carina Cassia."

The use of her full name—Aurelia Carina Cassia—felt like a weight, as though he were not just speaking to her, but to the very woman she had been before all of this. The name she had been born with, the name that had been tied to another life. A life that was no longer hers.

"Then why did you marry me?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She had asked herself the same question countless times, but hearing him speak so bluntly, without pretense, it made her want to understand.

Lucius's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. "Because I had no choice," he said, his voice low but firm. "I couldn’t rule without legitimacy. I needed you to secure my claim. Your bloodline... the Empire needed to see me as the true heir."

Aurelia felt a sudden wave of disgust flood her, but she fought it back. She had known the truth from the moment she had been offered the choice: marry Lucius or die. There was no illusion of love here. No romance. Only survival.

"Just like me," she said bitterly, her eyes narrowing. "You needed my bloodline. I needed your power and protection."

Lucius’s eyes darkened slightly and he took a step toward her, closing the distance between them in a way that felt more predatory than protective. "We are not so different, are we?" His voice was softer now, tinged with something that felt like understanding—but whether it was real or just another layer of manipulation, she couldn’t tell.

Aurelia’s pulse quickened. She felt a strange mixture of irritation and something else—something she didn’t want to name—stir inside her. She had been in control of her emotions for so long, yet here he was, reminding her of everything she had tried to bury.

"Don’t mistake me for someone you can control, Lucius," she said, her voice suddenly cool and sharp. "I am not a prize to be claimed or a piece of property to be used. I may wear your crown, but I will never be your puppet."

Lucius didn’t flinch at her words. Instead, he stopped in front of her, his gaze locked on hers with that unnerving intensity. For a moment, there was silence, and the only sound in the room was the soft flicker of the candles.

"Who says you have to be?" he asked, his tone shifting again—this time with a flicker of something like respect, or perhaps understanding. "Maybe we don’t have to be anything to each other, Aurelia. Maybe we can just exist in this world, for whatever time we have left, without trying to change the other."

Aurelia swallowed, her chest tightening at his words. There was something in his eyes now that made her feel exposed, as if he could see through her carefully constructed walls.

For a moment, she considered saying something else—anything else—but she bit her lip and kept silent. She had no more words, no more energy to fight. This marriage, this empire—it was a cage, and they were both trapped inside it.

"Fine," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "We will exist. For as long as we must."

Lucius nodded, though his expression remained unreadable. He stepped back, giving her space, but the tension between them was still palpable, hanging thick in the air.

"I’ll leave you to rest," he said quietly, turning toward the door but before he could reach the threshold, Aurelia’s voice stopped him.

"Lucius," she said, her tone softer now, though no less guarded.

He paused, glancing back at her.

"For what it’s worth," she said, her words hesitant but true, "I don’t hate you. Not yet."

Lucius’s eyes flickered with something—maybe surprise, maybe something deeper—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he gave her a short, almost imperceptible nod and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Aurelia stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, her thoughts a swirling mass of anger, confusion, and something she was too afraid to admit.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers curling around the fabric of her gown and let out a long, shuddering breath. In the Roman world of power and survival, love had no place. All she could do was endure.

And in the silence of the room, she realized that perhaps, in this strange marriage, endurance would be all they would ever have.

Flashback ~ Wedding Nights and Feasts

The grand hall of the imperial palace was alight with the glow of hundreds of candles, their flickering flames casting long shadows across the marble columns and golden tapestries. The air was thick with the sound of voices—nobles and senators, officials and soldiers—laughing, clinking goblets, and speaking in hushed tones of political matters, all the while pretending to enjoy the extravagance of the evening.

Aurelia sat at the center of the room, her back straight and her face a carefully composed mask of regal calm. The feast was elaborate, more lavish than any she had seen before, with tables laden with roasted meats, fresh fruits, pastries of all kinds, and goblets of wine that never seemed to empty. It was a celebration meant to mark the union of two powerful families, a political marriage cloaked in the facade of love and festivity.

Beside her, Geta sat in his place as Emperor, his posture rigid and his eyes scanning the room, his expression cool and detached. He rarely spoke to her, his lips pressed together in an unreadable line as he occasionally exchanged formal pleasantries with the dignitaries at his side. He did not look at her directly, but rather, his gaze seemed to skim over her, as though she were just another part of the evening’s decoration—a beautiful, silent accessory to a ceremony that had more to do with power than affection.

Aurelia shifted in her seat, the weight of her wedding gown pressing down on her shoulders. It felt heavier than she remembered, the delicate silk and embroidery stifling in the warmth of the hall. The wine, which she had sipped sparingly, made her head spin a little. The noise of the crowd seemed distant, like the murmur of waves crashing far away, while the tension in her chest built steadily. She wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but beside Geta, who barely acknowledged her presence.

She glanced up at him, and for the first time that evening, their eyes met. His gaze lingered for a moment—barely a second—but in that moment, she saw something flicker behind his dark eyes. A glimmer of something unreadable.

It was not affection, but perhaps it was acknowledgment. Or perhaps it was just the weight of the situation bearing down on them both. He was the heir to the throne, but he was also, in some ways, as much a prisoner as she was. Aurelia quickly looked away, not wanting to read too deeply into it. They were both bound by duty. Perhaps that was all they ever would be.

"Empress Aurelia, it is a pleasure to finally see you in a laurel wreath. It suits you well," came a voice, pulling her from her thoughts. It was one of the senators, his smile oily and too wide. He was leaning in, his wine-stained breath making her skin crawl.

"Thank you," she replied coolly, offering a tight smile, but her attention was drawn back to Geta. The way his mouth tightened when his twin entered the room, or how his gaze flitted from guest to guest, never settling on her. He was far more interested in the politics of the evening than in the woman at his side.

The moments dragged on, the sound of clinking cutlery and polite laughter filling the air as the night deepened. Aurelia’s stomach twisted with the knowledge that she would spend many more nights like this, forced to sit at the table, to smile, to pretend that this was her choice.

Her fingers, which had been tightly gripping the edge of her goblet, tightened around the stem, her nails digging into the delicate glass.

Geta, still barely acknowledging her, looked up then, catching her eyes once again. This time, there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps curiosity, or even frustration. But whatever it was, it was gone in a heartbeat. He turned his attention back to the men beside him, a conversation about military matters beginning to unfold.

The night wore on with little change. The banquet was lavish, yes, but it felt more like a gilded cage. The guests praised her beauty, complimented her elegance, but they never asked her what she thought. No one cared for her opinions, her desires. It was all about marriage. It was all about power. Duty.

After what seemed like an eternity, the music began to swell, signaling the end of the feast and the start of the traditional dances.

Aurelia had no choice but to follow. She was led away from her seat by a servant, her movements stiff and controlled. She did not look at Geta as she passed him, but she knew he would be at her side for the next dance.

As they joined the throng of dancers in the center of the room, Aurelia caught a glimpse of Geta moving toward her. His movements were slow, calculated—his posture never changing, even as he took her hand in his. His fingers were firm, but not gentle. There was no warmth in his touch, only the cold certainty of what was expected of him.

The music swelled around them, and they began to dance. The movements were practiced, each step a part of a ritual that had been passed down through the generations. But even as they moved together, Aurelia couldn’t help but feel a sharp sense of isolation. She was surrounded by the thrumming beat of the music, the eyes of the court watching their every move, but there was no connection. Nothing to bridge the distance between them. She felt as though she were dancing with a stranger.

Geta’s gaze remained distant, his eyes fixed somewhere far beyond her, as if he were looking at the empire rather than his bride. He did not seem to care for the spectacle, for the performance. He danced because he had to—because it was expected of him.

Her chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down. This was her life now. A life of duty and silence, of rituals and politics.

When the dance ended, Geta offered her a curt nod, his hand slipping from hers with no more warmth than when it had first touched her. He turned and walked away, lost in the swirl of the crowd, leaving Aurelia to stand alone at the center of the hall, her heart heavy with the weight of it all.

Hours later, the imperial palace had quieted. The last of the guests had been sent away, and the halls were still. Aurelia had changed out of her wedding gown, donning a simple silk robe that was far more comfortable than the heavy dress she had worn for the ceremony and the feast. She had been bathed and prepared by her attendants though she felt no sense of relief. The ceremony was over, but the reality of her marriage had just begun.

Her chambers were vast, opulent and yet it still felt hollow, as though the walls themselves were closing in on her. Aurelia sat at the edge of her bed, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on her shoulders. The soft light of the moon filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Enter," she called out, her voice steady despite the apprehension twisting in her gut.

The door creaked open, and there he stood: Geta, dressed in a simple night tunic, his expression absolutely unreadable. He glanced at her briefly before stepping inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Aurelia stood, her heart pounding in her chest. This was the moment. The moment that would define their marriage, the moment that would bind them together—at least, in the eyes of the empire.

Geta didn’t speak at first, his eyes scanning the room with an almost clinical detachment. It was as though this was just another political alliance, another transaction. Not a marriage. Not an intimate bond.

Transactional.

The emperor walked toward the bed, his movements deliberate, but not rushed. He removed his shoes and sat at the edge, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension.

Aurelia swallowed hard, her mouth dry. She stood across from him, her hands trembling as she clasped them in front of her.

"Is it... time?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the question feeling strange even to her.

Geta turned his head slightly to look at her, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something softer in his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the cold, distant look she had grown quickly accustomed to.

“It is,” he replied, his voice steady, but there was no warmth there.

Aurelia’s heart sank as she stepped toward him, the enormity of what was to come hanging between them like a weight. This was not the passionate union she had imagined. This was not love. This was duty.

Geta reached for her, his touch firm but unfeeling, pulling her toward him. There was no tenderness in the way his hands gripped her, no gentleness in the way he kissed her. His lips were cold, mechanical, as though he were performing a duty rather than seeking a bond.

And how she hoped it could be something. She already felt so lonely.

Aurelia closed her eyes, feeling the disconnect between them. The weight of their marriage, the distance between them, settled deeper in her chest. She didn’t feel loved. She felt like a pawn in a larger game that she had no control in.

She had no choice. She could not pull away. This was her life now. No love. Only duty.

Please the Emperor. Give him heirs. Serve at his side.

As Geta’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, Aurelia stood still, her body stiff and her mind elsewhere - somewhere by the seaside. She felt the sting of loneliness in the marriage bed, the ache of emptiness that nothing could fill.

And when it was done, when he withdrew and settled beside her, there was nothing.

[cryptid-killjoy]

When Mazzie asked Ellie if she'd planned on staying too Babyface knew it wasn't her plan. They hadn't even spoke about it. Still, put on the spot he knew it was his plan all along. He knew from the moment he stepped foot on the boat. He'd known long before that if he ever got the chance to step foot here again and get a do over what he'd do different.

This was it. He'd stay. He wouldn't have run away from Mazzie when she needed him the most. Hindsight made him realize that was biggest mistake.

So, he clenched every muscle as he waited for Ellie's answer. She was laughing and so did Mazzie, but it felt like a goodbye to Babyface. He smiled through it even though it wasn't a no. It was clever wording even a not so clever boy could manage to pick up on. It scared him.

The timer scared him. Her indecision scared him because of that clock. Come some time tonight the island would start it's feed and turning real people into donkeys. He needed the island to accept them or their time, Ellie's time would run out. Not just that but despite being wholly committed to staying, in his mind, it wasn't permanent. When the Foulfellows used to work the island they still left it all the time. Babyface figured he could work on the details of how to leave it later. What mattered is he was staying.

Mazzie laughed. "We skate all over." It seemed to diffuse her though. She was realizing herself what both of them were saying. The one she had been so angry with was the one pleading to stay, completely willing, and the one she was okay with was the one hedging. It gave off the feeling that they had no plans of ambushing her and trying to take her off the island. It made Mazzie have to slow down and think. She gave her memories a once over. It was hard not to be sentimental when these were the only real life friends she'd ever had. Everything Ellie was talking about was reminding her of the old days. No matter how many hard feelings she had, she had just many good or more.

Even all Babyface's questioning made her believe on some level he must have cared more than she realized. So, she looked at him real serious because she knew something he didn't. She was hesitant to say it.

"You'd care for the island like me?"

"Yeah. That's the point. The whole point."

"You're sure. Donkeys and all? You remember how it works?"

"Yeah-yeah. I know. I know. I don't care about all that. I can handle it."

"So, you'd forgive the island for everything."

"Yeah-yeah Alls forgiven. It's all good. Whatever."

"No matter what? You're sure?"

"Yeah. I said yeah. We're crew. Remember?" Babyface sounded frustrated by this point she was dragging it out so much.

"UGH. I'll see what I can do. Come on. Let's go find Jax at the control room." Then she went in for a hug finally giving the warmer reception Babyface wished for.

"And don't ever make me have to forgive you again. Ever. I hated missing you guys."

All the island boys were giving them side eyes but slowly backing away from area where they'd once looked like they were ready to pounce if Mazzie felt threatened. Babyface figured this was a good sign. He finally figured out the pace of the boys was the chaos of island's emotions. At least sort of. He was hoping if they were backing down that meant they were okay with him staying and he wouldn't be turned into a donkey like the offer years ago.

When she finally let go she punched Babyface twice quick with two fast jabs in the arm.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen you in so long. I just feel like I owed you some."

She'd start to talk more like a regular conversational Mazzie as they followed her to the control room.

"I have to admit, a part of me thought you two were goners already. Over time I started to assume everyone I knew was gone. We don't have any boats left. We stopped trying to leave. We had the paddle boats and the water zombies would pull them down. Flip them. People would drown trying to leave the mainland dancing unable to swim. The magic didn't dance on the island. We'd never make it back to the mainland if we tried. We decided it was just best to hunker down and live it out here. We could survive. There's been a few to make it but the island either rejected them, got the donkey treatment in the end, or even the few I managed to save succumbed to the zombies eventually. All but one."

He looked over at Ellie with a bit of surprise. He never saw Mazzie as some sort of hero trying to save people on the island even if it ended up a failure.

"Sucks you found some you liked and lost them then I guess."

Mazzie glanced up, "Yeah, they were Beagles."

His feet stopped. "What?"

It wasn't like Babyface didn't already know. He'd been trying to mourn, but no bodies meant he could keep a glimmer of pretend hope. His heart started to pound.

"That's the boat that made it over. They'd been spying on us. You and us. All of us. Trying to figure out what you were doing all the time. It's how they knew. I got the island to let me keep them. Your family was the only people they let me keep. Anyone else that ever happened on the island got the donkey treatment. Sadly, I'm sorry, like I said, the zombies just over ran the place. We're finally getting it weeded down and protected. We have barriers up. But, they're still here."

Babyface was stunned. Fuck those details. "Who Mazzie? Who? Who was here?"

"Oh, Big Time, the zombies came out of nowhere that day. There was nothing we could do. We weren't fast enough. Bouncer, spinning tea cup accident. Not quite sure what happened there. It was going too fast. He got real pukey and dizzy after. Then zombies. He's so big and strong and he couldn't have protected himself if he tried. Not right then."

Babyface looked like he might puke himself. Putting images to his family's vague MIAness to actual faces of death was a reality check. He put a hand on his stomach as he asked, "Wait. Stop. Didn't you say earlier that you had a survivor? You mean of my family?"

"Mhm."

"Well who already? Who?"

Like a movie cue she waved to the control house. "See for yourself."

Babyface Beagle looked over at Ellie and then looked up following Mazzie's arm pointing in the distance.

There was Jax's curly hair sitting on the porch with all the carnival lights behind them talking to a god damn ginger.

Of all Beagles to survive. Mother fucking Bebop was sitting on the stoop with Jax.

Fuck the coachman right now, Ellie just let out the biggest sigh of relief that Jax was okay, her head leaning back as she let it out, running her fingers through her hair. “Thank fuck for that,” She said, thinking of the curly-haired guy whose homework she had helped out with while he was a donkey, of the guy that always seemed to bring a smile to her face, of the one that she disguised as a girl so that he could sleep over at their house. “You have no idea how much we thought of you two. Seriously. Shit went down and -” Another deep breath, shaking their head. Even with zombies here, and the bad boys, she felt alright for the first time since setting foot on the island.

Honest John and Gideon - she didn’t really care about those two right now. It always seemed clear that it was Maz in charge, not those two. So to Babyface’s disappoint, she wouldn’t try to get any clarity on that.

Yeah, of course there was disappointment in Babyface. Ellie had been expecting that. That they weren’t going to get the warmest welcome in the world, considering that Babyface had literally gone and popped the Magic Man. And she knew that Babyface wasn’t going to go apologizing for it either.

Her face definitely reflected the shock at what he was doing instead. That was not expected. That was not what they had talked about. True, they didn’t actually talk about what to do with their future, but it always had seemed so open. Like they could do anything. They had no attachments anymore, nothing keeping them down. Ellie had the Laveaus and Aunt Elsa but distance didn’t seem to come between them, she could go anywhere. Babyface had his mom in prison, and she supposed now Black Arts Beagle but it was hard to trust the smooth-talker. He was too smooth, like a freshly waxed floor, and she didn’t want to go slipping and sliding.

So much for not making any decisions for Ellie. He might not have spoken for her right then and there, but his decision affected her too, and he had to have known that. He goddamn better have known that.

This was hard. This was conflicting. It felt like two separate armies - the hot and the cold inside of her - were clashing inside of one another and there was no winning.

This was her crew. This was her life. She had the chance to get Maz back in it, and Jax. The two people that she never felt right not having anymore. She woulda died for them, no question. She woulda fought for them too. And here she was, with the opportunity to stay here, in this place that felt like a personal Hell to her, with them.

But then there was the other side. The Hellish side. She never liked the island. She never liked the way that it made her feel. The bad kids, the constant screaming and noise and mayhem, the fact that she couldn’t even use her powers which was something that Babyface would never understand, because he never had them. Being repressed like that - it felt like having a part of her missing.

But there were heavy eyes on her, wanting to make a decision. And a yes or a no was something that she couldn’t give now, not without thinking about it first, not without talking to her trusted people about it.

The weight of the eyes was intimidating. Babyface and Mazzie both. She struggled to come up with filler, something that wasn’t a yes, but also wasn’t a no.

“Put in a skatepark and we’ll talk about it.”

[candyswirls]

This is actually a sort of two part ask, but if you dont do those its fine. Clonegrim reuniting with Lion and Gulliman, and then Clonegrim meeting the Sons of the Phoenix for some nice bondng time (Sons of Dorn my ass, Cawl.)

I actually have story on this in the works :3 it’s just not ready yet

BUT ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE

His hair was a mess, grime and dried viscera covered him, he wore a a tattered mess of random imperial rags and a Necron style tunic.

His eyes had dark bags under them and they looked tired. It there was a look saying “I can fight and will if I must.”

Guilliman had prepared various speeches and replies to say when he saw Fulgrim. But this version? He looked younger. Had it not been for the determination in him, he would have called it pathetic

Fulgrim tried to stand tall, balancing on the spear he had.

“Roboute Guilliman,” he spoke, trying not to let his voice falter. “I am a clone of your brother, Fulgrim. I have most of his memories… before corruption. I do not know why I was made. But I am not corrupted by chaos or the warp. I will be… better than the first. He… disgusts me. I hate him. I hate what he’s become… and I hate what he stands for. I am against him. I am still loyal to the imperium and Father. I have escaped from Necron clutches and fought tooth and nail to… get here. I am still… a Primarch. I can fight… I can be useful… I am on your side… and I am…”

The clone collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily, tears pricked his eyes.

“You are exhausted,” Was the only thing Guilliman could say.

The clone looked up at him with disdain and snapped, “Of course I am! I… golden throne… I just crossed half… the galaxy! Everyone trying.. to kill me! Wouldn’t listen! I… please let it be over… Roboute… brother… please… I’m good. I swear I am. I won’t betray you. Not like him… I want to do right… I want to see father again… I just…”

There were so many things he wanted to say. To yell at him… but this wasn’t the original. This was a clone. He even looked young.

Guilliman knelt and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “I do not fully trust you. I can’t. But you can rest now. You’re in my custody now.”

Fulgrim let out a sigh of relief as he collapsed forward, caught in his brother’s arms.

Their reunion was brief. Guilliman led the Lion down towards the stratagium deck.

“A clone?” He questioned. “And you trust this?”

Guilliman nodded, “We’ve been able to bond. He acts like a teenager with his age, but he’s saved my life. He is loyal. He is more like Fulgrim than the original. He will be pleased to see you.”

The door opened as they walked in.

“Are you sure?” Lion asked.

Before Guilliman could answer a voice called out, “Lion!”

Lion froze as a slightly shorter version of the third Primarch practically leapt into his arms.

He was stunned for a moment before speaking, “Fulgrim? Fulgrim!”

Excitement overwhelmed his suspicions. He hugged his brother and lifted him into the air.

“You look younger,” he laughed.

Fulgrim smiled back, “And you brother look older.”

Guilliman chuckled, “What a relief this is. I have two of my brothers back.”

All three embraced.

“I will warn you,” Calgar said. “They were most upset when they learned of who their geneseed really belonged to. Some are still in denial and insist they are sons of Dorn. Granted this was before you came back.”

Guilliman placed a hand on Fulgrim’s shoulder, “They will love you.”

The clone sighed, “I certainly hope so.”

As they exited the Thunderhawk rows of Purple, white, and Gold armor stood in neat succession. Those without helmets had pale blonde, white, or silver hair. Eyes were down shade of purple or a close blue.

Fiery imperial defiance danced in their eyes.

Fulgrim stepped forward and scanned over them.

He smiled, “You are all a sight for sore eyes. Many of you already remind me of the loyal sons of the imperium during the heresy. I am not Dorn, nor am I the original Fulgrim. But I swear unto you that I aim to rectify the originals mistakes. To be better. Now please, show me your ways and customs of your chapter. I am not here to destroy it or make you a carbon copy of the third legion. You are already better.”

Shocked expressions crossed the sons of the Phoenix’s. Yet slowly, they approached their Primarch out of curiosity and the longing for their father.

He slowly rested his hands on the shoulders of his sons as they introduced themselves.

Guilliman sighed with relief.

[koalapastries-writes]

you ask, i answer 🫡

*coughcough* ollie/oscar/yuki (separate not polyam lol) and their reactions to a) reader leaving them limping and b) readers back being a scratched up MESS

thanks for pt1 bestie 😚

-bear ❤️🐻

thank you bear <3333

under cut bc nsfw. obviously. part one

ollie bearman:

i think he kinda loves the limp?

it’s a reminder of how good to him you are and even if it’s inconvenient he’ll still giggle every time he thinks about it

totally asks you to carry him everywhere

which eventually leads to you offering him a piggy back ride (bc that’s the easiest for you to still be able to do things) and ollie seeing your back

he gets so flustered and almost starts crying because he thinks he hurt you with all his scratching and clawing

you have to explain to him that the scratches are to you what the limp is to him

a reminder of a good time

oscar piastri:

he sees your back before he gets out of bed

he’s soooo cocky about it

probably deliberately clawed shapes into your back and was babbling about how good it’d look while you were fucking him

traces the shapes with his fingers and you can pick out a few—a heart here, a star there, even his name

oscar can be possessive when he wants to be

anyway, so cocky about your back and then he tries to stand up and his legs are still jelly

”oh how the tables have turned”

”yeah, yeah, shut up and help me”

yuki tsunoda:

he doesn’t get limps often from sex with you

largely because he tends to ride you and therefore controls the pace to an extent

but say he’s being particularly bratty after a bad race

you’ve gotta bring him back in line, don’t you?

it’s simultaneously the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him

because god it felt good while you were doing it

but then he wakes up and he’s so sore

totally a pouty lil baby about it and will grumble half-assed complaints

thinks he’s the only one with less than ideal after effects from the night before

then he sees your back

he jokes about you getting into a cat fight (cat hybrid!yuki anyone)

he’ll apologise if they hurt but it’ll still make him feel better about limping

[nuggeteri]

pour @jean-phillipedelaporte

(for my best french friend except it's in English let's go.)

(I take any and all requests about the life series.)

-

Scott took a step back.

He was in the Cod Lands.

He didn't know why, per say. A few hours ago, he could've asked his council and they'd probably have given him a dozen good reasons for him to be here. But right at this moment, Scott didn't think any reason would be worth endangering Jimmy.

Or, well, the Codfather, but he insisted on being referred to as Jimmy by Scott, for some weird reason. Even if he got all riled up whenever Fwhip dared to utter that name. He guessed that came with allyship.

It didn't matter either way--he didn't even know if that offer still stood true or not. He definitely wasn't allied with Fwhip anymore, his standing with Gem was shaky at best, and he's still not solved the conflict between him and Shubble. If he had the misfortune of fucking it all up, Jimmy definitely could take him in a fight.

Which was a weird thought, wasn't it? The Cod Lands had always been made fun of for being the weakest Empire. Standing here, though, Scott couldn't help but feel as though power meant nothing if he didn't have allies.

Katherine wouldn't help him in a war--she'd be allied with his ennemies. And Jimmy actually had many allies, like the Copper King, Queen Lizzie and King Joel.

He's spiraling, he knew this. It didn't stop him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" A voice interrupted his thought process--it couldn't be anyone other than Jimmy. And he sounded so friendly, Scott didn't even know why he was spiraling in the first place.

(A step back and frost on the ground told him exactly why, but he gulped and ignored it. He had things to do here---though he couldn't remember what.)

"You're not helping your case here." He said instead of voicing any of his thoughts. Why would he ever, anyway? Jimmy just looked at him--brows furrowing making the confusion crystal clear on his face. "What case?"

"With the nickels." He clarified and Jimmy just groaned---getting a chuckle out of Scott.

"What do you want anyway Scott?" He asked to change the subject. Scott let's him--he'd let Jimmy do anything.

"I can't quite recall," He answered honestly.

"It has been a while since we've seen each other. We can just hang out."

The reminder hit him right in the gut.

He hadn't seen anyone in a while because he'd been away doing his pity party in the Wastes, leaving his council in charge while he figured out his powers. Not like he ever did, anyway.

"We can't." Scott answered, once more, honestly. "I'm a busy man." Which is not all that honest, but it would get the job done...

"Busy visiting my Empire?" And that is the worse. Jimmy is not calling him out on his bullshit, his voice is filled with pure curiosity. Scott plays on it. "We don't have a lot of books on mer-above-land culture."

Which wasn't untrue.

"The Cod Lands are young, my apologies. We don't have many historians yet."

Yet they could beat him in a war, because Scott didn't have allies.

He sighed and looked over the horizon--it being the ocean. As an Avian, he could see further than most species, meaning he could see the outline of the Ocean Empire from here.

"Rivendell has always loved writing. I don't doubt I could send some journalists your way, then?" He proposed, because while he was curious---he also didn't want to make his visit worthless.

(There was Jimmy. How could anything ever be worthless if there was Jimmy? Scott's really selfish, isn't he?)

"That wouldn't bother me at all. More exposure, really. My Empire also loves writing, mostly stories though."

Rivendell... Doesn't actually have many fiction writing, really. Autobiographies, sure, plenty of poems and historical books, but very few novels. "You've peeked my attention."

"The Cod Empire is just approaching it's fifteen birthday. Most our authors are teens, believe it or not. Creating romance between mer, because they have never seen it depicted. It's quite sweet. I don't imagine they have the talent of full fledged Rivendell authors, though." Jimmy didn't know that Rivendell didn't actually have any novel authors. He doesn't break the news to him yet, though.

"Have some faith, art is art. I have never seen mer love stories. Care to share?"

"It can vary a lot. From coral to kelp, hot and cold waters, sand dust and gravel, mud and dirt. Ice, too."

Ice?

"Ice?"

"Yeah, well, ice is water, is it not? Water magic can still control it."

"Really?" He can't help but thinks about his magic. "How come you haven't shown it in Rivendell?"

"That would be an act of war, wouldn't it? Affecting the environment without consent." He said and Scott can't help but think about the many empires he's accidentally frozen. "But we also kinda did. The pond, the cod never really died when it got frozen over, did they?"

Jimmy knew about that? It wasn't the time to dwell on it, though, because Jimmy was.. right.

His hands start to form fists. He can feel ice spreading on his palm and he didn't want it to get out of control.

"Come on, big guy, let me see," The Codfather said as he approached Scott--Scott took one step back, simply one, which is why Jimmy gets to him and softly takes his hand.

In a matter of seconds, it all melts back to water.

"See? Ice doesn't only have sharp edges."

[rooksunday]

fluffcember day twenty seven: family gathering

jaster rubbed his face, as if the action might somehow aid his comprehension. it didn’t. with a sigh, he levelled his best buir look at jango. he’d had a lot of practice with the look over the years, but jango had seemed to settle down lately, as he focused on leading his pack of grunts out in the galaxy. the story he’d just garbled out, however, indicated jaster was going to have to get back into practice with alacrity.

at jaster’s sigh, jango began to protest.

“buir—!“

“just… one more minute, jango.”

jaster settled back into his seat at the head of the dining table, where he’d been enjoying his caf and concord dawn’s early morning, before jango had tumbled in already babbling at hyperspace speeds as if finding the right words would forestall any pointed questions.

that had most assuredly not been the case. witness: jaster’s incipient headache.

jaster took a fortifying sip of caf. he was mand’alor. he was a buir. he could manage whatever this was.

his gaze slid from jango to their enraptured audience, who were clearly both fascinated and baffled by the byplay occurring in jaster’s kitchen, and he forced himself to be honest. he could probably manage whatever this was.

jaster returned his attention to jango. “tell me again, slowly this time, like i’m an old man who has dealt with several concussions in his life, who are these very familiar-looking young men?”

the group of incredibly familiar faces, arranged in loose formation behind jango, shuffled almost as one. jaster had counted ten visitors and then given up; the door that led outside remained open and he could see more young men—and possibly young women and young folk of various genders—milling about on his lawn like soldiers missing a battlefield. they all wore the same red and blue scrubs, and there were more than ten of them. many more than ten.

jango, at the head of the inside group, had an expression on his face that said he had picked his fight and would be fighting it whether an enemy appeared or not. alas, he had learnt that from jaster.

“they’ve got nowhere else to go, buir, and—“

“not the question i asked,” jaster said mildly.

“there was a-an explosion, sir,” said the young man at jango’s right shoulder, who had a fresh-looking scar hooked around his eye.

he’ll need bacta for that.

“force nonsense,” muttered one of his companions derisively, this one with grey peppered in their hair.

“it was still an explosion—“

“that answers the ‘how’, i suppose, but i did ask ‘who’,” jaster reminded them. he addressed his question to the scarred figure at jango’s right shoulder. “who are you?”

the grey-haired figure bristled but the scarred one came to smart attention and looked over jaster’s shoulder like a trained warrior twice his apparent age.

“i’m cc-2224, sir!”

before jaster’s stomach could finish twisting at the unit number, the grey-haired figure snapped, “he’s cody. i’m fox. that’s jango fett.”

jango started to say, “why’d you say my name like that—“

“fox, don’t—“

fox dodged cody’s swipe and prowled forward to frown down at jaster. “who are you?”

with carefully relaxed motions, jaster refilled his mug from the cafetière, not missing fox’s keen attention on the process, and took a sip. then he smiled, the way he did when someone was provably wrong about mandalorian history.

“i’m jaster mereel, and i’m not entirely sure how, but i do believe i’m your ba’buir.”

jaster lifted his comm to take a holo of fox’s poleaxed expression, framing cody’s laughing face and jango’s wide-eyed resignation in the background. yep, that would make the perfect cover image for the new family album.

[earlycuntsets]

"mikey way

"me and gerard, we're the best friends in the world"

Once again, we meet Mikey Way. But this time this guy talks soooooo much. Hi hi hi! Never thought Mikey could be this chatty!

Long coat and black jeans, that's the outfit worn by Mikey Way when he met W at the Malia Hotel, Thursday afternoon, January 31, 2008. Wow, he looked really neat. But when watching MCR's concert a few hours later, it turned out that Mikey was also wearing the same costume, he he he. It's very clear that his long coat and all-black jeans are not just a style but an important part of his identity.

Anyway… Mikey looked relaxed as he shook hands with W. As a small talk, W of course asked him what he thought about Jakarta. He answered honestly. "So far, great. But I haven't been here long. Only 12 hours, only half a day. So, you know." He said as he took a large white plastic cup of coffee from the table in front of him. His hands looked a little shaky.

Gosh, Mikey, the conversation has become so serious, huh, he he he. W reminds me that the name My Chemical Romance was taken from one of the books Mikey read when he was still working at Barnes & Noble bookstore, namely Ecstasy: Three Tales of Chemical Romance by Irvine Welsh. mentioned by Mikey, here. Wow, it seems so funny to imagine Mikey being a bookworm, huh? Apart from Gerard being the vocalist and frontman of My Chem, he is still Mikey's 'big brother'. So, let's just start asking about Gerard, shall we?

Mmm, maybe we can start with a question that's not too direct, huh…

What's the most annoying thing about Gerard?

"Him? There's nothing bad about him. Even if there's something annoying, it makes me love him even more. Ha ha. Even if there's something bad about him, it's endearing. Gera is a very talented and admirable individual."

What is the annoying side of you in Gerard's eyes?

"Me? Well, I don't know. Ha ha. Maybe you guys better ask Gerard directly, haha ​​ha."

Have you two ever fought?

"We have. It's natural. But not too often. In a few years maybe."

Can you tell us a little bit about how you and Gerard are actually brothers? what kind?

"We're the best friends in the world. We always hang out together. We always talk. Especially when we're on tour, we always share a room in a hotel. only once we fought, ha ha ha. We barely fight."

Do you still have time to read a book?

"Yes, I still am. Right now I'm reading Needful Things by Stephen King. This is actually my second time reading it, he he he."

Wow, you really like horror stories, huh?

"Ha ha ha, yes. I like horror novels and also horror movies. Stephen King is a great horror writer. Many of his books are horror themed. I really like Stephen King."

From early on, it seemed like Gerard did most of the talking.

"I only talk when necessary. Not only me, Frank, Bob and Ray have also. But more often than not we have to take care of our own musical instruments, so we leave that responsibility to Gerard, he he he."

Totally agree, Mikey Unfortunately, Gerard isn't there, hu hu hu!

On stage, Gerard is the same. Have you ever joined in the conversation with the audience?

"Well, yes sure. I have."

Anyway, really happy to chat with you. Lately, MCR has been using piano players a lot at concerts, huh?

"We do everything like other big bands do."

Are there plans to make James Dewees a permanent member of MCR?

Oh, James. He's already become My Chem family member since ama. Even though he is not a member of MCR, he is our friend. We have also known him for a long time. Besides, we like the sound of our concert piano. So, we keep using it.

Why, the hell, is the sound of the piano so important to MCR?

"Piano is the basis for all music. Since we know a cool piano player like James Dewees, we might as well include him in the line-up. Unfortunately, James is currently at sound check, so he can't be here."

My Chem, that's how Mikey shortens the name My Chemical Romance. Frankly, W also knows nothing, he he he. When asked when My Chem (yikes, I'm following Mikey) will release a new album, Mikey said it would be around early or mid 2009. Wow, that's still quite a long time away, huh. When W asked about My Chem's three previous albums, this guy remained enthusiastic, cas cis cus.(?)

Tell us about the metamorphosis from the first to the third album…

"Sure sure"

Album: Bullets

"We were still very young. We were in our early 20s and we had only been in the band for about 10 months. Every song that was created at that time was indeed in accordance with our condition at that time. If you listen to it, you will definitely feel the nuances of My Chem now. The songs on the first album are like 'the younger brother of The Black Parade,

Is the creative process different?

"Let's see… The first album, / was really green, he he he. Gerard was also very young. We felt more spontaneous. The second album, Three Cheers… was more mature, more aggressive. The longer it went on, the clearer it became in The Black Parade. The difference was probably with the presence of Bob on drums. He is one of the phenomenal drummers. Many people say so. Because of Bob, The Black Parade seemed touching on many musical genres."

What if someone says that The Black Parade sounds smoother than previous albums?

"Technically, yes. The first album was made in the basement. The sound was rough. But eventually we had a bigger studio and had more time to prepare the material."

adhika annisa, marti photo: yudha

08/2008 kawanku (indonesia) from mcrhollywood

english translation done by google translate

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 17

MASTERLIST

Slamming the door behind her, Delilah’s breaths were shallow and quick as she paced her hotel room. Her fists clenched at her sides, and the dull ache in her split lip matched the burning anger in her chest. She was supposed to rest—tomorrow would bring the semi-finals, four grueling rounds in the ring. But there would be no rest tonight. Her mind buzzed like an arena after the bell, unwilling to quiet, refusing to let her find peace.

Her swollen eye throbbed, a stinging reminder of the altercation that now seemed like a bad dream. She couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror. Not yet. Not when the whispers of the locker room, the taunts of her competitor Yandi, and the shame of her own outburst still rang in her ears.

Suddenly, her stomach churned with a force that stole the air from her lungs. A cold sweat broke across her skin as a wave of nausea crashed over her, sharp and unrelenting. Her knees buckled, and she staggered toward the bathroom, one hand clutching her abdomen while the other fumbled for the doorframe.

The bile rose fast and merciless, burning her throat as she collapsed in front of the toilet. She retched violently, her body lurching with every heave, the sound echoing harshly in the small, sterile room. Tears blurred her vision, her trembling fingers gripping the edge of the porcelain like it was the only thing tethering her to reality.

When it was over, she sank to the floor, her cheek pressed against the cold tiles, breaths shallow and ragged. The bitter taste of acid lingered on her tongue as she groaned tiredly.

The pressure was becoming too much; the stress, this sudden illness that couldn't have come at a worse time; the weight of her actions—and the consequences—settled heavily on her shoulders. She was now worried for her career, for her rare shot to finally achieving a dream she never thought possible. And she had possibly thrown it all away simply because she lost her temper. The news of her fight had surely spread like wildfire; she'd be lucky if she wouldn't be stuck in Performance Center hell for the next five years as punishment.

As she finished brushing her teeth, a sharp knock startled her. She froze. She already knew who it was. Tank, surely. No way would he let this slide without getting his answers. But when she opened the door, the figure standing there was completely unexpected.

Josh stood there, a small, hesitant smile playing on his lips. “‘Sup girl. How’s it goin’?” he asked, leaning casually against the frame like he hadn’t just walked into the eye of a storm.

His familiar presence should have warmed her, but it only irritated her more. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” she muttered, already retreating as she tried to push the door shut. But Josh caught it easily, stepping inside before she could stop him. “You shouldn't be her,” she protested, watching helplessly as he strolled around the room like he owned the damn place.

His eyes swept over her battered face, concern flickering across his features. “Damn, you look like shit,” he said with a chuckle, though his voice held more worry than humor.

“You should see the other bitch,” Delilah shot back, her tone sharp, before letting out a tired sigh.

Taking her chin between his fingers, Josh tilted her face toward the light. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. “So, you gon tell me why you were out there fightin’ to begin with?”

Delilah shrugged out of his grasp and turned away, arms wrapping tightly around herself. “My initiation wasn't exactly pleasant. But it’s nothing you need to worry about,” she gritted out.

Taking her hand in his, Josh pulled her back to him. "Come here," he instructed.

Delilah tried to hold her place. "You shouldn't be here," she said again, surprised to see the hurt in his eyes when he looked back at her. "Just go," she added, pointing to the door.

Refusing to buy the bravado, Josh cupped her cheeks in his hands and pierced her dark eyes with his. “Talk to me, baby,” he said softly.

Her throat tightened, but she fought back the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. “This business is about respect, right?” she asked bitterly. “You’ve got it, after fifteen plus years. I’m out here fighting for it, barely a year in. And apparently…” Her voice cracked as she glanced back at him, anger flashing in her eyes. “Apparently, the rumor mill doesn’t think sleeping my way to the top is all that respectable.”

Josh blinked, then laughed—an unexpected, incredulous sound. “Sleeping your way to the top? That’s bullshit, Delilah.”

“Perception is reality, Jos…Jey,” she snapped, throwing his ring name at him like a weapon. She saw the flicker of hurt cross his face once more, but this time it didn’t soften her anger.

He reached for her wrist, pulling her toward the bathroom before she could protest. “Come on,” he said firmly.

“Josh, don’t—”

“Man, just sit your fine ass down,” he ordered, lifting her onto the counter like she weighed nothing. She glared at him but stayed put, watching as he rummaged under the sink for a first-aid kit. Wetting a washcloth with warm water, he turned back to her. “This is gonna sting,” he warned, dabbing at the corner of her mouth.

Delilah hissed at the contact, her fists clenching around the counter’s edge. “Ow,” she mumbled.

“Sorry.” Josh worked quietly, the gentle precision of his movements a stark contrast to the raw frustration radiating off of her. He cleaned the gash on her lip, then moved to the cut above her eye. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, he broke it. “You ain’t get that contract cuz of me, Delilah,” he said, his voice steady.

Delilah let out a bitter snort, flinching as pain flared across her eye. “You sent my videos in. You made the calls. Tank told me…eventually. Don’t act like that didn’t tip the scales.”

Josh met her gaze, unflinching. “I didn’t sign your name on it. I ain’t even tell them it was me. You think they hand out contracts because of favors? No, Delilah. You did this. You earned that shit.”

She looked away, the words striking deeper than she wanted to admit.

“I’m serious, baby. This was all you. Nobody can take that away from you.”

Delilah sighed, leaning back against the mirror as she searched for the strength to say what needed to be said. “You know what I’m gonna say, right?”

Josh smirked, rubbing his hands gently along her thighs. “Let me guess. You’re gonna tell me I just got divorced, you just ended your engagement, and we both need time. Or maybe you’re gonna tell me this thing can’t get too serious too fast.”

“Stop,” she whispered, the plea barely audible. Her resolve wavered as his gaze bore into hers. “I’ve busted my ass for this. I’ve sacrificed everything for it. My jobs. Andre. And I’m this close,” she held her fingers inches apart, “to finally having what I want.”

Josh studied her, his heart aching with admiration and longing. For the first time in a long time, he felt like the immature one in the situation. He had been so excited to see her, had made up some garbage about a family emergency to come this way and see her again. He was mentally counting down the days until his divorce was finalized so he could begin properly pursuing her. But he had never stopped to think about how his status would affect her rising star. He really hadn't cared.

But as guilty as he felt for his own feelings, he was doubly impressed with her for the backbone she was showing. Standing so close, he could feel the heat radiating from her. He could see her eyes darken when he caressed her thighs. The hungry look in her eyes reflected she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And yet, she was telling him to leave. She was stronger than he’d ever been—stronger than he’d expected. Stronger than him.

“I get it,” he said finally. Resting his forehead against hers, his thumb brushed over her bottom lip, the touch lingering for just a moment. “And I’ll back off.” But then his hands slid to her hips, pulling her closer, and his voice dropped to a low murmur. “But only after we touch down in Pensacola. I’m changing your flight so that we get to travel back together. After we land, then we end it, if that’s what you really want. Until then…let me hold you. Let me take care of your needs.” His smirk was devilish as his hand slipped between her thighs. “All your needs,” he clarified.

The words melted the last of her resistance. And as his lips found hers, Delilah let herself surrender—for one night.

Her lips were urgent and insistent, as his was, as he pinned her against the sink. His hands gripped her inner thigh, then pushed two of his fingers inside her, basking in the moan that slipped from her mouth to his. His kisses were intoxicating, a heady mix of heat and tenderness that made her mind spin. 

“Tell me,” he whispered, his fingers pumping in and out of her, “Tell me what you need.”

Delilah’s resolve crumbled with every brush of his lips, every soft groan that escaped him, every jab of his fingers deeper in her pussy. She never was able to resist him, and in moments like this, resistance felt yet again like a losing battle that she no longer wanted to fight.

“I…I need you,” she breathed against his lips, her voice trembling with a raw vulnerability she only showed, she was starting to notice, to him. Her hands roamed over his chest, his arms, desperate to feel him, to anchor herself to him in this moment.

Josh pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze intense, almost reverent. “I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice a deep, soothing rumble as he continued to caress her. “I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

His words wrapped around her like a promise, grounding her even as her body felt like it was floating. He kissed her again, slower this time, his lips exploring hers with unhurried devotion, sending shivers racing across her skin. Delilah melted into him, her doubts and frustrations temporarily silenced by the warmth of his embrace. In this moment, there was no tournament, no nosey ass surgically enhanced bitches, no rumors, no judgment…only Joshua, steady and unyielding, holding her like she was the center of his universe.

In a matter of seconds, he had stripped her of her pants and underwear. Delilah bit down hard on her lip as he braced her back against the mirror, pushed her legs apart and leaned down, sliding his tongue over her opening. Grasping the cold marble of the sink with both hands, she moaned as he licked her slowly, tortuously, rolling the tip of his tongue between her folds. His fingers thrust faster inside her, and her back arched against the mirror with a loud cry, her wetness flooding both digits as he pushed them in and out with ease. Ever attentive, Josh watched her every reaction, enraptured by the way she moaned his name after every lick of her lips as her eyes fluttered shut. Her chest heaved, her gorgeous features twisted in ecstasy as she gripped his mullet in a valiant but futile effort to hold onto her sanity.

“Josh!”

“Mmm, baby? You gon’ come in my mouth?” he taunted, slowing down, sucking on her clit and soothing it with a gentle swipe of his tongue.  He growled with excitement when he felt her pussy spasm in his mouth. He sucked and licked and sucked some more, pushing her right over the precipice as she cried out and her legs trembled in his grasp. He stood upright when he was done, his beard gleaming with her essence, the erotic visual causing Delilah’s pussy to clench. Cupping the back of her neck, he kissed her hard, his mouth and tongue hot and hungry on hers, sharing the taste of her juices with her.

Delilah knew they needed to stop. If she was going to stand on business, she was going to have to tell him "no" with a little more effort. She was going to have to show a little more self control. But as he peeled the rest of her clothes away from her body and carried her from the bathroom and into her bedroom, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and accepted his searing, intoxicating kiss. Tonight, he could give her what she needed. Tomorrow, they would let go.

—————–

Thoughts?

Please leave comments! I love comments! 😁

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

🏷️: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @jstarr86 @trippinsorrows @whatdoeseverybodywant @heauxvibez 

@murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @nayys-world @harmshake @mindairy @hunnidmilly @tribalhoochie @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05  @captainwithoutmakingitlove 

@sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @joannasteez

@thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear

@tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy

@chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @shes2real @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @bebesobrielo @trentybenty

@tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnot@meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @femdisa @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess

@nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach  @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k 

@reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @final1miya @kia1996 @randomuser0711 

@yourtribalqueen @katymae12344 @that-one-anxious-mango @yana3sworld @caramelcleopatraa @truefant4sy @thetribalqueen @romansthrone @fearlesschimera

@bhjszsdxc @paigereeder @christinabae @justazzi @maknaehyucks @keyaho @headoftheetable @sageispunk @jeyusos-girl @xbriexx

[gladdygirl18]

Cheer Up, Sis!

Happy Holidays, everyone! Surprise @ficsandgiggles! I was your Secret Santa for SquealingSanta2024! I cannot tell you how happy I was when I got you; gave me a chance to write a Marvel/Avengers fic again after so long! I know we barely interact, but I do hope you love this fic as much as I did writing it!

This fic contains zero spoilers for any show or movie, so happy reading!

Theme for this fic: Classic cheer up tickles

Summary: Yelena feels like an outcast after being disconnected from reality and society all those years, and it's hard connecting to the rest of the Avengers, but never fear! Big sister Natasha is here to cheer up a pouty and upset little sister!

Word Count: 1800

⚠️Warning⚠️: mild swearing

How long has Yelena been trapped within the Red Room? How long has she been under the influence and control of that sick bastard General Dreykov? Far too long. All those years of mindless killing was dreadful; Yelena hated it. She felt like she was watching the world through someone else’s eyes, trapped within her own body, unable to stop herself. She hates herself for being so weak that she couldn’t resist the mind control of the Red Room. Yelena thought there was no way out of this hell. She needed a miracle; she needed a sign; she needed her sister.

As if her prayers were answered, Natasha came to Yelena’s rescue. After taking down the Red Room for good, the sisters, along with the other Red Room-controlled operatives, lived out the rest of their lives, finally free from the anguish, torment, and bloodshed. Natasha took Yelena to Avengers HQ to get her situated. The Avengers welcomed the younger Black Widow with open arms, knowing her from the stories Natasha would tell. They would talk about how much Natasha missed her, longed to see, and hold her again, and most importantly, how much she loved her. Hearing all this made Yelena hopeful for the future, that things could get better; that things could change. Oh, how wrong she was.

It’s been a few months since Yelena came to stay at the facility, and while she was well-adjusted to her new surroundings, she still felt distant from everything, and everyone. Whenever there were game nights or movie nights, she felt so disconnected. Being disconnected from reality and not having control over her mind for years upon years did her in; the lingering effects of Dreykov. She may be free but at what cost. Her childhood was practically snatched away from her and was forced to fight and kill, but not out of her own volition. Even now, she feels like she’s watching the world through someone else’s eyes and feels awful that she can’t connect with the other Avengers like she hoped she would.

It was Christmas Eve, and some of the Avengers—Peter and his friends included—were playing in the snow. Inside, Tony, Thor, Bucky, and Stephen were hanging Christmas decorations around the facility, getting ready for their annual Christmas party. The Avengers have a tradition of doing Secret Santa every year and everyone would exchange one gift when the clock strikes 12. Natasha encouraged her sister to join, but she respectfully declined. Now, Yelena was in her room, laying on her bed, watching the snow fall from her window. It reminded her of home; she felt like she was in a mini snow globe.

“Hey, have any of you guys seen Yelena anywhere?” Natasha asked.

“I haven’t, no,” Bucky said, “We’ve been hanging decorations all morning.”

The Black Widow sighed and turned her head away with concern contorted on her face.

“It’s snowing outside and…” Natasha began, “We used to play in the snow all the time back home. I just thought she’d want to go outside and play with me and some of the others… She’s just been so closed-off from everything lately… and everyone.”

Tony walked up to Natasha and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t stress over this, Nat,” Tony said, “She’ll come around when she’s ready.”

Natasha sighed and nodded before walking out of the living room. As Natasha’s walking to her room, she notices her sister’s door cracked open a bit. The Black Widow took a deep breath before lightly knocking on the door. Yelena’s head perked up to the sound before settling her head back on the pillows.

“Who is it?” Yelena asked.

“It’s Nat,” Natasha said, “Can I come in?”

Yelena sighed before humming her response. Natasha walked into the room and quietly shut the door, the room cloaked in a cozy darkness, the light from the afternoon sun illuminating the room. The Black Widow sat next to her sister and glanced at her. The younger woman wore a tired expression; many would assume that’s her “resting bitch face,” but no.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked.

Yelena opened her mouth to speak but sighed and responded with a slow nod.

“Use your words, младшая сестра.” Natasha said softly yet sternly.

“I’m fine, okay?” Yelena retorted, a hint of malice in her words.

Natasha pulled back in shock as her shoulders slumped. The Black Widow stared out the window to see the snow softly fall, smiling to herself as she saw her and Yelena playing and rolling around in the snow. She was brought back to reality when she heard soft sniffling. Natasha glanced down at her sister and noticed small tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Yelena, what’s wrong?” Natasha asked, quickly sitting up her sister and hugging her.

When Yelena felt the warmth of her sister’s embrace, she pressed her face into her shoulder and sobbed softly. The Black Widow frowned as she held her sister close, slowing rocking her to calm her down.

“Am I… broken…?” Yelena asked suddenly.

“What? What, no,” Natasha answered quickly, “Why would ever think that?”

“Ever since you pulled me out of that God forsaken Red Room and brought me here… I haven’t been the same… I feel so out of place from everything, like I don’t belong in society anymore.”

Natasha felt her heart ache listening to her sister’s words. Dreykov’s influence really did a number on her, considering how long she was under his control.

“I want to be part of these little activities you and the other Avengers do, but I am so afraid of… fucking it up,” Yelena said sorrowfully, “I feel so… disconnected, from reality, society… and myself. It feels like I’m watching the world through someone else’s eyes and it’s scary…”

The Black Widow hugged her sister tight, trying to suppress her own tears.

“Yelena, I can assure you that you are everything but broken,” Natasha said, pulling away to see her sister’s face, “You are a smart, strong, and confident woman. Always have been, always will be.”

Yelena averted her sister’s gaze as she glanced down at the bed sheets. Natasha wanted to cheer up her sister, to remind her that she’s not broken. As Natasha scanned through her childhood memories, there was one thing the Black Widow remembered about her sister that would get her smiling every time. As Natasha repositioned her hands around her sister, she pounced, skittering her fingers all over Yelena’s sides. The younger woman yelped before giggling uncontrollably.

“Nahahahat! W-Whahahahat are yohohou doihihihing?!” Yelena asked through her giggles.

“Still as ticklish as ever, I see,” Natasha said, “But to answer your question, I’m cheering you up!”

The younger woman giggled as she tried to twist out of her sister’s grasp, but it was pointless; being a Black Widow, she knew how to handle people who squirmed around a lot.

“Natashahahahaha, plehehehease!” Yelena giggled, “No mohohohore!”

“Not until all of your poutiness is tickled away!” Natasha giggled.

The younger woman’s shoulders bounced as she giggled, trying to get out of her sister’s gentle yet firm grip.

“Ah, this brings back memories,” Natasha said, “I remember so vividly when you started to squirm around like this, I would grab your wrists…”

Natasha briefly stopped the tickling to grab her sister’s wrists with one hand.

“Pin you to the bed,” she continued, doing just that, “Straddle your waist.”

Keeping Yelena’s hands pinned above her head, Natasha straddled her sister, taking in the other’s attempt to escape.

“And once I have you right where I want you…” Natasha began, leaning in, “I… tickle you silly!”

She then started scribbling her hand all over the young woman’s torso with vigor, causing the other to buck and squeal with laughter.

“Nahahahat, nohohoho!” Yelena giggled, “Ahahahaha! This isn’t fahahahahair! Yohohohou’re bihihihigger than mehehe! Hahaha!”

“And you’re more ticklish than me,” Natasha retorted, “Evens out, don’t ya think?”

Yelena thrashed around as she tried to dislodge her wrist from her sister’s grip. When Natasha’s fingers found her belly, Yelena squealed and tried to turn away.

“H-Hehehehehey! Naahahahaha!” Yelena cried, “Not thehehere! Stahaahaap!”

“Are you gonna stop being mopey and enjoy the holiday festivities with me and the others?” Natasha asked.

When Yelena didn’t give and answer, Natasha started digging into the other’s ribs, causing the younger woman to snort.

“SHIHIHIHIHIT! NAAAHHAHAT *snort* THEEEHEHERE!” Yelena laughed, “NAAAAHAHAHAT! FUHUHUHUCKING STAAAAHAHAHAP!”

“Language, young lady,” Natasha teased, “And why would I stop? Your laugh is so cute!”

Yelena’s legs kicked behind the other as she laughed.

“Сестра, пожалуйста!” Yelena cried, “NO MOHOHOHOORE! IT TIHIHIHICKLES! AAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Are you gonna spend Christmas Eve with the rest of us?” Natasha asked.

When Natasha pinched her middle rib, Yelena squealed loudly before dissolving into silent laughter. This was the Yelena Natasha missed. She missed this side of her sister, only seeing it a few times before their lives were changed; she was happy to see this smiling and laughing face again.

“OKAAHAHAHAHAY! AAHAHAHEHEHE!” Yelena wheezed, “I CAAAHAHAHAHAN’T!”

Natasha chuckled before releasing her sister and halting the tickles. Yelena panted like a dog as residual giggles spilled from her lips.

“You… ahahare so fucking ehehevil…” Yelena panted.

“But you love me all the same.” Natasha teased with a wink.

The younger woman scoffed and lightly punched her sister’s arm as she sat up. A peaceful silence fell between the sisters as Yelena caught her breath.

“You feel better?” Natasha asked.

Yelena hesitated to answer, but after pondering for a bit, the younger woman looked at her sister and nodded with a genuine smile.

“Yeah, I do,” Yelena said, “I feel… lighter, like a huge weight was just lifted. Thanks, Nat.”

“That’s what sisters are for.” Natasha said, placing her forehead on her sister’s.

Yelena smiled as she lightly bumped her nose with Natasha’s before they embraced. When they parted, Natasha stood up and pointed outside.

“There’s still a little bit of light left before the sun sets,” Natasha said, “Do you wanna play in the snow for a while?”

Yelena glanced at the winter wonderland outside her window and smiled as she turned back to her sister.

“Sure, that sounds like fun!” Yelena said eagerly.

Natasha grinned as she walked over to the door.

“Hey, Nat.” Yelena called out.

The Black Widow stopped in her tracks and turned around.

“Я тебя люблю.” Yelena said.

Natasha grinned as she opened the door.

“я тоже тебя люблю.” she said.

When Natasha left, Yelena sat back on the headboard and sighed, pulling one knee to her chest as she watched the snow fall. It will take some time for Yelena to get back into the groove of how things were before the Red Room, but with Natasha by her side to guide her, she doubts she’ll ever lose her way again.