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thatonebirdwrites · 8 months

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Thoughts about fandoms and Writing

I suppose this will be a ramble of sorts. I wanted to talk about a sad thing I noticed but also a good thing I noticed about fandoms. This is a ramble, and I hope it all connects into a coherent whole by the end.

I'll start with the question I leave at the end. The question that my writing silently asks all readers:

"Here is a story of a human being that may be different from you, so will you join me at this campfire and hear their tale? To join them on this great journey of wonder, pain, joy, sorrow, and hope?"

One of the things that drew me to various fandoms, and my current one was a sense of connection. A sense of community, but I've also learned that despite this strength, there is an underlying undercurrent of who is allowed to exist in that community.

Part of writing fanfiction is because we want to see more of our beloved characters. To dig deeper into them, to fulfill this need for connection.

Because that's the crux of most things about us human beings, right? We are social beings that live best when we have connections with other human beings. None of us can live in a perfect isolation with no contact with anyone else ever (in fact studies show this is very, very, very bad for our health and can slowly kill us).

Yet, as a disabled person, I find myself stuck in this weird liminal space of seeking connection but sometimes finding instead reminders of how conditional my existence in the space truly is.

I notice that the stories willing to push the envelope a little, to explore what it'd be like if one of our beloved characters was disabled, often get far more harsh comments and far less support.

I've sat back and observed, and the more I interact with fandoms, the more I wonder if there is room for people like me.

I've seen some pushback in various fandoms -- even TLOK -- against people who want to explore our beloved characters in settings that allow for a more diverse intersection of identities. That tackle themes related to disability, gender identity, race, and so forth. To tackle more nuanced Leftist thought (that isn't displayed like a bad thing which TLOK sadly does at times).

This saddens me because that sort of pushback breaks the connection and community of fandoms in a way.

The whole reason I'm writing fanfiction is because I couldn't quite find the story I wanted to read. There's a lot of flaws in Legend of Korra, and I wanted to tackle the stories inherent in it from a different angle. To explore themes left unexplored. But also to show the shared moments Korra and Asami have. (They are legit my favorite couple of all time).

But I just don't feel very comfortable writing smut. I never have, so I'm already an outlier in the fanfiction writer community.

But I've realized of late that I also because an outlier with how I explore disability in my fanfiction.

Honestly Book 3 of TLOK sets the disability theme up, and although it does an excellent job with the PTSD arc, the way the temporary physical disability was handled during Korra's long healing left me quite frustrated because it utilized verbiage that's often used to demonize or deny disabled people support. No, it's not all in Korra's head (we find out later, that she really did still have poison in her, so Korra was right THE WHOLE TIME). No, it's not a mind over matter (this is the most unhelpful thing to say to a disabled person, seriously). No physical therapy can't cure all things. *sighs* I wanted more nuance there, and since it failed to deliver, I decided to write my own.

I also wanted to dig deep into Asami's story too because sadly enough TLOK doesn't give her the attention her and her trauma deserves.

So I have two separate series. One canon-compliant to explore the ramifications of that.

One an AU where Korra and Asami are romantically together by middle of Book 2, where they must navigate Book 3 and the trauma of that together. How do they do it? Can they do it? What sort of disability will they face and how will they deal with that?

I recognize what I write is not what most folks want from the fandom, and I feel like sometimes there is this unspoken undercurrent in the fandom to not really dig into the disability themes inherent in TLOK.

I think this is why commenters literally had a fight in the comments of my Shared Moments: Book 3. I had taken the disability theme in Book 3 (and 4) and made it highly visible. I had foreshadowed this quite thoroughly in all honesty.

I had made it clear from the start of the series that I promised to be realistic about trauma, about physical injuries, and about healing. Sure, I took some liberties in fight scenes to play up some interesting martial art moves that actually exist, but there's always ramifications and consequences.

I think in a way the fight that happened in my Book 3 (at the final confrontation with Zaheer's group) exemplifies the hidden current of ableism within the fandom.

Asami had barely escaped the lavabender and had a fourth-degree burn on the sole of her right foot. Those are when the burn destroys the nerves and can go as deep as the bone. They are quick to become infected if not treated right away, and in Asami's case, there was no way for it to be treated until after the airbenders are rescued. TLOK is set in a technological and medical period similar to 1940s, so the typical solution in that time period is amputation.

I'd carefully laid out details like crumbs for readers to find that heavily hints that this could be one of the possible outcomes.

Nothing about it was surprising.

And yet, two commenters were angry that one of the characters would end up permanently disabled. They utilized a harmful ableist trope, ignored the story up to that point, and demanded I alter the story because they deemed Asami's injury "unnecessary for the narration" and "too much."

Truth is, as much as I tried not to let it hurt me, it did.

Why? Because I'm disabled. I've had injuries due to circumstances where I didn't receive the healthcare I needed in time to prevent the injury and illness from worsening. I've been in Asami and Korra's shoes in a way.

Being told that a story that mirrored my own, that mirrored the lives of so many disabled people is "too much" and "unnecessary for narration" is a vivid reminder of how deep ableism has fallen into the psyche of our society.

Most folks wouldn't consider that ableist, and yet, if the same words were said about queer identities? If someone said that Korra and Asami being bisexual is "unnecessary for the narration" or "too much" there would be riots in the TLOK fandom. (In fact, I sometimes still witness some between Makorra shippers versus Korrasami shippers, where it doesn't seem to matter that Korrasami is canon to the Makorra folks, they get incensed and fall back on biphobic language. Only to be rightly called out for the harm of it.)

So why aren't we standing up for disabled people?

The Legend of Korra is a survivor story. It's a disability story. Complex-PTSD that Korra has is a disability. Acute-PTSD, which is likely what Asami has, is also a disability.

Disability is not bad. It is not evil. It's not too much.

Disability is beautiful. It should be normalized as just part of who a person is. We, disabled people, can do great things despite our disability.

And yet, those commenters couldn't see that.

All they could see was their beloved character would be permanently disabled. Their unconscious bias reared its head, and they lashed out in a way that hurt. (And also angered several other commenters who kindly called them out).

They were angry at being forced to confront the fact that their beloved character was now in the category of "disabled." It required them to relate -- to connect -- to a disabled person as a human being.

That's the moment of truth isn't it?

When someone is forced to relate to another person as a human being worthy of respect and dignity, that is when we discover the true character of a person I think.

Disabled people like myself are often treated like we are sub-human. Like we don't matter, like it'd be better if we ceased to exist. (I can give dozens of examples, but I think how the pandemic is currently being handled is a blatant look at how ableism is structured in our society and how much it harms all of us.)

Society saturates our media with messages of how disabled people are less than, sub-human, unworthy of life, unworthy of being allowd to even participate in society. Often the only way we are allowed to exist at all is if we are displayed as an "inspiration," something for which abled-bodied people to oogle and feel good about themselves for "helping" us "get over" or "cure" our disability, as if our disability is a problem to be solved rather than something that can be both painful but also beautiful. (I often try to see the beauty in my ADHD, my APD, my autoimmune illness. And yes, for LongCovid in particular, I may wish for a cure for my LongCovid, but I can also recognize the beauty within my illness - I see the world differently and that lens allows me to connect in new ways and to show more kindness and love in different ways. That too is beauty).

The harmful messages about disabled people are everywhere, and we often unconsciously absorb them.

I try to do my best to respond with kindness. To even try to educate when I can, but I also have to have a firm boundary because I'm a human being.

I don't have enough energy to tackle educating people about this AND doing what I need to survive.

And for me, writing is survival.

I think the reason it hurt to see ableism at play in the fandom was because I had been thinking maybe I might actually belong to a group for once. That maybe I would be treated as a human being, who has a talent for something.

But seeing the words "too much" and "unnecessary for narration" in the comments, brought out not only my insecurities, but a reminder of just how fucking hard it is to write diverse characters.

I've never written fanfiction before 2021.

I'm a science fiction (and sometimes fantasy) author, though at the moment it's only short stories that have been published.

Do you know how many times I've heard those harmful phrases said while I trying to get my original stories published?

Editors would tell me:

"Your character being nonbinary is unnecessary for the narration." Or "It's too much to have a nonbinary character. You should just choose a gender and we'll consider it."

"Why is this character disabled? It seems unnecessary for the narration. Just eliminate them and rewrite it."

It didn't matter that the disability was crucial to the character and her understanding of the world and how she navigated it. (Or that she was literally the protagonist.)

It didn't matter that the nonbinary person's identity was crucial to their character, their understanding of the world, and how others related to them.

It didn't matter even if it was crucial to the plot.

All that mattered was that the editors were uncomfortable with characters that didn't match the ideal human they decided was the only allowed protagonist.

In a way, they were saying that people like me didn't deserve to have our stories told. To be recognized and seen as protagonists, as human beings to which readers could connect.

Is fandom any different?

Maybe there are readers who enjoy what I write, but sometimes I see so much of the content of fandom, and this intense demand for an ideal form of human, and I don't see myself.

I don't see myself and those like me being accepted as we are. Where we are worthy of connection too.

So I create that representation; I carefully weave a story so everything is set up, foreshadowed, makes sense in the characterization and narration, and I come face to face with the blatant ableism, blatant transphobia, and sometimes even blatant biphobia.

And it's a reminder that even while I try to find comfort and solace and a safe place to recover from my own illness and from the world at large...

... in the end, it's hard to feel like there will ever be acceptance. It's hard to feel like the fandom is willing to treat people like me as a human worthy of respect and dignity.

Because that's the thing, isn't it?

When people see me in my wheelchair, they don't see a person. They see a thing. A sub-human to be pitied. I get touched in ways that would never happen if I was abled-bodied. My wheelchair gets moved in ways that would never happen if I was abled-bodied (that wheelchair is an extension of my body and touching it without my consent is touching me without consent). I get sneers sometimes. I get people staring at me like I'm some carnival show.

It's tiresome. It's hurtful. It isolates.

To have a beloved character end up in a wheelchair, or end up with a prosthetic?

People are forced to face their own ableism. They are forced to see the ugliness they display toward me and those like me. Because now their beloved character is one of my people.

And the anger that is hurled at me for doing this is honestly ridiculous. Exhausting too.

People don't like being uncomfortable, but we cannot grow if we're not uncomfortable. We cannot become better than we were unless we confront the things that break our ability to connect.

i write because I want people to connect. I want people to understand ways of being that is unlike their own, and to come to understand that we are all human beings. We all are worthy and deserving of respect and dignity. We all deserve to be seen and accepted where we are.

Those are the stories I love the most. The ones that build up and not tear down.

And perhaps that is why I will never truly fit in. Because I refuse to sit down and make myself small enough to fit in. Because I prefer to dig into the reality of our differences and how those differences are actually our similarities and our biggest strengths.

It is our diversity that is our strength. It's also how we connect, how we find our similarities, because even in our beautiful galaxy of identities, we all have similar human needs and qualities that shine through.

We are all made of stardust. We are all social beings. We all strive for some level of connection, and although the layers of that may differ for each of us, that human need to connect cannot be truly erased or ignored.

I'll end where I began, with the great question my writings always silently ask readers:

"Here is a story of a human being that may be different from you, so will you join me at this campfire and hear their tale? To join them on this great journey of wonder, pain, joy, sorrow, and hope?"

And honestly, that's why I write.

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alonsista · 1 year

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Interlagos 2022, part 1: Getting to São Paulo... or how I *almost* met Fernando

I know I’m terribly late into writing this and everybody probably wants to leave 2022 behind, whether it’s about that depressing F1 season or life in general. However, after 16 years watching F1, I finally attended a race for the first time and of course it had to be the beloved Interlagos of my dreams!

Most importantly: I fulfilled my dream of seeing Fernando racing! I really never thought this would happen, given that he had previously retired from F1 before I could attend a Grand Prix and I was sure I would end up missing every chance to see Fernando before he retires again.

A lot happened leading up to Sunday, but I’m trying to keep my train of thought as coherent as possible... for now, let’s dive a little bit into what went on until I got to São Paulo, and I what actually mean with “almost meeting Fernando”!

As I’ve already said, I was never able to go see him race in São Paulo, and that’s because of me being a poor child living in the other side of a continental-size country. When Fernando left the sport, I had just turned 17 - still a minor with no money, and Interlagos 2018 was coincidentally held the same day as the national college entrance exam I took that year.

I passed the exam, and as a university student I was able to save some internship money, so I started planning to attend Interlagos since July 2020 - when Fernando announced his return to F1. Eventually, my plans for 2021 crumbled and I was very upset over not being there for Fernando’s first Brazilian GP since coming back to F1. However, I didn’t lose hope for 2022, all thanks to the two besties I met here on tumblr and who attended the race weekend with me: @dwaxi and @lewisleclerx.

Ticketing for Interlagos was and is always a bloodbath, a nightmare. They used to start selling it every April of the same year, but for the 2022 GP that changed to early December 2021. I was not confident in buying a ticket with an entire year in advance, but I’m glad I took the risk. They advertised the selling as a “pre-sale”, exclusive for those who subscribed for their newsletter and would later receive a code to enter the tickets website.

It turns out that the tickets went sold out during the pre-sale, which was reported on the news as a “mistake” as they somehow put ALL tickets on sale instead of a limited number. Obviously, this made a lot of people angry, as some had/chose to wait to buy later, as there were supposed to be additional sales being held throughout the year. A significant amount of people also had their orders cancelled by Eventim even after successfully paying and everything. That’s why I was very lucky to grab my tickets as early as possible!

From 2022, I was full on delusional mode when the season started. Ferrari winning races?! Charles leading the championship?? I thought this was going to be our year, everything seemed too good to be true. I was already dreaming of the WDC battle ending at Interlagos with Charles winning the title, but we all know what happened. Obviously, I was still extremely excited that I would get to see Fernando and all, but this season was so depressing to me that it threw me off a little, to the point I was expecting (or mentally preparing myself in advance) that Fernando would have a DNF there. Thankfully, Interlagos is always a star on its own - it’s the best race of the year, so I was holding onto that hope that I would not get disappointed because Interlagos always delivers. And boy, it did deliver.

Fast-fowarding to November, it was finally time to travel and of course I was freaking out with so much to do, yet still wanting to save my energy for the trip. I had plans for many handmade banners for Fernando, Pato, Drugo... but I had no time to work on that before leaving, as I packed my stuff as late as possible (spoiler: I did end up making the banners, but I’ll talk about that in another post). I printed a huge amount of pics and threw many paper sheets and other stationery into my suitcase and hoped for the best.

I did not want to give up on the ideas I had for a kpop style handmade tiara, but I also knew I would have no time for that in São Paulo. My mom helped and we made these tiaras in a hurry, I am not exaggerating - we finished these just an hour before I had to leave home for the bus station. Because yes, I had to go on a 4-hour bus trip before taking my 3-hour flight in another state.

I knew Fernando was going to host an event at his own circuit in Spain on Tuesday, so he would only have Wednesday or early Thursday to arrive in Brazil. I was definitely not counting on meeting him or the other drivers at the airport, but I was willing to shoot my shot in case there was a coincidence and I happened to arrive at the same time as any of them, in which case I would need to take the shuttle bus to the international terminal.

In 2021, I heard that Fernando did not stop to talk to anyone, so I presumed he would do the same this year, which made me NOT stress over the small possibility of meeting him at the airport. I thought that was nearly impossible to happen, and even if it would happen he would simply not give a fuck, so I was completely fine and cool about it and had already accepted my fate with zero expectations. Except that he did arrive the same day as me, did talk to everyone there and even signed stuff for them.

Basically, I arrived at the airport at 1:30PM and Fernando arrived a few hours before, at 8AM or something. I’m so glad he was in a good mood and all, but I would be lying if I said I’m not dying of jealousy of everyone who was there. I guess it was really not meant to be. It’s just one of those things I’ll never get over, you know? It’s so unfortunate. If only I had took a different flight and arrived earlier...

So, yeah. You can imagine how I was going through all stages of grief at once, but I had to let that go and board the plane quickly, as I was already in the boarding gate when I found out about Fernando’s arrival. My flight seemed so calm until we got to the last half an hour and I swear those 30 minutes of turbulences scared the shit out of me. To the point that after arrival I spent the next hour still shaking a bit. Gotta love São Paulo and its bizarre weather.

As soon as I arrived at the airport in São Paulo, I was welcomed by this ad from Aston Martin & Drugo’s sponsors, XP, which reads “investing for Brazil to get back on the grid”. Let me tell you, that was such a good marketing that I got chills. It was the reality check I didn’t know I needed - I was there and it was going to happen, FINALLY. It really hit me that I was going to attend a race weekend for the first time. I also immediately thought, “Drugo has a plan!” and I need him in F1 so bad, so my delusional ass was more than happy to see that ad. Also, what a coincidence that that’s Fernando’s new team. IIRC AM now has 2 Brazilian sponsors, hopefully they’ll do some brand promotions with Fernando too.

Before I finish this post, I have a tip for anyone travelling to São Paulo, whether you’re from Brazil or not. If you arrive at GRU and want to save some money on transportation, take the Airport Express (Expresso Aeroporto). Look for the shuttle bus sign (see pic below) when you’re outside and ask the bus driver if they’re going to the train station or to another terminal (since there are 2 types of shuttle buses). Take the bus going to the train station (or CPTM) and you’ll arrive there in ~15 minutes, for free.

You can buy the train tickets at the station or by using this ticket machine (FYI, the machine accepts only debit cards). This special train departs every full hour (2:00PM, 3:00PM and so on), the itinerary and the hours open are very limited, so make sure to know beforehand where and when you’ll be going. You most probably will still need to ask for an Uber ride later, but it might be a lot cheaper as you’ll get closer to your destination (the GRU airport is far from downtown, I mean, it’s not even in São Paulo, it’s located in Guarulhos!)

Anyway, I definitely wrote too much but if you actually read all of it, I hope this “part 1″ was not a waste of time <3 I am also hoping that I’ll still be in the mood for writing, I do want to write about it all and not give up in the middle of it. The race weekend was really amazing and I don’t think I’ll ever shut up about it - it’s something I want to remember and cherish for a long time.

If you’re curious about something specific, feel free to let me know - I always get lost in my thoughts and end up writing or talking too much about irrelevant things, and I feel like this post was full of it, so it’d be great to know what you guys want to hear about.

#interlagos 2022 #f1.txt

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feuqueerfire · 3 months

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February 2024 Movies/Shows Wrap-Up

A little monthly (spoilery!) wrap-up of all the shows, movies, and shorts I’ve watched or am watching in February 2024, general thoughts, and ranking of them all.

Recommendation of the month(s): Honestly, this month involved me watching BLs which brought something new to the table (omegaverse, fantasy & thai legends, isekai-ed into a game, lawyers and crime) but none of them stood out to me as much as I’d hoped (my greatest wish is stronger, more coherent scriptwriting). Recommendation is try whichever concept seems most appealing.

Ranking

Love For Love's Sake = Midnight Runners (2017) = Laws of Attraction (2023) = Pit Babe = The Sign = Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Average Rating: 6/10 [unfortunate that it’s just 6/6.5s considering I was hoping for more from Pit Babe/The Sign/Laws of Attraction]

MDL Updates - Added to Watchlist:

A section because I’m curious about how many shows I decide to add to my Watch List a month and also the ratio of watching them:adding them.

Title MDL (year) - (date added to Considering or To Watch): initial reaction

Love for Love's Sake (2024): Positive reception and Cha Woongki is in it

Marry My Dead Body (2022) - 240202: I was watching Certified Noonas What's Coming Up in Feb 2023 and came across this, Taiwanese movie where dude marries a (male) ghost

Pit Babe (2023) - 240207: omegaverse racing show wouldn't necessarily draw me in but some Tiktoks I saw of eps 1-2 (esp of Charlie woahhh beautiful boy, I even reblogged on here which I very rarely do for shows I haven't watched yet) were interesting + lately, I've been seeing a lot of praise for it (esp that week when apparently Last Twilight Ep 12 disappointed a lot of people but had a really good episode for this show)

A Shop for Killers (2024) - 240210: I saw it on the Certified Noonas coming up in January I think? But I also saw it getting good impressions on the r/kdrama on-air threads + pocha playlist's initial impression + it has Lee Dong Wook, even though it's not like I watch all his shows or anything

A Killer Paradox (2024) - 240210: Been waiting for this since literally 2023 after I watched Strangers From Hell and saw in Certified Noonas' 2023 releases that it was from the same director + is an interesting concept

My Personal Weatherman (2023) - 240215: I don't know, maybe I just wanna see their dubcon bad bdsm dynamic. also, i keep reblogging horny gifsets cuz there are plenty for this show...

The Sign (2024) - 240215: The finale still isn't properly available yet so I don't really know how people will feel about the end but oh well, I'm gonna end up watching it either way because of how much people have been loving it

Chaser Game W (2024): Another Japanese GL and apparently it has toxic-ish workplace romance + post-breakup second chance romance yay. Also, the tweet where one of the characters is like “I’m a lesbian” *thunder* is hilarious

A Little Romance/Let's Wait for the Rain to Stop (2022) - 240219: A 14-minute Chinese bromance short from this tiktok that I saw

Dead Friend Forever - DFF (2024): I’ve been meaning to watch this since like ep 1 came out and I learned it was supposed to be horror-esque/slasher and seems like people have been loving it even more these past few eps. I’m actually so excited to check it out, I hope I love it and it rots my brain.

To Watch List At Start Of Month: 62

To Watch List At End Of Month: 67

Removed from To Watch List:

Title (Year) - (date removed): reason

None

Completely Watched

Love for Love's Sake (2024)

Country: South Korea

Release Dates: Jan 24, 2024 - Feb 1, 2024

Watch Via: paid, so :>

Watch Dates: Feb 1 - 2, 2024

Rating: 6/10

Overall Impression: It was cute, the concept was nice, the early 2 eps were Very promising and last ep was touching but the middle (esp 5-6) was quite meh for me. There was also a bunch of confusing stuff, esp in the second half, but I guess I won't try to investigate too much. It has people really talking and discussing and dissecting it though, which is a fun aspect.

tags: love for love's sake

Also Appears In: Love For Love's Sake Live Blogging

Midnight Runners (2017)

Country: South Korea

Release Dates: Aug 9, 2017

Watch Via: Tubi (free)

Watch Dates: Feb 3, 2024

Rating: 6/10

Overall Impression: I came in with expectations of copaganda and bromance. Got the copaganda (I mean the real cops were useless af but) and bromance, as well at annoyance at these male-led shows with female victims where the story is solely about the men and they just dilly-dally through it all like why are you not upright enough to be like oh, I shouldn't waste time getting my ears cleaned by pretty girl rn, there's a 7-hour critical timeframe we were taught about, chop chop. Anyway, they were still passionate and did it, so good job but this really was just more about a male power fantasy of being the hero and beating up people and being the "saviour" because it was just about them 2 doing anything and we don't even get a moment of the girls after rescue and like 1 minute of them total before that. I can enjoy these sorts of action movies and like a good fight scene but I think I can be really averse to using crimes against women while centering men in the show (Midnight Runners, fuckass Manner of Death). I love Beyond Evil though, even though 2 male main characters were the focus in this story where a serial killer is killing women but I think that story maybe that story 1) properly showed the gravity of the crime against the women and 2) there wasn't a scene like the ear-cleaning parlor in this one and the sex scene in Manner of Death after they got that important laptop where I was supposed to either find it funny or sexy that they were doing this instead of focusing on the fucking investigation.

Agh, so many words and half of them aren't even about this movie

Laws of Attraction (2023)

Country: Thailand

Release Dates: Jul 15, 2023 - Sep 2, 2023

Watch Via: paid, so :>

Watch Dates: Feb 3 - 6, 2024

Rating: 6/10

Overall Impression: I really liked To Sir, With Love which was a lakorn and so was different than every other BL I've watched and was hoping I'd similarly love this one, which is also bringing something unique to the BL table. It started off really well for me, I thought Charn was such a fun (morally corrupt) character and was intrigued about what was going on. I liked the lesbians Maya and Rose as well ofc. However, I think toward ep 7 and 8, it kinda became very meh for me (that warehouse live stream scene not counting) because the mystery was too predictable/boring and thus had no tension, people kept making incredibly stupid decisions, and I wasn't attached to the characters enough to care/be emotional about all the wedding stuff. Nawin was a great addition in ep 7 though, so unexpected and fun. Unfortunate that the meh impression ended up being the last ones since that sticks with me more than liking it in the earlier eps.

tags: laws of attraction

Also Appears In: Laws of Attraction Live Blogging

Pit Babe

Country: Thailand

Release Dates: Nov 17, 2023 - Feb 9, 2024

Watch Via: iQiyi (paid, so :>)

Watch Dates: Feb 7 - 11, 2024

Rating: 6/10 [May 12, 2024 Update: Decreased by 0.5 stars when rerating shows I've watched in 2024: 6.5 -> 6]

Overall Impression: This show had everything: non-traditional alpha/alpha relationship, racecar competitions, x-men like superpowers, child trafficking, pseudo-incest if you think about it (from Kenta's side at least), and more. And it didn't have a super strong script, there were nonsensical elements and plot holes that didn't get addressed and things that happened to just move the plot along, but it was a fun watch nonetheless, both for the novelty and the entertainment factor. Babe was a very compelling character with his past and how he behaves in the present and his relationships with Tony/Way/people in general. Also helped that Pavel did a really good job with him and acted his ass off, there were quite a few emotional moments in there. I agree with some people's comments that I wish Charlie's actor Pooh as a better actor. And his character wasn't as developed or with depth as the other ones either, like in terms of emotions I guess. Although I really liked Charlie/Babe, my true ship winners might be Pete/Kenta in a Not Me ToddBlack fashion, to be honest, with Kenta as maybe my favourite character (2nd is Babe). They gave us like 2 tiny hints that they might know each other and waited until literally last 10 mins of episode 11 out of 13 to lay out their history. They have an interesting friends (-> brothers/crush) -> enemies -> allies again at the very end dynamic where I think that they could become lovers post-canon. Really had me writing a fic idea in my notes app after my few months of no drive to write.

tags: pit babe, kenta

Also Appears In: Pit Babe Live Blogging, + my fic heh

240215: I'm not starting Only Friends already because I wanna take some time to write my Pete Babe fic and if I start a new show, I'll stop writing it. However, I was in dire need of some BL and ended up rewatching just bits of Ghost Host Ghost House ep 4 after I saw a gifset on here, then watched like 2 mins of Bed Friend cat Uea and then Eps 13 - 15 of Addicted Heroin. Man, once again, 2016 Addicted Heroin cutoff must've actually been so fucking tragic. Like I'm only rewatching parts of it nearly a decade later + watched the Stay With Me remake and still it's devastating the way it just ends, I can't imagine how people who were watching it in real time coped. How has nobody leaked it even asdfghjkl Also ended up reading chapters 96 - 135 because I was like hm maybe I wanna read more but the book is A Lot, so stopped lol

Mr. & Mrs. Smith (2005)

Country: USA

Release Dates: June 7, 2005

Watch Via: TV

Watch Dates: Feb 19, 2024

Rating: 6/10 [May 12, 2024 Update: Decreased by 0.5 stars when rerating shows I've watched in 2024: 6.5 -> 6]

Overall Impression: This is fun and finally I will understand what people mean when they reference this movie (although I knew that it was about hitmen/spies who were married and didn't know the other was a spy as well and that's pretty accurate). Had one of my favourite tropes of having guns/knives pointed at each other and ample chance to kill the other person but they Can't!!! Todd/Black was my original for this but then we got Vegas/Pete, Pete/Kenta and now this movie which came out like 2 decades before these other shows lol Anyway, fun but not something I will think about again + the characters aren't developed enough for me to care.

The Sign (2024)

Country: Thailand

Release Dates: Nov 25, 2023 - Feb 11 (24), 2024

Watch Via: Youtube

Watch Dates: Feb 20 - 24, 2024

Rating: 6/10 [May 12, 2024 Update: Decreased by 0.5 stars when rerating shows I've watched in 2024: 6.5 -> 6]

Overall Impression: I think I liked the first few eps and the potential of the series and the possibilities than I liked the actual series oof. Since everybody freaking loved this, I also had high expectations. I thought there would be more focus on the romance and fantasy and past lives aspect and less on the cop activity. I feel like they didn't choose the correct things to show on screen. I think most of the fight scenes and stuff were confusing and not choreographed very well, and some moments needed to have more time dedicated to them or have more gravitas to them. However, some moments were just shot/directed so beautifully. I enjoyed the parallels between Tharn and Phaya or their current life and past life. It shows the cyclical nature of Phaya and Tharn's lives, and it would've been even more impactful if we saw more of their past lives (their OG life or other reincarnations). Highly doubt I'm gonna think of the characters again, I somehow stopped being attached to them about halfway through - probably related to the fact that I liked the first few eps (half?) of the show better. They tried so many things, but I don't think they satisfyingly merged them or chose the correct things to focus on on-screen.

tags: the sign

Also Appears In: The Sign Live Blogging

I’m not watching anything in the last week of February because I seriously need to study for this exam and can’t have a show distracting me but am also in such desperate need of a BL, so I skimmed some stuff.

240226: Skimmed parts of History 3: Trapped’s last few episodes and it continues to hit. agh, it’s just so good. Also skimmed a bit of Semantic Error middle episodes but not as much as Trapped

240228: Skimmed some middle bits of the Our Dating Sim movie, I really need to rewatch the full thing in year cuz I think it’s possible for it to go from 6.5 -> 7

It’s a shame that I only watched 6 things this month (and 2 of those were movies that) because I had a week of break in the middle from university. Still, it’s fine because I used that week to write a fic after a couple months instead, so I’m not too sad. And since the Thai BLs were pretty like plot-involved (esp The Sign and Laws of Attraction), it makes sense that I wasn’t just jumping from show to show.

Posts Created This Month:

2024 Anticipated Series & Movies

...Pit Babe fic

#tracking #general bl #love for love's sake #pit babe #the sign #laws of attraction

0 notes

marauders-venting · 3 years

Text

Pardon My French

pairing: wolfstar (sirius x remus)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

words: 3556

note: thank you to @ probably_wizardingworld_artist on instagram for helping me translate things into french. also i got some of the lines that sirius says from this website https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-pick-up-lines/

a/n: if you dont speak french (like me) dont look up a translation! everything will be clear by the end of the fic and its more fun if you find out along with remus. i mean, i cant really stop you if you want to translate the sentences but thats just my advice :)

Remus was sitting in the library, a French to English dictionary open on his lap, sighing in frustration as he flipped through the pages. For the past couple of weeks, Sirius had taken to murmuring things in French under his breath and it drove Remus crazy that he didn’t know what they meant. He had asked Sirius on several occasions but Sirius always refused to tell him. But the fact that he didn’t understand the words wasn’t the only reason it drove him crazy when Sirius spoke French. It’s not Remus’ fault that Sirius sounds really hot when his lips curve around the words in “the language of love”.

Remus tries not to think about it but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult because every time they’re alone together Sirius seems to find something to say in French (if only to piss Remus off).

The last time Sirius had said something in French to him had been last weekend. It was the first sunny weekend since the winter and Marlene had suggested that they all go down to the lake for a swim.

Remus’ brain could barely form a single coherent thought from the moment Sirius took off his shirt; he was too busy trying not to stare. He remembered jumping into the lake and trying to get warm by swimming to the far side, away from all his friends. Sirius had followed him to make sure he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he had said, smiling slightly at Sirius. “Just cold.”

“Oh okay,” Sirius said, looking relieved. He had glanced back at their friends before whispering, “On devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique” and submerging his head in the water and swimming back to James, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary and Alice. Remus had felt a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Then there was the time that Sirius had skipped Quidditch practice to visit Remus in the hospital wing after a particularly bad full moon. James, being the captain, had been able to delay the practice so that he and Peter could come to visit as well but they had to practice for the game the following day. James had to be at the practice because he was the captain and Peter had to be there because they didn’t have another Keeper to fill in. But James had given Sirius permission to stay with Remus (which showed just how terrible he felt that he couldn’t stay as well). They watched a bit of the practice from the hospital wing but Remus was getting frustrated, having to stay in a hospital bed for so long. So, after clearing it with Madam Pomfrey, Sirius helped Remus climb all the way to the Astronomy Tower. They sat up there watching the sunset when Sirius said, “Il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes.”

“Ugh, do you make it your life goal to patronize me?” Remus had said.

“Of course, Moony, what else would I live for?”

“Are you ever going to stop doing that?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Sirius had replied, grinning at him. “It’s too much fun.”

“Why do you even bother?” Remus said. “You know I don’t understand a single word of what you’re saying. Why don’t you go talk to someone who speaks French?”

“Because then they’d know what I was saying,” Sirius replied simply. He had refused to answer any more of his questions.

Remus had needed to spend that night in the hospital wing again. All night, Sirius’ voice rang through his head but every time he tried to make something coherent of it, actually words or letters or even sounds, he couldn’t. He could never remember what Sirius had said long enough to actually look it up or ask anyone.

But lately, Remus had noticed that Sirius had been repeating the same sentence in French practically every day. He recognises the sound of the words in Sirius’ mouth.

So today, Remus waited until he was alone with Sirius, waited for Sirius to say what Remus knew he would. And when he did Remus repeated the words in his head a million times until he remembered them. And now Remus was in the library and looking up the words in a dictionary.

He knew that he could’ve gone to Lily and asked her to translate it for him but he didn’t want to. He knows it’s stupid but he feels like this is something that Sirius is saying to him and only to him. Remus had never heard Sirius whisper in French to anyone else. And as much as Remus pretended to be annoyed by it, he actually liked that he had this with Sirius. He liked that they had something that was just their own. And even though it was probably nothing, he didn’t want to share it with Lily right now.

Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi. That was the sentence. Remus looked up each word individually and came to the conclusion that he must have heard wrong or maybe the words were spelt differently to how they were pronounced. Because there was no way in hell that Sirius had said these words to him. It was impossible. Right? Remus didn’t know. And he knew that the only way he could be sure was by asking Lily. He had asked Sirius a million times to no avail. And he needs to know what Sirius has been saying to him, especially now that there’s a chance… No, Remus tells himself, you just translated wrong. Don’t get your hopes up. So Remus gives in. He’d rather ask Lily and find out what Sirius has been saying to him every day for the last month than keep this to himself without even understanding it.

“Hey Lily,” he started, getting her attention. Remus had waited until the two of them were alone, just in case he had translated right. Which he hadn’t. He knows he translated it wrong. But he’d still rather nobody knew about it. “What does ‘chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi’ mean?” He fumbled across the words a bit, hearing how terrible his pronunciation was. Lily looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Where on earth did you hear that sentence?” she asked.

“I read it somewhere,” Remus lied easily. “So what does it mean?”

“It means ‘every day, I fall more in love with you.’” Remus’ jaw dropped open. “Remus, who told you they’re in love with you?”

“What? Nobody! What makes you think someone said that to me?”

“You said that you read that sentence somewhere but if you had read it, you would have no idea how to pronounce it. Besides the look on your face when I told you what it means is more than enough. So who was it?”

“None of your business,” he said. “But y–you’re kidding, right? That’s not actually what it means. Right?”

“No, I’m not kidding, Rem. That’s what it means,” she replied, laughing at the look on his face. “Come on, tell me who it was.”

“No fucking way,” Remus said. “Besides, they’re probably joking. I mean… no, they’re definitely joking.” Lily shrugged.

“Just ask them,” she said. “And then you have to tell me who your secret admirer is.” She poked him in the side.

“Stooooop,” he said, jumping away from her and laughing against his will. “I’m going.” He got up and started walking away.

“Have fun with your mystery lover,” she called after him without looking back. Remus rolled his eyes but his mind was racing. So apparently he hadn’t been wrong. That was what Sirius had said to him. What does this even mean? He’s teasing you, said a voice in his head, like always. Sirius doesn’t love you. Not like that. But he said he does. Don’t be stupid. Sirius isn’t in love with you. He’s joking. Like always.

The next time Sirius said it, they were in the Room of Requirement. Sirius had ambushed Remus in the middle of his prefect rounds with Lily levitating a cardboard box in midair. Typical. He had practically given Remus a heart attack by interrupting his conversation with Lily, leaving Remus to wonder just how much of the conversation he had overheard.

“So have you talked to your mystery French lover yet?” Lily had teased. Remus groaned.

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “And I probably won’t.”

“Why not?” Lily demanded. “They’re being very romantic, Remus, you should at least appreciate their effort.”

“I’d appreciate it more if they’d just tell me what the fuck they want instead of sending me coded messages that they know I don’t understand,” Remus grumbled.

“Moonyyyyy,” Sirius said, coming up from behind him. Remus jumped, turning around, heart racing in his chest.

“Sirius? What are you doing here?” he asked. “You know it’s after hours, right?” Sirius snorted.

“Yes, Remus, I am fully aware of the fact that I’m breaking a school rule,” he said, smirking.

“Are you aware that technically Remus and I have to turn you in?” Lily said.

“Ah, but do you really plan on doing that, Evans?” Sirius asked.

“That depends,” she replied. “Why are you here?”

“Right,” Sirius remembered, then he turned to Remus. “James forgot to put this box with the rest of the stuff for tomorrow so I said I’d take it. And you’re coming with me.”

“Remind me why again?” Remus said.

“Moony, come on, don’t make me go alone. I’ll be lonely,” Sirius pouted.

“You are insufferable, did you know that?”

“And yet, you’ve tolerated me for 6 years now.”

“Yeah, the keyword there is ‘tolerated’,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “Lils…” he started, turning to her.

“Nope,” she said before he could even ask. “No way. You are not leaving me to do these rounds alone because then I’ll die of boredom. So unless you want me to tell McGonagall that your planning something for tomorrow, you’re going to finish this floor with me and then I’ll go back to the common room and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Evans…” Sirius pouted.

“Nope, that’s non-negotiable, Black. Also, do I want to ask?” She gestured to the hovering box.

“The less you know, the better,” he said. “Although, I would avoid the classrooms near the dungeons tomorrow if I were you.” She nodded and Remus thought he saw her smile slightly for a second.

“You go on, I’ll catch up,” he said to Sirius, knowing that Lily’s mind would not be changed. He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t have let her leave him to finish this chore alone either. She was right, it was painstakingly boring. Which is why he would much rather be with Sirius. But it was only fair that he finished tonight’s rounds with her; she did cover for him around the full moon, after all.

Sirius pouted but knew better than to argue and turned to go to the Room of Requirement. Remus watched him and he disappeared up a flight of stairs. Only then did he notice Lily was smirking at him.

“What?” he asked, sounding a bit defensive.

“So Sirius is your secret French admirer?” she said.

“W–What?” he spluttered. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, the look on your face when he showed up right behind us while we were talking about your mystery lover,” Lily said. “It was the look people make when you’ve just been talking about someone and then they show up and you’re worried that they may have overheard you.”

“That… is a very specific look,” Remus said, avoiding the question she was asking.

“Then you smiled at him when you called him insufferable,” she said.

“So?”

“So it was one of those I’m-smiling-at-you-while-I’m-teasing-you-cause-I’m-secretly-in-love-with-you smiles.”

“Again, that's a very specific expression,” he said.

“Look, I know you like him, so will you just admit it already?”

“Why? What good would that information do you? It’s for me to worry about and for Sirius to never discover, ever.”

“Remus, you’re kidding, right?” she said. “Sirius literally told you that he loves you, in French no less.”

“Exactly, Lily. In French. If he actually meant it, why would he say it in a language that he knows I don’t understand? He just knew that I would look it up and he wanted to make some joke.”

“I really don’t think so, Remus,” Lily said, shaking her head. “I think he really loves you.”

“He doesn’t,” Remus said. “He can’t. Not like that.”

“Remus, do you love him?” she asked. Remus closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I love him.”

“So why are you doing this to yourself? Just ask him what he meant when he said it. You don’t even have to tell him anything, just ask him what he meant.”

“But… what if he says it was a joke?”

“First of all, I don’t think he will,” Lily said. “But if he does, that’s what you’re expecting, isn’t it? It won’t be a surprise or anything.”

“I know, I know, I just…” Remus sighed and looked away from her. “I don’t think I’m ready to hear him say it. To be properly rejected.”

“Oh, Rem,” she said. They had reached the end of the corridor and Lily stopped to hug him. “Obviously I’m not going to make you do anything. You know what I think. Go find Sirius now, he’ll be waiting for you. Do what you think is right.”

“Yeah,” Remus said, hugging her back. “Yeah, okay.” So Lily went in the direction of the common room and Remus went to the Room of Requirement.

He found Sirius sitting with his back against the wall, the box beside him.

“You’re an idiot,” Remus told him, trying to put the conversation with Lily out of his mind. “You’re practically begging to get caught.” Sirius shrugged.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “Come on, let’s go in.” They paced back and forth in front of the wall three times. We need a place to hide our things, Remus thought. A door appeared and Sirius opened it, leading the box in with his wand. They had been here before to hide loads of things. The room was pretty cluttered from years of students dumping their things in it but they knew where exactly to hide the box so that they’d be able to find it tomorrow when they needed it. Remus followed Sirius through aisles upon aisles of junk, looking at all the broken, discarded things people threw in here.

They found the corner where they’d left everything else and Sirius added the box to the rest of the pile.

“Are we done here?” Remus asked.

“Yep, we can leave now,” Sirius said. They had started walking back towards the door when Remus heard Sirius say it from behind him.

“Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi.” Remus turns to him and stops him in his tracks.

“Pads, why do you keep saying that? Who are you talking to?”

“Remus, you are aware that you’re the only one here right? I’m talking to you.”

“Then why… why are you—?”

“I know, I know, you don’t understand French,” Sirius says. “That’s why it's fun. It’s amusing to know something that you don’t, for once.”

“Sirius… I know what that sentence means,” Remus says quietly. Sirius’ neck snaps up.

“What?”

“I know what that sentence means,” Remus repeats.

“No, you don’t,” Sirius says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I do. I asked Lily after the last time you said it. She translated for me.”

“Fuck, I didn’t know Lily could speak French,” Sirius says, rubbing a hand over his face. “So… so this whole time you’ve known what I’m saying? So you know that I… you know that I… oh god, Remus I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to… I was just…” Sirius starts to back away, shaking his head and looking anywhere but at Remus. Remus reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Don’t go,” Remus says. “Sirius. Is it a joke? Are you making a joke? Actually, no, don’t tell me. Cause if it’s a joke I’d rather you bury me under all the crap in this room and spare me the pain.”

“What?”

“It’s not a joke, is it?” Remus asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

“No,” Sirius said, softly. “It’s not a joke. I’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Remus said, pressing a finger to Sirius’ lips. “Sirius,” Remus tucked Sirius’ hair behind his ear. Remus was vaguely aware of Sirius stepping towards him, towards his touch. “I love you, too.” Sirius gapes at him

“Really?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Remus says. He’s still holding Sirius’ hand. He pulls Sirius closer and lets his other hand graze Sirius’ cheek.

“Puis-je t'embrasser?” Sirius whispers.

“Pads, I… I don’t know what that means.” Sirius lets out a small laugh and looks down at the floor. Then he looks back up at Remus, his grey eyes glistening in the last sliver of sunlight. He’s biting his lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Remus says, without thinking. He feels the blush blooming on his cheeks but Sirius is already kissing him, rising on his tip-toes to make his lips reach Remus’. Remus feels electric currents dancing around his body, unable to contain the excitement. He’s kissing Sirius. Sirius is kissing him back. Sirius loves him. Sirius loves him in the same way that he loves Sirius. Sirius is snaking his hands around Remus’ waist pulling him closer. Sirius’ hair is soft, tangled between his fingers. Sirius is here, in his arms, and it’s everything Remus has been wanting and more.

“Wait, so now can you tell me everything you’ve been saying in French the whole time?” They’re sitting in the same large armchair, hands still linked together, legs tucked against their chests, knees and thighs and hips pressed together. Remus is very aware of every point where his skin is making contact with Sirius’. He’s counting them.

They found the armchair in the Room of Requirement; it’s unclear to them whether the chair is something that’s been dumped in the room by somebody else or if the room conjured it up because they were looking for it.

Neither one of them wants to go back to the common room yet. Remus doesn’t want to see Lily’s smirk and to have to admit she was right at the moment. He’ll do that tomorrow. Right now, all he wants is to be with Sirius. To press little kisses to his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, his lips just because he can.

“Oh god,” Sirius says, burying his face in between Remus’ shoulder and the back of the armchair. “It’s like you want me to embarrass myself.”

“This surprises you?” Remus kisses the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then his neck. Just because he can. “Please.”

“Ah fine,” Sirius gives in. “Um, what do you want to know?”

“What did you say that day at the lake?” Remus asks.

“Oh that. I said, ‘on devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique’. It means uh… ugh, you’re going to laugh at me for this. It means ‘you should be arrested for excessive beauty in public’,” Sirius said, blushing. Remus rolled his eyes but he felt his cheeks heat too. He smiles a little.

“What about that day on the Astronomy Tower?” he continues.

“Ugh,” Sirius buries his face in his hands. “You’re trying to kill me. I said, ‘il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes’. Which means, uh… ‘there’s so much sun in your eyes that I get a tan when you look at me.’”

“You’re quite the poet, aren’t you?” Remus smiles. “And what about tonight?”

“I thought you said you knew what that meant,” Sirius says. “Or were you bluffing the whole time?”

“No, I know what it means,” Remus says. “I just want to hear you say it. In English this time, please.”

“So demanding,” Sirius teases. “I’ve said it in French a million times already and you want me to say it in English? What difference does it make?”

“Well, none to you, you speak both languages.”

“Oh, alright,” Sirius says. It’s the first time Remus has seen his face really go red. He decides he likes it. “Every day I fall more in love with you.” Remus can’t hide his smile, nor does he want to, as he leans in to kiss Sirius. He brushes his lips against Sirius’ timidly before connecting them, his hand caressing Sirius’ cheek. Remus loses count of the points of contact between him and Sirius as their bodies melt together and Remus worries that he’s about to wake up from a dream. But when he feels Sirius’ hand gently tracing the scars on his hand he knows that this is real, that Sirius can really love him. Sirius does love him.

People come to the Room of Requirement to throw things away, to hide things that they don’t want anybody else to know about, to leave things they never want to see again. But that night, Remus didn’t just leave something in the Room of Requirement. He found something, too.

#remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #sirius black #sirius black fluff #french sirius #moony #padfoot #wolfstar #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #wolfstar fanfic #Wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar oneshot #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #lily evans #lily evans fluff #Marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders oneshot

307 notes · View notes

just-dreaming-marvel · 3 years

Text

Safe

MAIN MASTERLIST

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,870ish

Request: Hi so this is my first time actually talking about this but I have PTSD from when I went to a party and 2 guys sexually assaulted me. I think about it a lot epically when I'm in crowds and such thinking they may be near me. I know Tony deals with PTSD but from a different situations and I was wondering how he would help his girlfriend with it? & I just really wanna feel safe when it's so hard for me to right now

Warnings: sexual assault (not explicit), mention of rape and rape kit, PTSD

Notes: I hope that did this request justice. Please read carefully. The first “section” (divided by the ~~~) tells about the sexual assault incident. It doesn’t go too in depth. But if you don’t feel comfortable reading it, please skip that part and read the rest. (If you chose to skip that part, begin reading after the first ~~~.)

You couldn’t stop the tears from cascading down your cheeks. Even though you knew how it looked, especially as you sat in the corner of the subway car. Trying to get yourself to disappear from the world. Mascara had joined your tears cause you hadn’t thought to wear a waterproof type. Why would you? You never thought that it would happen to you. Yes, you’ve heard the stories, you’d been warned, and you even knew people who had it happen to you. But maybe you didn’t think it could ever since you became an Avenger. Ever since you’d meet Tony and he promised to protect you forever.

You went to the party knowing that you couldn’t drink, at least not very much. There was an important mission tomorrow, everyone on the team was needed. That was also the reason why you didn’t want to go to the party at first. But Tony had convinced you, saying that you needed to hang out with your old friends.

The old friends had met you in front of where the party was. Greeting you with large smiles and hugs. The first few hours were fine. But the people got drunker and the music got louder. And before you knew it you had been separated from your friends. Two guys were next to you, basically on top of you because of how crowded the space was.

They both tried to get you to go someplace else with them. You kept refusing. They kept pushing. Eventually, they didn’t care to get you into a more secluded setting. They shoved a drink down your throat, almost immediately putting you in a dazed state. One of them went behind you while the other stayed in front. They sexually assaulted you right then and there. With no one caring. One was always holding you up with a hand around your mouth, so that the other could be inside you. Then they would switch or join the other.

Slowly, they were moving you to the side of the room. You didn’t know what to do, how to react. You were in such a state of shock that all your training went out the window. Whatever they gave you wasn’t helping as well. They enjoyed you for far too long before literally tossing you in the alley outside of where you were.

There you laid, trying to get yourself to move. Eventually you did. As you got up, you noted your lack of undergarments. All you had on was your dress. Your purse was missing as well. Your whole body was shaking as you headed out of the alley to the nearest subway station.

You hadn’t even noticed the tears until you were sitting in the subway car. Getting weird looks. You didn’t care though. All you wanted to do was go home and wash this night away.

~~~

“Sir, it appears Miss L/N is back,” JARVIS informed Tony. He was up late in his lab, not being able to sleep without you safely in the Tower.

“Thanks, J,” Tony responded. “Tell her—“

“There’s something wrong.” Tony’s head snapped up. JARVIS had never spoken like that. Spoken with just concern. “I’m bringing her to you.”

Tony rushed to the elevator, already knowing not to question JARVIS. He waited anxiously for the elevator to open. And when it did, his heart completely shattered. You were hugging yourself, pushed up against the corner of the elevator. You were on the ground, your face a mess.

“Y/N!” Tony exclaimed.

You flinched. You looked up at him, but you weren’t seeing him. Your eyes were red and glassed over, and not just because of the tears you were shedding. Tony crouched down in front of you, careful not to get into your space.

“Honey… wanna tell me what’s going on?” You shook your head, still not looking at him. “Alright, that’s okay. Can I help you up? I think you need to be checked out.”

“No!” You squeaked, pushing yourself further into the corner.

“Y/N, I’m not going to hurt you. Have I ever?”

You breathed raggedly, trying to get your brain to form coherent thoughts. “N-noo…”

“Then can I carry you out of the elevator?”

It took you a moment, but eventually you nodded. Tony let out a breath of relief before quickly getting his arms situated to pick you up. As he did, your dress moved up, revealing that you had no underwear on. Tony’s heart clenched and he had to repress a growl building in his throat. You didn’t need to tell him what happened anymore, he could easily guess. And after he was done helping you, he was going to make sure whoever did this to you paid.

You were trembling in his arms as he carried you out of the elevator and into his lab. Tony set you down on a clean work bench and watched you curl in on yourself. He turned to his monitors, taking a deep breath before he freaked out. He typed quickly on his keyboard, notifying Wanda and Natasha of the situation and to hurry on up to the lab. He then contacted the Tower’s female doctor, requesting her to the lab immediately.

Wanda and Natasha were in the lab faster than Tony had expected. He had moved to your side, trying to figure out what to do. You were still crying and partially dazed.

“Y/N,” Wanda called sweetly, appearing next to your head. “You’re in shock. May I help you?”

“I… I don’t know…” you mumbled.

“I won’t do anything without your permission. I just want you to feel some peace, get some rest.”

“….okay….”

“Before Wanda does anything,” Natasha cut in. She paused, briefly glancing at the other two. “We need your verbal consent to do a rape kit.”

You clenched your eyes shut as a sob tore through your whole being. Your heart was racing dangerously as you began to struggle to breath.

“Sir, it seems that Y/N is panicking,” JARVIS said.

“No, shit, J!” Tony responded. “Hey, honey, hey.” He bent down to be closer to your face. “I need you to breath or to allow Wanda to help you. It’s your choice. Nothing will be done without your consent.”

Tony gripped your hands close and ever so lovingly. You allowed yourself to look into Tony’s pleading brown eyes. You knew that he would never hurt you, he never had. Shakily, you nodded.

“Yes,” you rasped. “Help me.”

Tony pulled your hands to his lips, kissing them. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“Y/N, we need your verbal consent for the rape kit,” Natasha reminded, gently.

“Okay,” you breathed out. “You can do the rape kit.”

Wanda’s red streams of power floated around your head, putting you into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. And that’s when Tony let loose. He turned around and threw the items off his desk with a shout.

“Tony! Tony!” Natasha exclaimed, moving to stop the billionaire. She grabbed him from behind, turning him around and pulling him in for a hug.

“I failed her,” Tony cried softly. “I failed to protect her.”

“You didn’t do anything. No one could have seen this coming.”

“Excuse me,” the doctor exited the elevator. “I was called up here.”

“Yes, yes,” Tony nodded, putting his sunglasses over his eyes. “The patient, Y/N, is on the table. She’s given verbal consent for a rape kit and I would like her blood to be drawn. I want to see if she was drugged.”

“Cause there should have been more bruises and fight marks,” Natasha whispered, putting the pieces together.

She knew you. She trained with you. You were capable of taking down Steve and Bucky on your best day. How did you not fight this? Natasha and Tony both knew you would have, so there had to be something that prevented you from doing so.

“Alright, I’ll get right to work.”

~~~

When you began coming to, you noticed how badly your head was pounding. You were confused initially, at your surroundings. The white and gray walls. The twin bed and the monitors beeping. But then it all came flooding back to you. You gasped, sitting up dramatically and frantically looking around the room. The monitor beside you began beeping faster and louder.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Tony said, rushing into the room. He sat on the edge of your bed and set his hands on your upper arms. “Breathe, honey, breathe. You’re in the med-bay, you’re safe.”

“I… they…” You stuttered as you tried to catch your breath and your racing thoughts. “I should have… I could have…”

“Whatever you’re thinking, sweetheart, I need you to stop. It was not your fault. You were drugged.”

“I-I know… they stuffed it down my throat… I… I kept saying no… But there was two of them…”

“You don’t have to talk about it right now,” Tony cupped your cheeks, brushing his calloused thumbs across your cheeks to catch the tears. “I don’t want you to get worked up when you’ve just gone through a trauma.”

“I… I… they…” You were getting worked up, which was definitely something you did not need right now.

“Sssshhhh,” Tony coed. “You’re okay, you’re safe now.”

“Good morning,” the doctor greeted, walking into the room. “How are we feeling this morning?”

“I… I don’t know how to answer that,” you responded quietly.

The doctor gave a sympathetic smile. “That’s to be expected. Are you hurting anywhere?”

You sucked in your lip and thought about it. You did hurt. Your heart, your head. Every area they touched burned, like a phantom pain. But do you tell them that? Do you freak them out and worry them more? Or do you lie?

“I… uh…” You stuttered. “It…” The doctor and Tony eyed each other, worriedly. “Um… y-yes…”

Both the doctor and Tony were surprised at how you were actually honest with them. But they weren’t going to question it.

“Okay,” the doctor jot something down on the tablet she was holding. “Do you mind sharing where exactly you’re feeling the pain?”

“I… um… no…” you said.

“That’s okay. I’ll just order you a general painkiller, hopefully that will help.”

“Is it okay if I take her to our room?” Tony wondered.

“Yes, I can check in on her there and she would be more comfortable, I’m guessing.”

“Please,” you pleaded quietly.

You needed some place more private and where you felt safe. Tony and yours shared room had always been your safe place. Tony had even shared with you that he felt the same after you had moved in. In that room you two had shared very intimate moments. Physically, emotionally, mentally. It was a place where both of you could let your guard down and completely be yourselves.

Tony leaned down and placed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll go get a wheelchair, sweetheart.”

Tony quickly grabbed a wheelchair and gently placed you in the chair. He took the blanket that he had laid on you when you were on the table, and placed it on you. You curled onto the chair, pulling the blanket around you. He thanked the doctor before pushing you to the bedroom.

Once you were there, Tony placed you onto the bed. He helped you under the covers before sitting beside you.

“What can I help you with, dear?” Tony asked softly. He took your hand, rubbing his thumb along the top of it. “Do you need anything? Food? Water?”

“Actually… a shower…” you responded. “I need to wash all this off me.”

“Okay, okay. Let me go get it all set up and started and then I’ll help you.”

He rushed off before you could get the courage to tell him that you didn’t want his help. Not that you didn’t appreciate it. But you couldn’t stand the thought of him, or any other man for that matter, touching your skin or see you naked. Tony was back faster than you thought he would be. He didn’t take any notice of your glossy eyes as he picked you up, took you into the bathroom, and set you on the edge of the tub.

“I’m going to help you out of your clothes, okay?” Tony was careful, making sure that he had your permission before he did anything.

“N-noo,” you squeaked. “I… sorry…”

Every time Tony thought his heart couldn’t shatter anymore, you’d do something to prove him wrong. “Okay, honey. That’s okay. I’ll just leave the door ajar and be outside if you need anything.” He placed a quick kiss on your forehead. “Right outside.”

Then he left you. You slowly removed your clothes, hating seeing the dress you used to love. And the skin you used to be so confident in and let Tony worship didn’t physical look different, but it sure felt different.

When you stepped under the streaming, hot water, you let it pound against your back. You were unable to move for longer than you cared to admit, so stuck inside your mind. Reliving those horrific memories that were last night.

“Honey,” Tony’s voice filled the shower, with help from JARVIS, “your heart rate is escalating. Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah-h,” you replied.

“Are you sure?”

No, you thought. But you weren’t about to tell him that. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

You washed your hair before you began to scrub your body. And scrub and scrub. Until your skin was red. You turned off the water before stepping out and drying yourself. Thankfully, Tony had left clothes for you. A pair of his boxers and your favorite shirt of his.

While you had been in the shower, Tony was leaning his back against the wall next to the door. Trying to keep his tears at bay. He couldn’t let you know how this was effecting him, because he couldn’t imagine how bad this was all effecting you.

When you finally came out of the bathroom, the emptiness in your eyes scared Tony the most. He wordlessly helped you into bed before getting into the bed himself. He moved over to you and tried to bring you into him, only for you to immediately tense up.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped. You clenched your eyes shut as you tried not to release any tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Tony’s arms immediately retracted. “Please don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s going to take time and I’ll be here every step of the way.”

~~~

The nightmares that occurred made you feel so bad. You woke up Tony every night. But all he would say is that you did the same for him, so he’s just returning the favor. It was the truth. Tony’s PTSD used to keep him up at night, but with you and therapy he had been gaining positive strides. So he was determined to help you do the same. He found you a therapist, which took some time for you to open up to, but you did. He didn’t touch you without your permission, and made sure everyone else did the same.

It took you almost six months for you to get physical with Tony again. But there was no funny business about it, you two were still taking it slow. You were slowly healing, slowly feeling safe again. Though sometimes for every step forward you took, you felt like you would then take four steps back. There was one thing you hadn’t made progress with at all yet. Crowds.

Crowds had you terrified. Always checking your surroundings for the men that had harmed you. Or for any person that might think of doing the same. That had gotten you taken off missions, for the foreseeable future. You had barely left the tower since that night. Only getting fresh air from the balconies and rooftop. Tony, because of you, had even stopped hosting parties. Team movie nights even took a while to start back up. Not wanting to rush you. But you had finally began to warm up to the team as a whole again.

You had successfully avoided crowds, parties, and galas of any sorts for months. Well, until the government had decided to honor the Avengers and it became a requirement for you to show up to the celebration gala.

“I’m going to be by your side all night,” Tony promised.

He had a hand above your knee as you two sat close together in one of the limos taking the Avengers to the gala. You two were decked out in some of your best attire, which could usually lift your mood because of how extremely handsome Tony looked. But it was failing to tonight. Your palms were sweaty, you kept having to wipe them against your dress. Your heart was trying to not race and you were trying to keep your mind from spiraling out of control.

“Hey, look at me,” Tony gently directed. You let out a shaky breath as you did. He could see the fear in your eyes, while you could see the overwhelming love in his. “Natasha and Clint have done a sweep of the building. JARVIS, Maria, and I have checked over the guest list. Everything’s going to me alright.”

“I… I don’t know—“

“We don’t have to stay long. After they hand us that bloody paperweight, we’re out, okay? I have Happy on stand-by with the limo to take us wherever you want. Plus, I won’t leave your side.”

You swallowed. “Let’s get out of this car before I change my mind.”

Tony pecked your lips. “You got it.”

Tony exited out the door on his side, the flashing lights of the paparazzi beginning. You took another shaky, deep breath as Tony ran around to your side to open the door. He held his hand out to you, firmly taking yours once it was placed. He pulled you from the car and guided you through the crowd of people. Yes, they were all behind barriers. But they were shouting your name, shouting questions. It wasn’t a secret that you hadn’t appeared on a mission, let alone outside the Tower, in months.

Tony paused you two a few times for pictures. Always keeping you tightly to his side. He’d press a kiss somewhere on your open skin and whisper about how good you were doing and how proud he was of you. You kept taking deep breaths and tried to focus solely on Tony. He noticed each breath, responded with a gentle squeeze or a kiss.

Finally, you arrived inside. It was a large area, very grand with a stage and set tables on the other end of it. With a dance floor in the middle and a bar on the side. You would have appreciated it all more if there weren’t so many people. The further you entered, the harder time you had not checking your surroundings. The itch to do so was driving you mad. The moment you turned your head to check over your shoulder, Tony turned it to face him.

“Your breathings picking up, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I need you to match mine.”

“I—I—I can’t… we need to go home,” you stammered, letting your fears get the best of you.

“Yes, you can. We’ve been working on this, we’ll be gone within the hour.”

“I…” Your head snapped towards the sound of a booming voice, causing you to almost jump out of your skin.

“Woah there.” Tony held onto you. “It’s just Thor telling the congress people a story. You’re okay.”

“I really don’t think I can do this, Tony.”

“What do you always say when I begin to panic?”

“That’s different. You—“

“No arguing. What do you tell me?”

“I tell you that you can get through it. That I will go through it will you.”

“And?”

“I tell you how proud I am of you and how much I love you.”

“And what do I tell you?”

“That I can do it. That you’re proud of how far I’ve come and how you’re going through it with me.”

“Exactly. The fact that you got out of the limo was a huge accomplishment. And that you’re standing in this building with people all around you is an even bigger one. Honey, you have made so much progress even just tonight. That makes me so very proud of you.”

“But I still don’t know how much longer I can do this for.”

“That’s fine. Completely fine. How about we see if a dance will help? We’ll be able to see the whole room together, keep an eye out. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll leave. Who cares about this dumb award anyway?”

“One dance… I’ll try one dance.”

Tony smiled as he pulled you onto the dance floor. He held you close as he twirled you around. The both of you checked your surroundings. You knew that nothing would happen with Tony with you, your brain just didn’t want to believe it. No matter what.

“Tony,” you rasped once the next song started. Your head was spiraling and your heart was still on the verge of racing. “I… I really think I need to go.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll send a message to the team in the car,” Tony responded. “Let’s go.”

He led you out, calling Happy on the way. You let out a breath of relief at the fact he was taking you the back way so that no one would make a fuss over it. Thankfully, Happy was already ready and waiting. He opened the door for the two of you. You sent him a grateful smile, which he reciprocated. The moment Happy shut the door, you leaned heavily into Tony. You hadn’t realized how much of your energy was being used to try and keep yourself calm.

“Just relax, baby,” Tony whispered, holding you close. “Nothing’s going to happen to you in here. I’ve got you.”

“Where to Boss?” Happy asked.

Tony looked down at you. He smirked when he realized that you had passed out. “Home, Hap. Let’s go home.”

~~~

Tony carried you into the bedroom. Before the incident, he would have been able to change you out of your clothes without permission. But now he needed to ask you, he didn’t want to push you over the edge.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, gently shaking you. You groaned. “I need you to wake up, baby. You need to get changed so that we can go to bed.”

“M’kay,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering, failing to open.

“Just wait here, I’ll grab everything.”

All you could do was nod in response. Tony rushed around, changing himself before grabbing the things he needed for you. He told you every move he was going to make before he made it, not wanting to freak you out. Once you were all ready, he pulled you into bed with him. He pressed a kiss to your head and held you close, thinking that you were already asleep.

“Thank you, Tones,” you murmured, practically moving to lay yourself on top of him, “for always keeping me safe.”

“Of course, honey, of course.”

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#tony stark x reader #tony stark #Tony Stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #tony stark x fem!reader #tony stark x female reader #tony stark x female!reader #iron man fanfiction #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #avengers x reader #the avengers x reader

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lathalea · 2 years

Note

Thorin's Ask Box (I had too much fun with this):

Greetings King Under the Mountain,

We all adore you and your rule, sire, but we would love to get to know more about you. Please, if you would be so kind as to answer, to your liking, these two questions?

36: Are you an early bird or a night owl?

47: How did you celebrate your coming-of-age?

Sincerely,

Your loyal follower AsgardianHobbit

👑 Welcome to Thorin’s Royal Ask Box! 👑

The esteemed lady Asgardianne of Hobbiton graces my royal inbox!

This is a great honour indeed for which I am thankful. Receiving a letter from Hobbiton always warms my heart, I recollect this place with fondness. I hope you and your close ones are well! You asked me what kind of creature I am – the answer is: a night owl, most definitely. Let me simply say that I am very grateful that I do not need to wake up at dawn, as I did every day during the Quest. Trying to keep one’s eyes open that early seemed to be a nearly impossible feat. And I had to pretend that my thoughts were coherent while trying to lead my men! Once I almost walked into a tree when my eyelids started drooping. If not for Dwalin, my face would have had a very close encounter with a tree trunk and my moniker “Oakenshield” would have to be changed to “Oakenface”. As you see, the Quest was full of various dangers.

Late evenings are my favourite time of the day. Perhaps it is because no one dares to bother me then, or perhaps because I have the opportunity to enjoy the silence and have a moment for myself after a long day. You can say that this is the only time when I can be myself. Not a king, but a Dwarf like any other, unrestrained by the court etiquette. If I happen to have a sufficient amount of time and light, I sometimes read, tinker or even clean my weapons. I find that working with your own hands is quite soothing after a long day filled with negotiations and treaties.

On clear nights, I tend to spend time on my terrace with my pipe as my only companion. Watching stars come out at night, the celestial companions to the lights of Dale, their joined reflections shimmering in the dark waters of the lake, is a breathtaking spectacle. If you ever happen to find yourself in the vicinity of the Lonely Mountain, I will be most happy to show you the most advantageous view of Long Lake and its surroundings.

My lady, before I continue, I must say that I apologize in advance for offending your sensibilities. I shall warn you that the following descriptions of my coming-of-age celebrations are not for the faint-hearted. Pray, proceed at your discretion.

I am not going to bore with the details of the official court celebrations of my coming-of-age. Now, I must admit that I am not certain how such events look among Hobbits or other races and when they happen, but among the Dwarves, one is considered mature at the age of 40 years. That does not mean, however, that it is the equivalent of the age of 20 years among Men. As children, we develop similarly to Men, perhaps a tad slower, and at the age of 20 (we call it “half Battle Age”), we have equal experience and maturity of Man who is 20 years old. The difference between us is as follows: Dwarves believe that one needs more experience and well-honed skills to be considered truly mature and ready to go to war at 40 – the Battle Age. On average, most Dwarves live until the age of 250 although the line of Durin is said to be blessed with longevity. My Grandfather, King Thrór, died at the age of 248, still strong enough to fight. I do believe that he would have easily lived until 280 at least, if not for the Orcs. But enough of my musings.

For Dwarves, the coming-of-age celebrations happen when we reach the age of 40. And so happened with me. After the official part, my closest friends took me to a surprise party they organized in a tavern. Let me simply say that much fun was had. Barrels of ale were emptied, there was music, song, dance, and laughter, and there may have been even some frolicking… although I do not remember much, I must admit. The ale was quite potent, you see. Dwalin insisted on a hand wrestling tournament, and I obliged him. Little did I know that each victory was rewarded by a kiss from a very fair and very enthusiastic Dwarf-maiden I fancied at that time, and a tankard of ale. I should have know it was more of a drinking game than anything else.

I woke on the next day with an enormous headache. I had absolutely no clothes on and, what is worse, I could not find them. Instead, I found this charming Dwarf-maiden close beside me… and she happened to be without her clothes as well. Allow me to say that it was a very eventful night, but none of us could remember much. What was worse, we found ourselves by one of the underground lakes of Erebor. The Dwarf-maiden (who shall remain anonymous, she is now a respectable lady with a family of her own) remembered something about a wager. From what we managed to piece together afterwards, the evening (or should I say early morning) ended with both of us, along with Dwalin, Gloin, Frerin, and a few other companions, running through one of the main walkways of the Mountain towards this lake… completely naked. It was supposed to be some kind of a race, I believe. None of us recalled who was the winner, and on the way to the lake, we lost Gloin. On the next day, he was found by the miners, snoring in one of the mine carts (completely naked, of course), and mumbling, “Mommy, please, five minutes more”.

You are probably wondering what happened afterwards. Imagine two young unclothed Dwarves sneaking through forgotten tunnels towards the tavern while trying to avoid unwanted attention. If someone saw us that morning, the prince of Erebor accompanied by a daughter of an influential Lord, both complementary bare, a scandal would have erupted for sure. I can imagine the heralds shouting on every corner “Salacious prince caught depraving an innocent lady of impeccable reputation!” (Between you and me, my lady, I am not quite sure who depraved whom – allow me to say that we both enjoyed the adventure and the lakeshore remained one of our favourite meeting places.) Luckily, we were not found, mostly because everyone was still asleep. We found our clothes, or at least the most crucial elements of our wardrobe, and quietly returned to our homes, before anyone noticed anything. Except for Dwalin, of course. I stumbled over him when leaving the tavern. Thank Mahal, he had his trousers on. As we were returning to our chambers, trying to sing a drinking song, a thought appeared in my head: why on earth Dwalin had a new braid that resembled one of Dis’s braids and why was it bound with one of her ribbons?

Your humble servant,

👑 Thorin Oakenshield

📜 Thorin’s Ask Box question list

#thorin's ask box #thorin oakenshield #letters #the hobbit #thorin imagine #ask box #ask game

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obiwanobi · 3 years

Text

I was asked to write angst with a happy ending for the Sith Senator Kenobi AU where Obi-Wan believes Anakin has been killed during a mission, so here’s 2.6k of sadness featuring Obi-Wan and Ahsoka before I finish the happy ending part:

Ahsoka can only remember a few details from the funeral of her master.

In her mind, the memory has the fuzziness of an unpleasant dream, and not the sharpness of an event that happened only yesterday.

Surprisingly, it was Master Windu who led the ceremony with a gentle voice. Master Yoda gave a speech, but she can't recall a word of it. She remembers Senator Amidala trying to blink away her tears. She remembers Master Jinn's heavy hand on her shoulder when the heat of the flames started to warm her face. She remembers Rex, still as a statue from beginning to end. She remembers Senator Kenobi being the first to leave without a word.

It took four hours for the pyre to burn to ashes.

___________________________________

"Oh. Hello, young one."

Senator Kenobi's tone is surprised, but his face is as impassive as ever.

It reminds her of that one time her master said that he would have made an excellent Jedi, and Kenobi immediately proved him wrong, dramatically grimacing at the thought and making Anakin burst into laughter.

There's no grimace on Kenobi's face right now. His hair and beard are perfectly combed and trimmed, and there isn't one wrinkle on his pristine clothes.

It makes the deep shadows under his eyes stand out even more.

"Senator," Ahsoka greets him with a polite bow. "Would you mind if I come in?"

Kenobi blinks twice before taking a step back. "Please."

She walks into his apartment a bit rigidly, hands clutched around the box she brought, and seats on the couch he points at her.

If he knew she was here, Master Jinn would disapprove. Her grandmaster has never liked the senator, partially due to his charming public persona which only echoes in a bizarre void in the Force —"some plants are easier to detect that him", she once heard Master Jinn say,— and partially because of his close relationship with her master.

Ahsoka herself has never known what to make of Senator Kenobi.

Stuck between pretending to ignore the looks he used to share with her master and making sarcastic remarks about it to fluster them both, it now leaves her in an awkward relationship she can't define without mourning for the missing link between them.

Anxiety starts nagging at her as she looks at the box in her hands. Maybe she should have waited. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Caf? Tea?" Kenobi asks from the kitchen.

"Whatever you're having is fine, thanks."

She hears the cabinet doors opening and closing, water boiling for a few seconds, and then the senator comes back with a teapot and cups on a tray. "I hope you like black tea, then. I never drink caf."

Ahsoka isn't sure if she's more surprised by a senator not having any personal employee to assist him, or the fact that she can clearly see what looks like a very expansive caf machine on the kitchen counter.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I commed your office first," she admits, refocusing her attention on him. "Your assistant said you were working from home lately, and gave me your address."

Kenobi raises his eyebrows. "She did? Well, that's a surprise. She usually bites people who try to see me without an appointment or a life-or-death crisis. Preferably one with multiple dead people already."

"Hum, yes, she— She almost brushed me off, but then I told her that I needed to give you something. From my master."

To his credit, Kenobi, teapot in hand, freezes for only half a second. Then, pointedly not looking at her, starts pouring tea again.

On the comm, Kenobi's assistant also paused when Ahsoka told her that, before grumbling 'it can't make it worse anyway' and then giving strict instructions about when was the best time to come see him.

"I see."

She puts the box next to her steaming cup, and stops her hand just before opening it. "There were some... important chips and datapads from previous and ongoing missions that he had in his room, and I was the one who looked for it. So I cleaned a few drawers."

Letting someone else disturbs Anakin's bedroom has felt wrong. Even if she knows that it was only selfishness that pushed her to volunteer to look through his room, she's still glad she did.

No one needs to know how long she spent seating in the middle of Anakin's bedroom, trying to wrap his lingering Force signature around her. Or that it took three hours before she could touch anything in it without feeling like she was breaking one last invisible connection to her master.

"And I found this box." she taps on it lightly. "This is... I think— I think you should have it."

"What’s in the box, Padawan Tano?" Kenobi asks behind his cup.

The proof of my master's complete disregard for the Jedi Code, she wants to say. Ahsoka bites her lip.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter anymore.

"Mostly datachips with holos on it, a few old tickets for a race, a password-protected datapad and some personal belongings."

"And what that has to do with me?"

Ahsoka frowns.

Kenobi doesn't sound like the conversation interests him. His hand moves, and for a second Ahsoka thinks he's going for the box, but instead, he takes the recipient filled with honey and put a small spoon of it in his cup before leaning back on the couch.

His indifferent expression is starting to grate on her nerves.

"I took a look at the holos. My master is on it, but you're also there. With him sometimes. Most of them are holoimages, but there are a few longer recordings with sound." Ahsoka has only watched one, but it's still hard to reconcile the man fondly rolling his eyes and telling Anakin behind the holocamera to please, dear, don't waste it on me, with the impassive man with the blank stare in front of her. "I didn't watch all of them, but I think it's safe to say that he wouldn't have wanted anyone else to find them."

"I see," Kenobi says distractingly, stirring his tea.

Ahsoka's hand is starting to turn into a fist in her lap.

"Do you? Do you really? Do you know about the Jedi Code, Senator Kenobi?" She asks, suddenly opening the box herself and getting one of the datachips and a small holoprojector out.

"I know enough."

"Because this," she continues, pushing the chip in it and opening the first holos, "this isn't really approved by the Code. Do you know what the Code recommends, regarding attachment, Senator? To material things? To people?"

Did you love him? she wants to ask, as a holo of Anakin, dressed in light civilian clothes, smiles and makes a rapid 'come one' hand gesture to the person behind the camera. Did you love him as much as he did?

She presses the next button rapidly, going through a few holos of sunbathed landscapes and olive trees, and then Anakin is holding a glass of wine in one, tasting it in a second, and making a ridiculous face in the third. There's a lot of Kenobi after that, also dressed in lighter clothes than usual, with shades on. Him trying to read a sign in a foreign language but clearly failing, him looking at some old and decrepit ruins in wonder, him with a face covered in sunscreen, sending an unamused look above his glasses at the camera.

Ahsoka's irritation makes her forget to be embarrassed when she goes through some of the holos where they're pressed against each other in such an intimate way that it feels like she's holding their honeymoon holoalbum, but it doesn't stop her from wanting to cry when she catches the tenderness in Anakin's eyes in every holo where he's looking at Kenobi.

It's only when she reaches the one taken at a weird angle where Anakin is lying in the shades of a tree, asleep, his face nuzzled against a red beard, that a hand stops her before she can keep pressing next.

She turns her head toward Kenobi, ready to push him again to get a reaction, but he’s not looking at her. His gaze is fixed on the holo and his face is making a bizarre expression she doesn't recognise. Then, he says, softly, "I told him not to keep any of it."

And then she gasps for air.

The Force... the Force feels like a void.

Not a blank space, or the faint static she's used to next to Kenobi, but a true void. She chokes a bit on the emptiness of it all, almost sick to her stomach by the vertigo effect. It feels like she's standing near the edge of a hungry precipice, just like what she felt when Master Jinn told her that her master was dead, after she's stopped saying that it wasn't possible and he was wrong wrong wrong. She felt like falling then, endlessly falling and never hitting the ground, and she feels like falling now. Headfirst into the void. A long, endless fall through nothingness.

The void feels like it could swallow her whole and leaves nothing behind. No memory or emotion or connection.

The void is lonely, and aching, and lonely.

And lonely.

Then the sound of shattered porcelain resonates in a disturbing echo in her ears and everything stops.

Ahsoka gasps again —did she stop breathing at one point?— and pants heavily, hands shaking on her thighs.

She violently throws herself against the couch, as if the void is still here at her feet, ready to devour her.

"That's quite enough of that for now."

Disoriented, it takes a moment before she remembers where she is. Kenobi has already turned off the holoprojector and put it back in the box when she feels capable of forming coherent sentences again. A cup of tea is pushed under her nose, and she automatically takes it. It burns her tongue a bit. She's so glad to feel something so simple and physical that she keeps drinking it anyway.

Kenobi is standing up now, napkins in hand but not moving. He's looking down at something, stuck still in an aborted move, and Ahsoka realises that there is an ugly stain on his tunic, right on his chest, and that fragments of porcelain are lying all over the floor around him.

She didn't see how Kenobi broke the teapot, but it must have been quite a fall to scatter all these hundreds of tiny little pieces around him. On the white rug at his feet, a large brown stain is expanding slowly but surely through the intricate design of the textile.

He couldn't have made a bigger mess on purpose.

"You shouldn't stay here," he tells her, but his eyes stay locked on the liquid still dripping from the edge of the table. "You could hurt yourself."

"I— yes. Sorry."

She doesn't know what she's apologising for. She's tense, unsettled, and doesn't dare reach through the Force to find any kind of balance. She doesn't understand what the kriff just happened, but she's not in the mood to look for answers right now.

She just wants to be home. She just wants her master. She just wants to sleep.

Box under her arm, she takes a breath and stands up, careful not to walk on any fragments of broken porcelain.

"I should go anyway."

"Would you mind letting me see one last thing before you leave?"

She blinks, surprised. "From... the box?"

"Yes."

She hesitates a second, still not sure if this was a mistake or not. But who else could she share it with?

Kenobi seems like he's giving up on cleaning for now, and dries his hands with a napkin as he watches her put the box on the counter. He takes a moment to look inside this time, before grabbing the datapad and turning it on.

"It's password-protected," she says, just to break the tense silence. "I've tried a few things to bypass it but nothing works."

"Why do you think it's about me, then?"

"If you try enough wrong words, a message will pop up to give you a hint." Kenobi sends her a questioning look, but she just shrugs. "Try something. Anything."

"Oh," he says, voice suddenly soft, after putting Anakin's name and surname. "It says it's for my birthday."

"Yep."

"'Something that could make a politician cry'?", he reads out loud, intrigued. "What is he talking about? I told him enough times that politicians don't have souls, or—"

His mouth opens in a silent 'oh'. He turns to look at her pensively, and right when she's about to ask him if he's thinking of something, starts tapping on the keyboard.

The pad beeps happily.

"Of course," he whispers. "Of course."

Ahsoka can see his fingers swiping on the pad a few times but she's not at the right angle to see what he's actually looking at.

It would have bothered earlier. Now, her head feels heavy and her mind clouded, and she just wants to go home. The only reason she's not leaving right now is the glint of something in Kenobi's eyes.

Maybe it's just the reflection of the blue light on the screen. Maybe he's trying not to laugh in front of her at whatever her master had planned for his birthday.

Maybe he's trying not to cry.

He turns off the datapad suddenly, straightening up and offering a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The glint is gone.

"If this is alright with you, Padawan Tano, I would like to keep that box."

You don’t deserve it, a voice in her mind says.

But she knows that the box isn't for her. She's a Jedi, and these are just material possessions. Holoimages and a few useless trinkets.

Her master isn't in that box. Her master is in the Force, with her, always.

She's not certain she should trust Kenobi, but her master did. So she chooses to believe.

"Okay," she murmurs. "Just... just keep it safe."

"I will."

There is no way to know if he means it, but she's definitely not in the mood to reach through the Force and check right now.

"I should go." She turns towards the door, ready to go home and sleep for fourteen hours.

"Ahsoka."

The surprise of hearing her name in his mouth for the first time stops her hand on the door handle. She's so tired that she barely turns her head sideways, waiting for whatever insipid parting words he will offer her.

"Anakin was very proud of you. He couldn't stop talking about how great you were going to be as a knight."

Her heart misses a beat. Or three.

Don't say his name, she wants to say, we managed to ignore it the entire time, why did you have to say his name? But her throat only seems to be able to produce an uncontrollable choked up sound. She can't blink fast enough to see through her tears.

After so long looking for a hint of human feelings in Kenobi, she almost wishes his voice wasn't so gentle right now.

"Please make sure to do all you can to make it true."

She only allows herself to cry once the door slams shut behind her.

#feelings are hard for ssk okay #he has zero idea what to do with them #obikin #sith senator kenobi au #clem's aus #also kudos for you if you've read enough ssk posts to know what the password was!#fic i did write

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gojo-x-reader · 3 years

Text

Confessions in a Drunken Night

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Warnings: excessive drinking, mentions of sex (not related to drinking), getting drunk, job stress

Tags: communication is key

AO3 Link: here

Words: ~2k

Request: “ Hey, I hope you're doing okay. I have read your scenarios and I fell in love with them They are so cute and adorable . If you take a request would you mind taking mine. About a f/reader who is depressed about her job pressure and Gojo not being home lately so she would be drinking at home not knowing that Gojo had arrived and was sleeping and he would wake up because of sound and he would find her saoul , and he would try to make up with her , with a lot of fluff please , thank you .”

You heard the door hurriedly slam from the other room and sighed. This was the third time just this week alone that date night was interrupted with you and your boyfriend, Satoru. Every time, he promised that nothing would come up, but every time something did. You didn’t understand why exactly his job was so important for him to just leave like that. He was just a high school teacher.

You sighed again, then picked up the uneaten dinner you cooked for the both of you. You placed the food in containers for later, if there was a later with him. You might end up eating both portions by yourself. You finished up cleaning up the romantic date you had prepared, now incredibly sad and frustrated.

You started pouring yourself a glass of whiskey. You weren’t a fan of the stuff straight, but tonight seemed like the night to drink. How many hours of overtime did you put in this week just to try to have an evening off to spend with your boyfriend? How much sleep did you lose just to stay ahead? How many times did your boss scoff because you asked off not one night, but three nights this week? You’d be lucky if you could get another night off in a month after this week.

You sipped on the whiskey, cherishing the warmth it brought to your core. You grabbed the bottle and glass and took them the to couch. The whiskey bottle was less than halfway finished; might as well finish it tonight. You lounged on the couch as you brought the glass to your lips and reminisced about your relationship with Satoru.

You had been together for over a year now, but it didn’t feel like it. You were practically in a long-distance relationship, despite only living twenty minutes from each other with how scarce you got to see him. He was always busy on “business trips” or whatever for his job. The thought that he was cheating on you crossed your mind a time or two, but Satoru didn’t seem like the type.

The two of you met in your favorite bakery just down the street. You had fought over the last piece of tiramisu, which he eventually gave you in exchange for your number. He was incredibly easy to talk to and within a few weeks, the two of you were going on your first date. He was suave, but you soon learned that was just a front he put up. The true Gojo Satoru was a dork with an almost insufferable personality that somehow you were able to stand.

You were sure that in the year you had been dating, you had only gone on three successful dates with Satoru and well over fifteen attempted dates. The three successful dates all had a special place in your heart.

The first successful date was your first date. It was a cozy café date followed by a nice walk through the nooks and crannies of Tokyo you never saw on your work commute. You remembered how you gained the confidence to hold Satoru’s hand on the first date, only feeling like there was a literal wall between you two for a few seconds. It was strange, but it was the only incident, so you never brought it up to him.

The second successful date was a few months later with another failed attempt in between the first and second. This one was a trip to a fancy restaurant in the heart of Tokyo. This was the date you learned that your boyfriend was loaded. Not just well off, but rich enough he could spend a couple hundred thousand Yen and it was just pocket change to him. Somehow, the reveal left more questions than answered them; namely, how did he become so rich with a teacher’s salary? Was he part of some kind of Old Money or something?

He never told you where you were dining, so of course, you dressed like it was a casual outing. Before heading to the restaurant, he bought you a dress that was worth more than two years of your yearly salary (against your protests). It was a gorgeous dress, in your favorite color. It still hung in your closet; while you wanted to sell it for some extra money, you didn’t want to upset Satoru.

The third and final successful date was your first anniversary. Neither of you wanted to go out, so you both stayed in. The two of you cooked dinner together; you were pleasantly surprised to learn that Satoru had a talent for cooking and wanted to taste more of his cooking. He insisted you were a much better cook than him, but you disagreed.

After dinner, one thing led to another until you were swept off your feet literally to the bedroom.

You smiled fondly at the memories of your first time together. It was only two months ago, but nothing had happened since then even though you desperately wanted a repeat of your anniversary tonight. Ah, you remembered why you were drinking. You swallowed the rest of the whiskey in your glass, grimacing as it burned in your throat.

You were already tipsy after one glass. You were a lightweight; you were sure you would be shit-faced before the end of this bottle. Satoru never drank, yet he always had the audacity to make fun of how much of a lightweight you were.

Who knows how long passed before you finally swallowed the last drop of whiskey. At that point, you were fighting your eyelids that were trying to close. Without Satoru there to entertain you as you were tipsy, you became a tired drunk. You just wanted to go to sleep but didn’t want to leave the couch. If you got up, you’d probably stumble and fall back anyway. So, you grabbed the blanket draped across the couch and wrapped yourself around it.

A sudden wave of sadness washed over you right as you closed your eyes. You missed Satoru, desperately. It felt physically painful being away from him at the moment. You brought a hand up to your eyes and wiped them, rolling over and finally going to sleep for good.

You woke up to the feeling of someone shaking your form. You groaned. Your head was pounding from dehydration, you were still sleepy from the alcohol; who dared interrupt your sleep?

You blinked a few times to find Satoru and his beautiful blue eyes staring at you. He appeared slightly worried, but also tired.

“Time?” you asked, not even forming coherent sentences yet.

“Almost 3am,” Satoru answered.

You groaned. “Let me sleep.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Does it matter?” you snapped back. You then realized how hostile you sounded, then started crying. “Please don’t be mad at me,” you said between hiccups.

Satoru took you into his arms, soothingly rubbing your back to calm you down. You suddenly felt worse because you were a mess, just because he left for an emergency with work? Pathetic.

Your sweet, incredible boyfriend helped you slowly sit up, then obtained a glass of water for you to drink. You chugged it, not even realizing how thirsty you were. Satoru refilled it for you, urging you to instead sip the water.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asked as he sat down next to you on the couch.

“...Nothing,” you answered.

“Nothing? I come home to find my girlfriend passed out on the couch drunk off her ass and sad. You’re upset, and I want us to work through this. Now, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sad,” you admitted.

“Obviously.”

“I don’t feel like you--” hic “--love me as much anymore. You keep leaving during our dates, you don’t spend much time with me anymore, and my job is just so stressful because I keep having to work overtime to get days off and I doubt I can get another day off for a month now. That just makes me so fucking sad because I wanna see you every day but I can’t--”

Satoru gently placed a hand on your cheek. His gaze was filled with so much love it rendered you speechless. “That all?” he asked. You nodded.

Satoru tenderly placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you,” he admitted. Suddenly, your brain raced through all of the possibilities, fixating on the idea he was cheating on you. Oh, no, here it comes…

“I’m a jujutsu sorcerer.”

“Excuse me?”

That was not at all what you were expecting. What did that even mean?

Satoru backed away. “Here, try to grab my hand.”

You reached out to him, feeling the familiar wall like you did on your first date. “Oh!”

“This is Infinity,” he explained. “As you get closer to me, you slow down, unable to reach me. It’s a jujutsu passed down through my family.”

“I think I’ve felt it before. On our first date.”

Satoru sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I always keep my Infinity going at all times, 24/7, even when I’m asleep. I only let down my guard around you because I trust you with my life.”

“So. What does this all mean? What else are you keeping a secret? Your job too?”

“No, I really am a high school teacher. For the first years, to be exact. The bunch this year are… interesting to say the least. So I’ve been having to stay late to train them, and I actually do go on business trips. A lot of them are overseas.”

“What are they for?” You were now very invested in your boyfriend’s secret life he had been hiding from you all this time.

“We exorcise curses.”

“Curses?”

“The evil beings of the jujutsu world. I have to go on more missions than the average person because I’m one of the very few Special Grade jujutsu sorcerers in the world. It’s the highest rank a jujutsu sorcerer can reach. And your boyfriend is the strongest in the world.”

“Are you really, or are you self-proclaimed?” you asked, knowing his personality. Satoru pouted. You pinched one of his cheeks gently, then dragged his face to your lips, pressing them against his cheek. “I’m just kidding.”

“I really am the strongest, though,” Satoru continued to pout. “Anyway! I think it’s time for us to sleep. Tomorrow, I can take you to see my school and you can meet my students!”

“Really?” you asked, excited. Finally, your boyfriend was allowing you into the part of his world you were always curious about.

“Really,” he promised.

You yawned. The sun was just starting to peek through your windows. Suddenly, you felt yourself being lifted and carried to your room. You weren’t quite sober and made sure to warn Satoru about that, lest he moved you too fast and caused you to throw up on the two of you.

(“It wouldn’t get on me, though,” Satoru argued. “I can just activate my Infinity and I’ll stay clean.”)

Satoru tucked you into your bed, then made his way to your side. You were actually kind of glad you decided to get drunk tonight, as the liquid courage gave you the confidence to speak your mind to your boyfriend instead of keeping your feelings inside like usual. Tonight, you learned a side of your boyfriend you never thought existed. It brought you relief and curiosity to learn more about him and his life.

But for now, you needed sleep. Meeting part of Satoru’s world could wait until tomorrow.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years

Text

Start of a new life

Sirius Black x reader part of the dad!marauders series

Words: 2k

A/N: yet another fluffy fic that warms my heart. I am writing the marauders as dad with so much fun, because it’s basically anything that I want to include, since there is absolutely no canon to keep in mind. While the dad!Remus fics are all separate fics (so far, and i think it’ll stay like that), the dad!Sirius will be a more coherent storyline. I hope you like this!

With a beating heart you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the little white stick in your hand. Just one more minute before you knew if you whole life would change.

It would be a change of the better. You had been together with Sirius for seven years already and you could not think of a better person to spend the rest of your life with. You had fallen for him at the young age of seventeen and ever since then your life had been amazing.

Of course there were also some low points. Your parents at first didn’t approve of your relationship, Sirius’ parents were an issue on their own and when Lily and James had Harry, Sirius had freaked out so much to the point that he was thinking of ending your relationship. That had been the first time that you had doubted his love for you. And it was the last time; his friends talked sense into him and you had had a long, difficult talk about the future.

But that was four years ago. You both weren’t the young adults you were back then. Watching Harry grow up in your little family was the best thing to see. Sirius had grown to love the child with his entire heart and he eased on the subject of children of his own. So much that he even had admitted to you that he wanted them.

And now you were waiting for that.

Your period was late, or better said, not; you felt a little sick; your fingers were swelling; you had an immense craving for anything sweet and, your breasts were bigger. Not so much bigger that others could see it, but you noticed it. Mostly because they were hurting.

You knew all the symptoms; you had been there when Lily was pregnant. If you weren’t pregnant, then you should be worried because something might be really wrong with you.

It wasn’t like you had exactly planned for this to happen. When Sirius had said that he wanted children, you didn’t expect to get pregnant three months later. You weren’t even sure if he wanted them now. Maybe he wanted to wait a few years.

You looked at the time; twenty seconds left.

The hand you were holding the test with was shaking lightly. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of the vanilla candles on your nightstand reached to your nose and you calmed down.

The room you were in also had a calming effect on you. The bedroom was your favourite place of your house. Two big windows on one side of the room let in a bright light. The soft green bedding gave the room a green glow as the light fell on it. The dark wooden floors contrasted with the very light green wallpaper that you had found in a small store in the city.

But the room wasn’t you favourite because all of that. The room was your favourite because it had so many memories. It was the place where you lied entangled with Sirius every night, the room in which you shared your secrets, you cried, laughed and celebrated life in this room.

You opened your eyes and looked at the test. Two pink lines showed on the little display.

You were pregnant.

- - - - -

The front door shut behind Sirius. He waited for you to greet him like you normally did, but he was met with silence. Swiftly he took of his coat and walked to the nearest room; the living room. He found you asleep on the couch, with your hands around a pillow, holding it tight to your chest.

Sirius smiled to himself. Even after seven years, he was still grateful for every day he could spend with you. Every morning he woke up next to you he thanked all the gods in the world for having you. He could not think of anyone who suited him better.

A small kiss was placed on your forehead and you moved at the touch, but stayed asleep. Sirius wiped the hair out of your face and looked at you for another second before he got up to make dinner.

The kitchen was a small space. Your whole house was small. But that was why you and Sirius had bought it. The smallness had something comforting about it. Sirius had grown up in a big house with a dozen bedrooms and it was nice to live in a place where he knew every room.

Buying the house had been like a promise to you. After Sirius had almost messed everything up after Harry’s birth, he wanted you to know that he wanted to grow old with you. And where better to grow old than in a little house in the city?

It wasn’t like Sirius had wanted to end things with you. But the realisation that they were no longer the teens they had been, scared him. He hadn’t known if he was ready for the adult life. He was only twenty!

But that was now four years ago. Harry had grown to the cute toddler he was today and Sirius was no longer scared of the future. Living in this house with you had shown him that the future would be great, as long as he got you in it. He even had admitted to you that he wanted kids. Seeing Harry around made him realise that children were long not as scary as he thought. If James could do it, then so could he.

As the pots boiled on the stove, Sirius walked back to the living room. You were still in the same position and still asleep, Sirius could hear by your breathing. He dropped to his knees in front of you and stroke your cheek.

‘Darling? You need to wake up, love. Dinner’s almost ready.’

‘Five more minutes,’ you grumbled as you pressed the pillow closer to your chest and pouted.

Sirius barked out a laugh and took your hands from the pillow. Your hands were cold and clammy and did not match your body temperature. As Sirius wrapped his arm around your waist, he felt that your skin was burning up almost. He pushed you into a chair and pressed a kiss on the top of your head before he disappeared in the separate kitchen.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked through the open door, while putting the food on the plates.

‘I’m fine,’ you said back, but your voice was weak; probably because you just woke up.

When Sirius entered the dining area again with two plates in his hands he found you with your head in your hands staring at the window on the other side of the table. The room was dark as the clouds outside turned into dark grey ones. It was November so the sun had already set and that only added to the darkness. The lamp above the dining table gave the room a yellow glow and the corners of the room were hidden in shadows.

You pushed the food around on your plate with your fork as Sirius talked about his day at work. It wasn’t that it was very necessary for the both of you to work; Sirius’ uncle had left him enough money. But you had tried that for two months and those had been the most boring months in your life. You needed something to work on. So Sirius and James found a job at the ministry, where they gave courses for children about defence against dark arts. It wasn’t a full time job; they only had to be at the office three days a week and sometimes a fourth day.

If you had asked Sirius at sixteen what his job would be later, he would have never said something that even slightly involved children. But he enjoyed his job more than he had imagined when James had dragged him along for the first time.

You worked with Remus in the bookshop of his father. Now this one was too old to do all the work, he had asked his son to help him. And Remus had asked you. It wasn’t a very busy job. The shop was located in the inner circle of the city in an old building. In all your years that you had worked there, the shop had never been crowded with people. And yet there were enough sales for the store to stay.

‘Don’t you like the food?’ Sirius asked, when he noticed you hadn’t eaten that much.

‘I do. I’m just not that hungry,’ you mumbled and you put your fork down.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Sirius asked worried and he took your hand over the table. The small touch seemed to do you good, because you put a smile on your face and your cheeks got a little more colour.

‘I am fine, love, really.’

Sirius squeezed your hand before he let go of it and he ate the rest of his food, while he kept an eye on you.

- - - - -

Alone in the kitchen you dared to breathe out with a loud sigh. Sirius was upstairs taking a shower and you were doing the dishes. Or the dishes were doing themselves as you stood and stared out the window. It had started to rain and the little raindrops on the glass were racing to get to the bottom first. The window was slightly opened and a cold breeze blew in your face. You closed your eyes and breathed in the smell of the rain.

Two strong arms wrapped around your waist and spun you around. You placed your arms around Sirius’ neck and pressed your lips on his in a soft kiss. He smiled against your lips and his mouth travelled to your neck. You brushed your fingers through his wet hair and felt the drops roll down your hands.

‘Sirius?’ you asked softly.

‘Hmm?’

He didn’t let go of you and his lips never left your skin as he placed you on the kitchen counter. His hands squeezed your hips as he sucked on your skin. You pushed his head back with a faint smile on your face. He looked up to you and his smirk faded when he saw your nervous expression.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked and he hooked one arm around you waist, pulling himself closer between your legs, while the other hand cupped your cheek. You smiled and pressed a kiss in the palm of his hand.

‘I’m pregnant.’

Sirius froze in his position, his hand on your back and the other on your cheek. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. For a minute he stood still and said nothing, just stared at you.

There was a nervous twitch in your stomach as you waited for Sirius’ reaction. You didn’t know what to expect. This was something new for both of you. You had watched James and Lily do it and it had seemed so easy. But now you already started to doubt that.

‘You’re pregnant?’

‘I’m pregnant,’ you repeated not able to suppress a chuckle of disbelief. ‘We’re gonna be parents.’

‘We’re gonna be parents,’ Sirius slowly said as if he didn’t believe what you just told him. ‘We’re gonna be parents… I’m gonna be a dad… I’m gonna be a dad! We’re gonna be parents!’

Sirius’ frown turned into the biggest smile and he jumped around in the kitchen, nearly colliding with the wall. He kept yelling and pacing excitedly in the kitchen while you watched him from the kitchen counter. This was the best reaction you could have hoped for. You feared the whole street now knew you were pregnant, but at the moment you didn’t care. Seeing Sirius so happy and enthusiastic for something warmed your heart and for a moment you were reminded of the boy he had been at the age of seventeen.

‘You’re gonna be a mother,’ Sirius said and he stood back between your knees. He held his hands out for you to take them and squeezed them. He pulled you close and kissed you softly. Now he was so close you could see the tears on his cheeks. You wiped them away with your thumb and kissed his forehead.

‘You’re gonna be the best dad.’

- - - - -

taglists

dad!marauders: @wassup-peoples @iamak20 @alice-grant-rogers @swearingsolemnly @hitmewithatrainplease

Sirius: @treestarrrrrrrr @bumbelbeeesblog @with1love1anu @transparentttttttttt @sirius-satellite @cheoco @malikinglove @alwaysinmydaydreams @eateraa @bi-andready-tocry @fangirlofbooksandpasta @littlemissgothgirl @always394patronus @heavenly-ascended-melodies @mrs-moony @coldlilheart @fific7 @april-showers-and-flowers @susceptible-but-siriusexual

Marauders: @secretsthathauntus @ronniethelost @sognatrice-as-a-hobby @wecouldbreakthedistance @valentina-007

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @bloodblossom73 @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna

let me know if you want to be added/removed!

MASTERLIST

#dad!marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #sirius black #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #dad!sirius black #sirius black x you

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lady-literature · 4 years

Text

ayy, so ya’ll know that Miraculous/DC crossover I screamed about a while back? I found plot for it.

It is not quite finished yet, but it’s also so much longer than I originally planned on it being. (me: I’ll just write a fun little thing to get this out of my head!

me, 13k words later: oh no)

SO! Here’s a little sneak peak!

(or, find the finished product here!)

***

There is an unspoken rule, kept by any outsider who’s ever set foot in Gotham, that you should only ever visit the city once. Most find that visiting even once was already too much.

The most dangerous city on earth isn’t kind to its residents—much less strangers who don’t know how to watch their pockets or keep off the streets after dark. It’s gotten better, perhaps, in recent years since the Bat started lurking on rooftops, but that doesn’t mean the city is good.

Normal people stay as far from Gotham as they can get.

Marinette, (un)luckily, is far from normal.

***

The touring of Metropolis, New York City, and Gotham had been going well as far as Marinette was concerned, no matter what Chloé says to her about carelessness and naivety.

She’s glad her, Adrien and Chloé all decided to take this summer trip before they started University in the fall. It sucks that it was just the three of them, she wishes more of their friends could’ve tagged along but, alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

Kagami was in the middle of training season and couldn’t come. Luka was touring with his father, learning the tricks of the trade and other things. Nathaniel had already been commissioned to paint a mural downtown before they really finalized dates. Nino was in much the same boat as Nath, just with music and pitch meetings. Felix hated traveling and Alix was doing… something. Time travelling, probably. Or at least spending more time in the burrow.

Marinette was certainly starting to notice the way she’s begun talking about ancient history like she was actually there when she goes on rants now. Felix also probably noticed but Marinette’s also sure that he’s aiding and abetting her in exchange for insider information so…

She’ll probably have to deal with that later, unfortunately. But not today.

Their tour group was going to Amusement Mile later that afternoon, but had been given free roam until then. Marinette decided to spend the time up until lunch at the park near the meetup spot in Gotham Square and Chloé hadn’t complained or vetoed that idea so the trio happily camped out on the grass.

Marinette had returned to her sketch of Lady Gotham in between eating bites of her sandwich. She thinks she much preferred the style of it to New York City’s Lady Liberty. There was just something about the Statue of Justice that inspired her.

She’d been doodling about it since they left the marina yesterday. She also had plenty of pictures of the statue for inspiration later. There’s one she especially likes and thinks she might even print out to put up on her wall at home.

She’s playing with the idea of draping fabrics for formal wear designs like the roman togas both Lady statues seem to wear when a tennis ball rolls up and bumps into her leg. She has only enough time to move her sketchbook out of the way before a large dog bowls into her, tail wagging happily and barking up a storm.

“Oof!”

Adrien’s already halfway up the tree, startled out of his light doze by the barking and Chloé only daintily moved away from Marinette, leaving her to her fate.

Pushing herself back up so she’s not crushed by what feels like one hundred pounds of dog, she comes face to snout with quite possibly the biggest dog she’s ever seen. From there, there was really only one choice of action Marinette could have followed.

“Oh! Well, aren’t you just the prettiest boy?” she tells the dog happily, reaching up to give him scratches. “Such a big boy! You nearly bowled me over, didn’t you?”

If it’s possible, the dog’s tail begins to wag even faster, enough that he accidentally overbalances himself and decides to roll with it, flopping onto his back and letting her rub his stomach. Marinette does so enthusiastically, her baby-talk to the dog devolving into broken not-words and the occasional exclamation of good boy! in both English and French.

The dog was a great dane, and had the softest coat of black fur she’s ever seen. There was a thick red collar around his throat, and Marinette stopped furiously rubbing his belly long enough to look at the silver tag attached to it.

“Titus, huh?” she says to the dog. “Such a strong name for such a distinguished boy, huh?”

“Oh god,” she hears Adrien groan from his spot still up in the tree. When she looks up, she finds him eyeing Titus with distrust, the absolute kitten. “I hope whoever his owner is, they’ve never read Shakespeare.”

Both her and Chloé blink at the strange non sequitur.

“Uh, why? Exactly?”

“Because they have shit taste in his plays if they do! Titus Andronicus is, like, Shakespeare’s worst play.”

Chloé glares up at him. “You’re such a nerd. Now stop being ridiculous and get down from there.”

“But, Chloé! It’s a dog.”

“Adrien Agreste!”

Marinette tunes out the two blondes as they devolve into sibling-like bickering. It’s a skill she’s had to learn and learn quickly with living in such close quarters with the pair for the last few weeks and also being friends with the pair for the past three years.

“Speaking of your owner, I wonder where they are?” She scratches under Titus’ chin thoughtfully. “Should we go look for them?”

Titus' head flops to the side, almost like he’s listening for something, before he’s clambering up onto his feet to tower over her. He’s almost twice as tall as she is sitting, which is just ridiculous. Why is everything in America so big?

Getting to her feet herself, Titus still stands almost as tall as her. She can rest her elbow on his back when she grabs his collar to make sure he doesn’t run off. He leads mostly, pulling her along at a steady trot she has to jog to keep up with.

He truly was such a well behaved dog and certainly lived up to his breed’s reputation as a gentle giant.

Or at least she thought so, until the call of “Titus! Here!” echoes through the park and he goes racing off towards it, dragging Marinette along for the ride no matter how much she tries to slow down.

Titus comes to a skidding stop, and Marinette barely stops herself from falling by keeping her arm around Titus.

“And who are you?”

Looking up, she finds a young man, probably around her age, staring down at her. He does not look happy—but most Gothamites don’t, Marinette’s found. He’s also, despite the almost glare he’s giving her, very attractive.

When she opens her mouth, incoherent French comes tumbling out, much to her embarrassment.

Ah. ‘Not being able to speak coherently to people she finds attractive’, she had wondered where that particular personality trait had been as of late. Even after so many years hanging around people who should be—and are—super models, she still acts like a spaz. Why is she like this?

The man raises an eyebrow at her, looking very unamused.

She tries again. “Ah- Je suis- I mean, I am very sorry. Your dog found me sitting over there with my friends and I figured I should find his owner instead of letting him just wander around and I assume your his owner because if you aren’t this is very embarrassing for me. Not that it wasn’t embarrassing before but, oh, I’m definitely rambling and I’m going to shut up now.”

Pressing her lips together as tightly as humanly possible so her tongue will stop making horrible life decisions, she holds Titus’ bright yellow tennis ball out to his owner.

The man huffs, taking the ball from her hand. “I didn’t ask for your life’s story.”

Marinette blinks and then frowns. Her hand tightens around where she’s still holding onto Titus’ collar and she has to very carefully unclench her hand before she breaks it or something.

“I didn’t give it,” she says through clenched teeth, embarrassment abruptly forgotten. There’s no need for the man to be rude.

He scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

She doesn't really have anything to say to that. Instead, she turns to Titus, who’s sitting like the good boy he is. She very seriously leans down to eye level—she does not have to lean down far—and tells him, “Your owner is an ass. But you are still a very good boy.”

She plants a kiss to his forehead that makes his tail wag, gives him one last scratch behind the ears and walks back towards her friends without looking back at the rude man.

***

Colonel Bug: so I met kagami and felix’s lovechild today

MY HONOR: I would never stoop so low.

the evil twin: I would never stoop so low.

ShutUpTurtleMan: Nettie

dearest

the evil twin: Okay first of all-

ShutUpTurtleMan: sunshine

light of our collective lives and reason I breathe

what the fuCK

YoureUnderAgreste: Kagami, my love, how could you?

The Betrayal™

GottaGoFast: ew

Queen of Salt: ew

sneaky snake: Send pics or it didn’t happen

give me art or give me death: [a photo of the ‘right in front of my salad?’ meme]

Queen of Salt: wait

I was with you all day when did this happen?

was it the owner of the dog that attacked you?

ShutUpTurtleMan: WHAT

Colonel Bug: he didn’t attack me!

chloe stop spreading misinformation!

titus was a sweetheart!

YoureUnderAgreste: incorrect

he was, in fact, a menace

give me art or give me death: wait was Titus the dog or the lovechild

ShutUpTurtleMan: ^^^ ?

Colonel Bug: shut up adrien

all animals are great

stop being elitist

give me art or give me death: okay but seriously what kind of dog was it

the evil twin: why exactly was he our lovechild?

GottaGoFast: because of the dramatic tryst you and Kagami had obviously

keep up

Colonel Bug: because he was as pretty as he was rude actually

And gave me the feeling that he’d rant about his honor and parentage if it given the chance

MY HONOR: you say something once as an unsocialized teen

GottaGoFast: MARI YOU DOG!

ARE GETTING TAIL IN GOTHAM OF ALL PLACES?

Colonel Bug: no alix

did you not read the part about how rude he is

YoureUnderAgreste: i mean,,,,,

Felix is pretty rude and we all still like him

ShutUpTurtleMan: and Chloe

YoureUnderAgreste: oh good point nino

Colonel Bug: i hate it here

i spoke to him for like 2 seconds

Queen of Salt: Okay first of all-

YoureUnderAgreste: so i mean it’s not really a dealbreaker yaknow?

Colonel Bug: this familys a nightmare

i shoulda left you all on the street corner where i found you

YoureUnderAgreste: BUT CHA DINDT

ShutUpTurtleMan: but yA DIDNT

GottaGoFast: BUT CHA DIDNT!!

sneaky snake: but ya didn’t

***

I have every no regrets. stay tuned for more!

#my typewriter #miraculous ladybug #batfam #maribat #daminette #mlb #dc #mlb x dc

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spices-and-cherries · 3 years

Text

Rampage (Chapter 3)

JAMES BOND X READER

Chapter 3 is finally out! Is it rough? Yes. Is it months late? Yes. Do I care? No. Why? Because I’m having fun writing it! This chapter does feel a little rushed even though I tried to draw it out. I dunno. Is he too ooc?

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: violence, death, car chase, car accident, alcohol, angst

Masterlist:

Chapter 3: Parcel

James had been too preoccupied to bother following the movements of the remaining men, but he had heard whispers a year ago about a club being formed with some very similar faces affiliated with it.

What if Keery's husband hadn't died afterall? And this was some sort of sick and twisted revenge plan?

For the first time in a long while, James had genuinely no idea what to do.

"Hey." A hand waved in front of his face. "Hey!" He blinked as his eyes focused on the woman in front of him. "Are you okay?" He runs a hand through his hair.

"That paper could be the key to save someone's life. Just... Let me look at it and I'll give it back. I promise."

After a long pause, she holds the paper out in front of her. Taking it, he quickly reads it. Like he thought, it was a receipt involving some sort of business deal with The End Club. Arms trading?

"How did this get into the hands of Slane?"

"That's what I want to figure out too." The woman snatches the paper back.

"What's your connection to them?"

"...Why should I tell you?"

"Depending on what's going on here, I can help you."

"It's a secret." She turned and started for the door.

"Judging by the fact that you have a gun and sneaking about a place like this, you're out for blood, but the thing is, you don't really know how to shoot, do you?"

"...I don't see how it's any of your business!" She stopped, her back turned to him and her fists clenched.

"Well, if we were to run into each other, which we undoubtedly will, I don't exactly want to be shot on accident in the crosshairs." He walked towards her. "You help me by telling me everything I need to know and I'll make sure your bullet hits the mark."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Because I have a strong feeling we're looking for the same people."

-----

"I know a place where we can get a booth." The girl - Violet - pulled out of her parking spot, apparently dead-set on getting a drink. He, for once, could very much do without. Drinking vodka martini's were just the distraction he very much did not need at the moment. But he needed information and was now working on someone else's time. Maybe the drinks will chase the worry away.

Had they hurt you? Did you get fed? Had they taken advantage of you? Were you injured?

A finger snapped in front of his face.

"Wake up! We're here!" When he got out of the car, the cold air hit him right in the face. It brought him out of his little spell - or at least enough to make him think coherently.

"...Vodka martini. Don't care how."

"And a chocolate martini, please."

"A what, miss?"

"Make that two vodka martini's." He butt in, ordering for her.

"What the hell?"

"I should be asking you that."

"What? Chocolate martinis are good."

"And for children."

"...So what will it be?" Asked the waiter, looking confused.

"Just get me a martini." Violet sighed, glaring at James before going back to the menu. "Could you please add mozzarella sticks to that?" The waiter nodded and rushed away. She clasped her hands and looked him straight in the eye. "So. What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"...My father used to work for a meat company." She leaned back in her seat and put her hands in her lap. "At one point, when I was really little, the company was taken over by a new owner and they renamed the place to End Club Meats & Co. My father - being one of the engineers or whatever - was one of the people they kept around. I guess his type are hard to come around. As the years went by, he seemed to be home less and less until one day, some men knocked on our door and informed us that he had died in a work accident." She paused when the drinks were set on the table. "A few years ago, I was contacted by one of his coworkers who claimed that there was more to it than that. Apparently, he'd been called to the head office and never came out. I've been trying to find out who did it and why ever since."

"And Slane?"

"I found his name somewhere and thought he was connected somehow. I was trying to find out how when you found me."

"What are you going to do now?

"Uh, trace the receipts back to who was involved and kill them. Of course, that's easier said than done considering I have no idea what I'm doing." James briefly wondered how she hadn't been killed in her sleep already.

"Are you familiar with the name Stone? He's a henchman of sorts."

"...No? I don't believe so. Now, can you please tell me what any of this has to do with you? I'd like to know my protector a little more." There was an edge of sarcasm in her voice that he simply didn't feel like humoring.

"I work for her Majesty as an agent, meaning-"

"You're a copper. Got it. Move on." He really didn't like her tone.

"Meaning, that I go after people in the underground who are like Slane and worse. A few years ago, I had to track down this man named Keery. His drug trafficking organization had a headquarters in France, disguised as a very large butcher warehouse." A look of realization dawned on Violet's face. "Keery died with many of his subordinates, but I seemed to have overlooked one."

"So the missing person you were talking about is the one you... forgot?"

"No, not exactly." He took a sip of his drink. The burn cleared his mind a little. "My life expectancy is, statistically speaking, low and..." James paused, realizing that he was talking more about himself than he normally would. It felt wrong.

"And...?"

"And it's the same for those close to me." It felt wrong, but he found it liberating at the same time.

"So something happened?" Violet's voice became soft.

"Yes." James rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion.

"So let me guess, the End Club is run by someone who wants to take revenge on you by taking this... person away? And now you need to find them?"

"Yes."

"...Normally I wouldn't do this, I still can't tell if you're lying or not, but let me take you back to my place. We can come up with a plan and get some rest..." James looked up at her incredulously. "What? I got this far - you're not getting rid of me until all this is over. Besides, I have my own bone to pick..."

-----

"- And that's the couch where you'll be sleeping. I'll be right back - I need to get you something to sleep in..." She disappeared into her room. After several minutes of muffled cussing and the sounds of things falling over, she came out. "I hope this is okay. It's all I got." She tossed a bundle of clothes at him. It was a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt.

"Thanks."

"No prob-" She was interrupted by a beeping noise at the door.

"Ms. Dunby, there's a parcel for you downstairs."

"Shit. Okay, I'll be back. I forgot that I had something coming." She hurried to put some shoes on and rushed out the door. At first, James thought nothing of it, but when he checked the time, realization dawned on him. It's almost two in the morning. Who would be getting a parcel at this time of the night?

Grabbing his gun, he ran out into the hallway and hopped three stairs at a time in the stairwell. Violet wasn't in the lobby. He hears a car door slam out on the street. He caught a glimpse of Violet's face pressed against the window of an expensive black car just as it drove away.

Without a second thought, he ran out into the street and, seeing Violet’s old camry, he punched the window to let himself in. After making quick work of hotwiring the vehicle, it came to life.

Tires screeching, he chased the black car through tight alleyways and around sharp turns, when suddenly they were on a main road with surprisingly little traffic.

He stepped on the gas.

In seconds he was within feet of the vehicle. The driver tried to swerve in an effort to out maneuver him, but James didn't have the energy for playing the race game.

In a burst of speed, he ran his car into the back of the black car - hard - and pushed it so it scrapped against the guardrails along the side of the road, sparks flying. They came to a bumpy stop when they plowed into a lamppost.

He clambered out as soon as he could, stumbling over a scrap of junk, and made his way - gun out - to the wrecked car. The driver seemed to be dead, but he couldn't-

"RAGHH!" A big figure slammed open the car door and leapt on him. He flew to the ground with what felt like a ton right on top of him. His gun spun away, leaving him defenseless. A fist slammed into his face. Not having a lot of room to move, James jabbed the man's neck as hard as he could. It gave him a few moments to get the man off of him and identify his attacker.

It, with some stroke of luck, was Stone. The very man he was looking for.

Stone got up, spat, and then threw himself into his stomach - forcing him back down to the ground. The two of them rolled around on the asphalt. One second his face was being ground into the road and another he'd be holding Stone in a choke hold.

"Where did you take them?" James growls, kneeing Stone in the gut.

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Stone's big hand slammed James's face into the ground. His ears were ringing.

"(Y/N)!"

"Huh. You must be James Bond." Stone smiled, but it was wiped away with James's elbow. James managed to roll away and get back up.

"In the flesh."

"Well, I'm afraid to say that I won't tell you shit." Stone barreled into him again, but this time James was ready and managed to keep his feet grounded. He kneed Stone again and again - slowly letting his frustration loose.

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to make you." Stone's grip on him tightened as he knocked James's feet out.

"Not like this, you won't." After a couple hard punches, Stone gripped his neck. His hands scrambled, trying to get Stone off of him. He was beginning to see double. "I'm starting to feel sorry for ya." Stone laughed. "Don't worry - your partner is just fine. They're getting fed - but that was as of yesterday."

A shot rings out, the grip on his neck leaves, and Stone's shoulder is bleeding. But James doesn't notice.

All he can see is red.

What a big man. A scary looking man. He was the big scary looking man that took you. Where are you? Why won't Stone tell him where you are?

His fists are burning.

And then suddenly Stone is under him, saying something. He watches as his nose slowly crumples, as his teeth were turning red, as his eyes became glossy, as -

"James!" Hands are on his shoulder, nails digging in. He growls as his fist seamlessly gets ready to strike. A clammy hand wraps around his wrist. "JAMES!" Violet is looking at him with frantic eyes. "He's already dead, so stop it!" He looks back down. Stone's face was almost unrecognizable.

Had he done that?

-----

Whoops. Angsty Bond feels... Anyway, this is the first series I’ve written in a long while and the first I’ve ever written for Bond, so feel free to give me some feedback! Just be nice about it - I’m sensitive. Also! I'm in the middle of reading Layercake. When I’m done I’ll watch the movie - so look out for some headcanons on our nameless protagonist in the near future! If y’all have any ideas, feel free to send them my way!

- Simpy

#james bond x reader #james bond #x reader #agent 007 #007 #daniel craig #angst #series #fanfiction #fanfic #bond girl #established relationship #action #movie characters

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jenanigans1207 · 3 years

Note

so matchablossom hc: yk how cherry can't sleep unless carla plays him a lullaby or smth??? one night carla's battery gets damaged and cherry panics in the dark and calls his latest contact which, surprise surprise, is joe and gets him to sing the lullaby instead. this works, so everytime they travel together, cherry uses this instance as an excuse for joe to sing him lullabies to sleep~

Oh my GOD I love this so much it’s actually painful. I really hope I did the idea justice because it’s so soft and perfect, thank you SO MUCH for this!! ❤️

—

It’s pitch black out when Cherry blinks his eyes open. It takes a long second for reality to filter back in, fought off temporarily by the hazy edges of the dream he’d just been submerged in. He feels warm, comfortable in his bed as he slowly rolls over to look at the clock, 2:03 am.

With a content noise, Cherry settles back into his pillow. He still has a few more hours to sleep. “Carla, play my lullaby.”

Seconds pass, the clock ticks on, but Carla makes no sounds.

“Carla.” Cherry repeats, squinting through the darkness to where he knows Carla is plugged in and charging. There’s no light coming from that corner of the room, no sign that Carla is even there. “Carla?”

Without a response still, Cherry groans and throws the covers off, padding across his bedroom to where he’s absolutely certain he plugged Carla in before bed. Sure enough, she’s exactly where he left her, but she’s not charging. Fumbling through the darkness, Cherry tries to figure out what went wrong.

The cord is plugged into the wall, that’s a good start. He traces the cord with the tips of his fingers— it’s plugged properly into Carla, too. His clock is still on, so he hasn’t lost power. Confused, he reaches for Carla, his fingers closing around her with the intent of picking her up, but the moment his fingers skim her battery, he understands. There’s a sizable dent right underneath his hand.

Of course.

Honestly, he should’ve expected this, should’ve known to check her more closely once he’d gotten home. It had been reckless, rising to Joe’s challenge at S the way he had, but he wasn’t one to back down, especially from Joe. And really, he and Joe had been skating together for years, so it should’ve been fine. It would’ve been fine, too, if Joe had been able to keep that giant mouth of his shut. But he hadn’t— shocking— and Cherry had risen to a reckless level that wasn’t his style, barely avoiding a wicked fall and damaging Carla in the process.

It’s fine, he tells himself as he heads back to his bed. He’ll just go back to sleep and fix Carla in the morning. He can’t see the extent of the damage but it feels like a quick replacement of the battery should be more than enough to get Carla functional again. Easy, he can do that in no time. So all he needs to do is sleep.

Sleep. In his dark room that is eerily quiet.

It’s completely fine, he tells himself. He’s been sleeping in this room for years and hasn’t had a problem yet. There’s no reason to be—

The shadows dancing on the wall across from him look like menacing shapes.

Cherry closes his eyes, reminding himself firmly that the shadows are only shifting because of the trees outside his window. There’s a perfectly logical explanation, no need to let his imagination—

Was that a creak? No, it sounded closer to a groan.

Before he can stop himself, Cherry already has his phone to his ear, the familiar number dialed and ringing.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Joe grouses into the other end of the phone when he picks up and it’s abundantly clear by the sleepy edge to his voice that Cherry just woke him up. “You better be fatally wounded or I’m hanging up.”

“Carla’s battery is damaged.” Cherry says, eyes still pinched shut. But something about the sound of Joe’s voice is still soothing, especially as rough as it is with sleep.

“And?” There’s a muffled sound that makes Cherry think Joe is changing positions. “I know I’m the most brilliant person you know, but I really think problem solving this could’ve waited until morning.”

Despite the fear, despite the fact that Cherry’s heart is racing in his chest as he hears another one of those creaking groans in the distance, he can’t stop the huff that comes out. “For your information, it’s your fault that she’s damaged. I’m certainly not calling you for advice on how to fix her.”

“You took that jump on your own.” Joe dismisses immediately but the tiredness in his voice is replaced with a bit of that smugness that Cherry knows so well. “But why are you calling, then?”

“Carla’s battery is damaged.” Cherry repeats with emphasis, as if that should explain everything. When he gets nothing more than a frustrated sigh and some mumblings about missing out on beauty sleep in response, he elaborates. “She won’t turn on. And I need to sleep.”

“Oh.” Cherry can hear the moment the implication clicks in Joe’s mind. Because Joe knows— Joe is the only one who knows, the only one Cherry has ever told. And yes, Joe had teased him mercilessly about it, but only in a friendly way that was meant to put Cherry at ease about sharing his secret. And it did. “Same one?”

Joe was a lot of things— primarily a muscle-headed, dim-witted gorilla— but he was not cruel. The image he projected to the rest of the world was often times far from the person he actually was, especially when he was alone with Cherry. The Joe that Cherry knew, the one he had spent many late nights with, shared many glasses of wine with— that Joe was tender and caring.

As soon as Cherry had admitted to Joe that he needed a lullaby to soothe his anxiety so he could sleep, Joe had demanded to know which lullaby. Cherry had showed him, expecting nothing more than laughter. But Joe hadn’t laughed, not even once. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to learn the lullaby, to memorize it.

He’d never breathed a word of it to anyone, but a few times back in high school, Cherry had caught him humming it under his breath when he’d thought that Cherry was already asleep.

“Yeah.”

And just like that, Joe launches into humming the lullaby. It’s soft and quiet, but there’s so much feeling behind it. Suddenly, Cherry’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason. Joe’s humming is beautiful, slow and rich, filling his ear. The creaking groans fade out into the background and the menacing shaped shadows are no longer on Cherry’s mind. He settles back into bed, cradling the phone gently against his cheek as he tries to breathe slowly and just listen.

He really ought to thank Joe for this in the morning, but he won’t. They’ll never talk of this moment again— never talk about Cherry choosing Joe in a moment of vulnerability or Joe being there for him with unwavering support.

They’ll never talk about it again, but they’ll both know. They already did know, that’s why Cherry called Joe in the first place. Because he knew that Joe would be there for him, the way he had always been. And Joe— Joe understood that Cherry trusted him unconditionally, even if he never said it. If he didn’t, he would’ve been surprised by Cherry’s request.

As the world fades out around Cherry and coherent thought begins to fade, he grasps on to the idea of how nice this is, and how much more he likes this compared to Carla’s version. Perhaps, he thinks before he falls asleep completely, he should have Carla be nonfunctional more often.

The very last tendrils of wakefulness are starting to recede and Cherry’s almost completely asleep when he hears a faint, “Goodnight, Kaoru. I’m glad you called.”

It’s the first time in awhile that he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

#matcha blossom #matchablossom #thank you for sharing this idea with me #I love it so much #it’s so soft and tender #and it just fills me with so much joy #sk8 #sk8 the infinity

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lightbeyondeden · 4 years

Text

Beachouse

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

a/n: i like to imagine this one with like,, season 4 spence cause I think that just the right amount of innocent yet horny for this oneshot but it's up to you. Also i used a bunch of dialogue prompts from this list :) see if you can spot them!

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings: kinda smut!! spencer being horny, alcohol, cursing, makeout sesh with heavy petting lol

masterlist

She was trying to kill him.

As a man of logic and reasoning, Spencer had concluded the only probable reason his very attractive coworker would insist on parading around the small cabin the team had rented for the weekend in those tiny white cotton shorts was that she wanted to kill him.

Spencer had always found her attractive. He would’ve had to have been blind not to, and even if he was he still would’ve fallen for the sound of her laugh or the way she left the smell of lavender wherever she sat on the jet or how she was always first to fall asleep after long days spent working cases.

So maybe he had fallen in love with her - even if he hadn’t quite admitted it to himself yet. Love, however, was not quite what he felt as he watched Y/n walk lazily into the kitchen on that Saturday morning.

Spencer had been sitting on one of the barstools that lined the kitchen counter and sipping on a very sugary cup of coffee. He was passively listening to both the birds chirping outside the oversized cabin window and JJ’s latest story about Henry. He had felt nothing but peace, until she walked in.

She was wearing a baby blue tank top (with no bra, not that Spencer was looking of course it’s just that as she was walking in and his eyes just happened to graze over her hard nip-, nevermind.) and those white shorts. The outfit was probably perfect for sleeping in the cabin that - even now in the early hours of the morning - remained hot and humid. It was not, however, perfect for just chatting with Spencer, he already felt an uncomfortable stirring in his pants.

“Hey guys.” She smiled, voice still soft with sleep.

“Hi Y/n, you sleep well?” JJ said without missing a beat, “Lemme get you some coffee.”

JJ got out of her seat and set to work making a new cup of coffee from the keurig that sat on the counter behind her.

“Thank you Jayge, you’re my favourite.” Y/n laughed.

Spencer watched with intent as she brushed her hand through her bedhead and took her own seat at the counter across from him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Y/n said as she locked eyes with Spencer.

Crap, he hadn’t meant to stare. Honestly though, he couldn’t help it. So much of her body was on display and though Spencer considered himself to be a respectful man, he had dreamt of that body more times than he cared to admit and seeing it like this was driving him crazy.

“Like what?” He replied, hoping that playing dumb would get him out of this.

She eyed him suspiciously, however Spencer was saved from the incoming interrogation by JJ returning, coffee in hand.

Y/n gratefully took the cup in her hands and sipped in gently. Try as he might, Spencer couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at her over and over again as conversation between the three resumed.

Slowly the rest of the team began to wake up and wander into the kitchen. Conversation was playful and light, this vacation being exactly the break they needed from their stressful work lives. It may have only been four days, but any amount of time that they didn’t have to spend talking about all the horrible things they saw each day was time they thoroughly enjoyed.

“So I was thinking we could take a trip down to that hidden beach the airBNB people were telling us about. It would be fun to all go swimming together!” Penelope had said, big doe eyes daring someone to try telling her no.

So that's why a team of thirty to fifty somethings were all walking down a wooden boardwalk together, arms filled with floaties and towing a wagon full of snacks (wagon courtesy of JJ). Spencer just happened to look over at Y/n at the exact moment the beach came into view, and he couldn’t have been more grateful for that because getting to see the way her face lit up when she saw the lake made his day.

“There's a doc!?” She squealed, “Morgan! I’ll race you to it.”

And just like that - the two of them took off, splashing into the water and yelling playful challenges and insults at each other, Emily and Penelope close behind. Spencer just chuckled as he settled down into the sand with a pile of books beside them.

Truth be told he didn’t get much reading done. He chatted with JJ and Rossi, he binged on candy and chips, and most often, spent the day ogling Y/n. He just couldn’t understand how she managed to look so perfect even after Derek had thrown her off the floating wooden dock for what must’ve been the thirtieth time that day.

When she finally came marching up the beach, soaking wet and out of breath, Spencer wondered if there was ever a situation where she could look bad. Covered in goosebumps - though the sun was sweltering hot - she tightly wrapped a towel around herself and plopped down in the sand between JJ and Rossi.

“Hey SP!” He chuckled at her nickname for him “Can you pass that bag of chips over here please?”

The rest of the day was spent soaking in the sun. It was full of jokes and swimming and Y/n’s head on Spencer's shoulder. He watched her and JJ pass a volleyball back and forth, he saw the team smile more in one afternoon than he had in the last month. They finally decided to pack it in the sun was nothing more than a sliver on the horizon.

They walked home to the dulcet sounds of crickets and Penelope's voice retelling all the best stories of the day. Spencer's mind moved much faster than his feet did, but all thoughts were halted when he felt a cold set of fingers grab onto his hand. That was one of his favourite things about her - the fact that she loved physical touch. Of course, at first he had a strong aversion to her love of hugs, hand holding, and cuddles, but as they grew into a close knit partnership he found himself longing for a hug from her after hard cases or for her hand to hold when he's walking to the bookstore.

When the team got back to their beach house it was quiet for a moment, as everyone was worn down from all their hours in the sun, their skin kissed with its warmth even though it had set more than an hour ago. Emily, ever a shit disturber, broke the serenity the walk home had created the second she broke out the bottles of wine from the fridge.

Y/n’s had slipped out of Spencers as she and the girls got to work pouring and drinking as many glasses as they could get out of each bottle.

“Movie time!” Penelope declared, plopping herself down on the couch between Derek and Rossi.

Everyone else settled in, and Penelope flicked through Netflix - occasionally announcing a title to the group to gauge a reaction and giving her own opinions on each. She finally landed on ‘Clueless’, a film Spencer had never heard of - despite Penelope and JJ insisting it was a classic.

Everyone was tired, you could tell that without being a profiler, but the group was so set on finishing their day together that everyone sat and watched the movie with heavy eyelids. Y/n was hit by sleep like a truck, and Spencer could tell. Her head fell on Spencer's shoulder and he let his own arms rest around her. It was fine, they were best friends. Best friends can cuddle on late nights - it doesn't mean anything to either of them anyway.

Except it did. It meant everything to Spencer. When he grabbed her hand it wasn’t even really a conscious decision, he just reached out and gripped onto her - he barely even noticed that he did it.

Y/n noticed.

Her eyes shot up to meet his own.

“What was that for?” Her tone was joking but there was a realness behind the whispered question.

“I’m holding your hand because the movie is scary, alright? It’s a… Terrifying… Rom-com… ” Spencer defended.

They both looked up at the screen to see a scene of a blonde girl driving a jeep down the middle of the road and burst into laughter, gaining some looks and laughs from the other people in the room.

“I mean, you’re right. Unsafe driving practices sure are terrifying. Why do you think Hotch doesn’t let me drive anymore?”

“Because it's a hazard to everyone in the car and the berau called you ‘a hazard to the safety of yourself and your team’ when you drive?” Spencer quipped back, earning more laughter from the rest of the group.

Y/n just shook her head and laughed before dropping back down onto Spencer’s shoulder. However Spencer went the other direction, releasing his grasp on Y/n’s hand and setting it at his side instead.

“Why’d you let go of me?” She whispered into his ear.

Spencer allowed himself to let out some of what he had been feeling for as long as he had known her. He looked her dead in the eyes and and tried to communicate all of his feelings telepathically - but all he said was;

“I was scared...”

She looked at him and Spencer suddenly changed his mind about the whole telepathy thing, suddenly praying she can’t see the longing in his eyes.

“Come with me.”

So they got up, said a very rushed goodnight to their friends, and took off towards Y/n’s bedroom. When she opens the door Spencer is hit by a wall of the vanilla perfume she uses. If it was anyone else, he would have found it overwhelming, but because it was her it was more like something intoxicating.

She sat him down on the bed and took a spot beside him. Her eyes looked up and met his honey brown ones, and in hindsight Spencer swore he could pick that as the exact moment his heart rate picked up.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s been going on with you? Why you’ve been acting so strange?” She was still whispering even though the group was well out of earshot.

He didn’t respond, his head was fuzzy and he was just trying his best to put together a coherent thought.

“I’m your friend SP!” She laughed, trying again “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Sometimes I want to makeout with you, is that a friend thing to do?”

Spencer's words hung in the air and he so badly wished he could take them back. Why would he jeopardize the relationship he had with her? For what? Some inane fantasy he had where they were together? The silence made the air crushingly heavy, and Spencer got up to leave but was stopped by her gripping his arm.

She stood up and cupped her hand on his face, and it felt like they stood there like that for an hour. Spencer so desperately wanted to close the gap between them but the paralyzing fear that he was badly misreading her gesture stopped him.

But then she did. She pushed her lips against his and Spencer immediately melted into her. Soft fingertips on his cheeks turned into hands intertwined in his curls, his own hands finding their rightful spot on her hips.

They tangled together, the room filled with the sound of their desperate breaths. In an uncharacteristic burst of confidence Spencer ran a hand under her top and rested it on the small of her back. That was all the encouragement Y/n needed to clamber into his lap, never even breaking their kiss.

“Wait-” Spencer pulled back, breathless, “What does this mean? What are we doing?”

“I love you. It took me way too long to realize it but I just want to spend all my time with you, that's how I know. I love you.” Y/n whispered into his neck, still perched gently on top of him.

Spencer laughed a little at the absurdity of this moment. Girls like Y/n don’t love guys like Spencer - he almost wouldn’t believe it if it was any other girl. But it wasn’t any other girl, he trusted Y/n with his life - he knew she meant it.

“I love you too. I always have.” He smiled and leaned in to kiss her again.

Click.

Spencer jolted awake to the sound of Penelope’s cell phone camera going off. He moved to rub his eyes but found that his right arm was trapped under a shirtless Y/n.

Now he understood why Penelope was taking pictures.

“I got asked to check on you two - you know, see if you were awake.” Penelope was obviously trying very hard to hold back her excitement. “However it seems like I am interrupting something. So I will leave you lovebirds to it.”

She turned and sauntered out the door, but Spencer heard her laughing to herself in the hallway and he knew that in a few minutes the whole world would know exactly what Penelope thought about the compromising position she had just found them in.

The world could wait though, Spencer decided. Y/n had stayed peacefully asleep somehow, and he could feel the heat of her bare skin all over him.

So he pulled her closer, for that one more minute of bliss. One more minute of happiness.

One more minute of Y/n.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #Criminal Minds #fanfiction #bau #bau x reader

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dredshirtroberts · 3 years

Text

Constellations

on AO3!

Rating: M / Lime Pair: Eskel/Geralt Summary: Eskel loves Geralt but their soulmarks don't match - he'd know. They're witchers, and scars are their business. As he joins Geralt in retirement, Eskel figures whatever he can get with the other witcher will be enough. He might get a little bit more than he thought he was bargaining for, but Eskel's never passed up a good deal.

My entry into the @eskelbigbang. Trying something new for posting fic so bear with me. Check out the awesome art by @dat-carovieh on their tumblr and twitter @ LupisLionstooth!

Eskel growled a little as he stumbled off the path, clutching the wound on his side. The scar on his face creased with his snarl as he collapsed into a tree. He hated being wounded. The blood loss was greater than normal and his vision swam as he tried to push forward. The horse beside him whickered softly at him as he tripped. A loose stone, probably—or at least he hoped. If there were nothing in the path that would be worse. That would mean he was worse off than he’d thought.

He needed to keep going. He had an appointment to make.

"You should meet me in Novigrad,” Geralt had said over cards last winter. They were several glasses of his horrible wine in (it wasn’t horrible, Eskel loved it, but he loved picking on Geralt more—loved making his nose wrinkle with irritation, and Eskel did prefer ale over wine but the wine made at Corvo Bianco was alright and, best of all, free) and having a quiet evening.

Most of their evenings together were quiet these days. How long had they lived now? How many of their friends were lost to the passage of time?

Lambert never stayed, preferring the road. They both dreaded his never returning but after the loss of his soulmate—the Cat Witcher that Geralt had helped avenge—he’d never been quite the same.

Ciri had grown up, grown into herself. She’d had a longer than average lifespan from her Elven blood, but she stayed with Yennefer more often than not, and had become a strong woman and mage in her own right. Yennefer, for her part, came and visited infrequently, lost often in her own research and pursuits.

Geralt’s bard, Dandelion, had retired from traveling, had owned a bar, had been a professor at Oxenfurt, and then, eventually, had passed in time from an old life lived long and lived well. Their other friends were either distant or dead.

So, things were quiet.

“Why would I meet you in Novigrad? I’m here?” Eskel had asked.

Geralt had rolled his eyes, “I mean when you’re not here. Back on the Path. We should meet in Novigrad. It’s a mid-point between here and your normal territory. And the biggest bookshop on the Continent.”

It was a tempting offer. And it wasn’t really like Eskel was going to refuse. They’d just never planned to meet before. Geralt had retired from the Path years ago, staying at his winery or traveling to meet his friends but never hunting monsters. Not that there were many monsters to find these days as it was. Eskel’s coin purse had been light for years, the only saving grace was Geralt’s hospitality during the winters, and his generosity with the funds that came in from the winery.

“Alright. Why?”

“Because I miss you when you’re out, dumbass,” Geralt groused with another eyeroll, the bite in his words sour and reminiscent of their younger brother-in-all-but-blood. The quick twitch of the corner of his mouth down and the tightness near his eyes belied the sincerity behind the words, however.

“Aww, I miss you too,” Eskel batted his eyes at Geralt sweetly, teasing, “Alright sure. I’ll meet you in Novigrad. When?”

Eskel was supposed to have been there days ago. But the contract he had been on was not only longer than anticipated but a larger beast as well. A more vicious one. And now he was injured and trying to make his way to Novigrad to meet Geralt.

He needed to meet Geralt there. He missed the man, his closest friend for the past century and a half, his only family. The closest thing Eskel would get to having his soulmate.

They didn’t talk about their marks. They used to. Before the Trials. Before everything had changed.

They were very young, the first time it had been brought up among their year group. Ten boys huddled around comparing the discolored skin that showed the closest their mate would ever come to death and recover from. They were in nothing but their smallclothes, sitting in a circle in one of the dorm rooms of Kaer Morhen and lit by only the fire in the hearth that kept the room warm in the cold nights.

Eskel’s mark was a series of dots on his arm, black-purple like bruises, peppered in regular intervals, dark lines running deep into his skin, touching the veins that brought blood to his hands, peppered in at the crook of his elbow. It was remarked by one that they were like stars—a description Eskel held onto for many years, even onto the Path itself, the constellations of Destiny drawing him to the match to his soul. Some boys had dark red patches on their chests, deep shadows of wounds-that-weren’t-yet slicing through their legs, their arms, their stomachs. One boy, Gweld, had a pale line running right across his throat.

Geralt’s was the biggest. A swath of pink skin from hips to shoulders, like he was flayed open and a new patch was sewn on in a slightly wrong color. Eskel’s heart hurt to see it. He liked Geralt best of the other boys, he wasn’t too loud when Eskel wanted to read, exchanged stories of knights and chivalry and wanting to be a hero with Eskel. And they of course got up to much mischief together, which Eskel always appreciated. To see him marked like that, to know that whoever Geralt’s soul was promised to would have to survive something that bad, was painful.

Eskel and the other boys knew Geralt’s soulmate was a Witcher. It was obvious. No one else would survive an injury that large, that deep.

Vesemir had caught them that night, scowling and barking to get back into their beds, that they’d all have kitchen duty in the morning and for the next week after for being out of bed so late. The boys had complained, whining as they got into their bunks.

The outline of Geralt’s soulmark was etched into Eskel’s mind for a long while after. Forever, really.

They’d discussed their respective marks privately at other times. Osbert had caught them out once, poking and prodding at one another, wondering what the cause of their marks would be, speculating on when they’d meet their soulmates. Would it be before they’d gotten the scars that would be representative of the marks on their bodies? Would it be after? What scars would they acquire and how would they show up on their soulmates?

Osbert had seen their marks. Saw Geralt’s and nodded, his eyes sad but knowing. Then he’d seen Eskel’s. The look on his face was one that Eskel wasn’t able to parse at the time, but as he looked back on the memory in later years, he realized it was devastated.

Eskel didn’t know what caused him to feel that way until he was strapped to the table during the Trials, mages and Witchers alike hovering over him. One of the mages had seen his arm, had nudged another beside him and said, “Look, this one already has where the needles go on his arm. Nearly labeled and everything.”

The laughter that had passed between the two mages frightened Eskel, but not more than the knowledge that his mate, the soul that matched his soul, the one that Destiny herself had picked for him, would go through the Trials, and that would be the worst thing they would survive. Would they die? On the table? He knew it was a possibility but…

Would he die before meeting his soulmate? That hurt worse, the thought of leaving his soulmate to the world without knowing what happened to Eskel. His brain raced through all the injuries he knew he’d acquired since coming to Kaer Morhen—which one was the worst one? Which one brought him closest to death? Which would be the mark on his mate’s body if he died on the table, chemicals and reagents and mutagens pouring into his bloodstream, changing his body?

For the first time in his life, he wondered if his soulmate would fear him after he became a Witcher, if he survived. And as the needles pierced his skin, their caustic, toxic mixtures seeping into him and altering him irrevocably, he cried.

Eskel, of course, had survived the Trials.

Geralt had, as well. Not easily, though. He’d been chosen for additional mutagens, extra tests, further Trials. Once-auburn hair that shone blood-red in the sunshine was snow-white. His skin was death-pale, and shadows seemed perpetually under his eyes. He had been unconscious when they’d brought him back up to the dorms, and Eskel had sat by his bed as often as he could, watching, waiting for his friend to wake up.

If he’d checked Geralt’s arms for the marks that still lay purple-bruised on his own, darker now with the pinpricks of the needles that had actually entered his arm, well… They weren’t there. His arms were as clear as the sky on a summer day. It was as if the Trials had not happened to him. Eskel knew that Witchers healed quickly, that the marks on his arm—the one’s he’d acquired, not the ones he’d been born with—would disappear shortly. But to see Geralt who had gone through more with nothing had…

Had…

Eskel hadn’t realized until that moment how much he desperately wanted Geralt to be his soulmate, until he had been so devastated by the undeniable truth that he wasn’t.

Eskel collapsed on the ground, the world shifting on its axis as he blinked foggy blurriness from his eyes. The horse behind him had stopped obediently. Geralt had trained him well, of course. Eskel didn’t expect otherwise from a man who had trained every single horse he had ever ridden—even if he did end up calling them all Roach.

He wasn’t going to make it to Novigrad.

It was the last coherent thought he had before he slumped to the ground, the world going dark around him.

Eskel had many wounds in his lifetime. Wounds that had brought him to the brink of death and he was saved only by the timeliest of Swallows, of magical healers, of mages. It was the fate of a Witcher. Their Destiny to be covered in marks from their profession. Some wore their scars proudly, some hid them away. Eskel didn’t really mind either which way. Not until Diedre.

The deep, horrible mark on his face certainly made him feel as though he were better off dead. It wrapped around the side of his face, tore part of his lip away leaving him with a constant snarl, reaching to his ear. He knew, in that moment, that whoever his soulmate was, had to hate him for giving them this…this…

This thing on their face.

It was also when he lost all hope that Geralt could still be his soulmate. That his best friend would ever become more. Geralt had always had a rather romantic idea of how soulmates worked. He would take his pleasure where he could get it in the meantime—as most Witchers did, but he would wait to have a romance with someone until their marks matched scars.

And Eskel, the fool, loved him for that. Loved him for his hopeless, idealistic view on soulmates, when in reality a soulmate was just a person, as flawed and horrible as every other person on the Continent. There were soulmate couples who hated one another. Those who never met. Those who hurt their mates, were the ones to give them their scars.

As soon as Eskel knew he was not Geralt’s he worried. He worried for Geralt because the man, despite everything was still soft on the inside, was still the boy with bright eyes who waxed poetic about becoming a Knightly Witcher, who would save the world, not just from monsters but from everything he could. The man who had wanted to name himself Geralt Eric Roger du Haute-Bellegarde entirely earnestly. The man who loved every horse he ever met and named them each after the same kind of fish.

Eskel worried because he could not protect Geralt if his soulmate hurt him, because Eskel was not his soulmate.

Eskel traced the constellations on his arm, the little stars that marked where his soulmate went through the Trials. That marked where he went through the Trials. Absently, late at night he wondered if they were someone he had already met.

After the pogroms and the attack of Kaer Morhen he no longer needed to wonder. If he hadn’t met them yet, they had probably already died.

It was years before he let himself consider that they had died even earlier than that. Likely the first year on the Path. He tried not to think about if they were from the Wolf school or another.

Sometimes he would run his fingers over the shape of the scar on his face, wonder if his soulmate could feel it—could have felt it, he sometimes reminded himself, they weren’t alive anymore, likely. He would think about what it would be to run his fingers lovingly over the mark that tied them together, let them touch his mark—the memories of the Trials were painful, traumatic for all who went through them, but maybe with the fact that it connected them together in so many ways it would be… better.

Eventually he stopped letting himself think about it at all. It hurt too much. It wasn’t Geralt, it would never be Geralt, and he would never know his soulmate.

And maybe, if he were really and truly honest with himself, he didn’t want to know his soulmate.

Eskel woke in a bed.

This was mostly jarring because he had the distinct memory of passing out in the middle of the road, but he’d woken up in worse places than a bed before. At least this time there were no succubi.

That had been interesting.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Geralt’s voice was gravelly as always, and coming from Eskel’s left hand side.

Eskel grunted as he turned his head to look at the white-haired man beside him. The ever-present dark circles under his eyes seemed darker than usual, the pallor of his skin waxier and wanner than Eskel remembered from the last time they’d seen one another.

(Geralt had been looking healthier since he’d retired, well-fed, relaxed. This looked like Geralt on the Path—something Eskel hadn’t seen in years, decades even.)

“You look like shit,” Eskel said, pulling his face into a rough approximation of a smirk. His body felt heavy and he could feel the familiar tug of stitches in his side. At least he wasn’t actively bleeding out anymore.

“Yeah, well,” Geralt started like he was going to retort, but his voice fell flat as his expression did something Eskel wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on the man before, “You’re lucky I caught your scent while I was out hunting or you’d have died laying in the road.”

“Business as usual, then,” Eskel grunted, attempting to sit up a little. Geralt moved quickly, faster than Eskel was anticipating, and a hand was on his chest, pushing him back down into the bed. If Eskel really wanted to, he probably could have ignored the hand but…

Geralt’s long fingers were cold and felt nice on his heated skin and it had been so long since their last hug in Toussaint before Eskel had left on the Path again. Maybe this year he’d actually talk to Geralt about retiring with him, about setting up in the winery with Geralt, becoming even-older-old men together. It wasn’t like the monsters were getting any more populous. He could take up a trade, maybe, and pretend he wasn’t made into a monster himself by mutagens and actions and scars. Maybe he could pretend they were soulmates again, that this was enough.

He suddenly remembered why he hadn’t chosen to retire with Geralt yet. Why he might not ever.

“Stay down, idiot. You’ll pull your stitches.”

“Doubt I need them much longer,” Eskel grumbled.

“The fact that I could see your intestines before I got you fixed up begs to differ.” Geralt’s eyes were narrowed, the slits of his pupils dark in the wheat-gold of his eyes.

“Eh, they needed a bit of fresh air,” Eskel’s joking tone didn’t quite hit, and Geralt’s jaw clenched as he swallowed thickly. Eskel winced, turning away, “That was dumb of me to say, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re…you’re right. It’s part of the job,” Geralt was leaning back, taking his hand with him and Eskel gritted his teeth together to avoid begging him to keep touching Eskel, to never let go.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck,” Eskel shrugged.

They sat in silence for a bit, Eskel’s eyes feeling heavy again.

“You give me something for it?” He asked, his brow creasing in confusion.

“What?”

“For the…” He gestured to his side, “Did you give me something?”

“Nah, why?”

“Tired,” Eskel mumbles, feeling his eyes drift shut again. Though, perhaps the exhaustion is more from having pushed himself on the Path for days on end before his last contract, and then further while injured, from having little to no food because he couldn’t afford it and the hunting was scarce close to the griffin.

Perhaps it was being in a bed for the first time since he’d left Geralt’s side in early spring, or maybe just the safety and comfort of having Geralt by his side again, listening to the man’s steady, Witcher-slow heartbeat and the soft sound of his breathing.

“So sleep,” Geralt’s voice is fond in Eskel’s ears and he thinks it’s probably just his mind making things up as it slows from waking to meditation to sleep, drifting from consciousness to dreams with little to no effort.

Eskel thinks he could get used to it, and fears what that means.

Eskel wakes again and it’s morning. Sun is shining through the window in the corner and birds are chirping outside.

Geralt is asleep, leaned forward on the bed, head resting on Eskel’s lap, and hands clasped around Eskel’s own. Previously cold fingers are warmed by the heat of Eskel’s palms and something in Eskel’s chest clenches in a way he is all too familiar with.

Geralt’s hair is loose, unbound and a tangled mess around his shoulders. Several strands have fallen across his face, a lock of it draped over his eyes, closed in sleep with pale lashes fanned out over dark circles. Soft breaths huff between parted lips that move slightly with the dreams that he sees behind his eyelids—Eskel can see the shape of his eyes darting back and forth beneath the thin skin.

He brings his other hand up, the one unclaimed by Geralt’s grasping fingers, and gently pushes the hair out of the other man’s face.

Geralt is beautiful. And Eskel loves him. He loves him so much.

Golden eyes drift open slowly, pupils sliding from wide circles to rounded slits with the light as Geralt blinks, taking a moment to wake up.

“Hey,” Eskel murmurs, a smile sliding over his face—easy, this time, and he is sure his emotions are plastered all over his face but he can’t really find it in himself to care. Geralt is here. Geralt was worried for him. Geralt slept at his bed rather than in one of his own, holding his hand.

“Hey,” Geralt’s already rough voice is moreso from the sleep as Eskel brings his hand away from the white hair that slides through his fingers like water made semi-solid. “You actually awake this time?”

“Probably,” Eskel chuckles, resting back against the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Been a tough season so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wants to explain, but also he doesn’t. He doesn’t want Geralt to worry about him more. He didn’t really want Geralt to worry about him injured, either, but that wasn’t his fault.

(Their trainers might have disagreed, might have said of course it was Eskel’s fault he had been injured on the Path, but they weren’t there now, were they?)

“What got you?” Fingers trace the line of the wound, healed already, the stitches already out, having been removed while Eskel slept. Eskel shivers.

“Griffin. Villagers weren’t exaggerating the size, after all.” Eskel pulls himself up to sitting, his muscles protesting after so long relaxed in sleep. “Got here in the end, though.”

Geralt snorts, “Barely.”

“Eh, I knew either you’d come find me or it was my time to go,” Eskel half-jokes. A mirror of their earlier conversation. A conversation they’d had about various wounds and injuries accrued over their extra long lifespans. Geralt’s face is impassive, neutral and shows nothing. Which means he’s very upset by this comment.

“Come back to Toussaint with me,” Geralt says, and his voice is soft enough that if Eskel wanted to he could pretend he didn’t hear it.

Eskel isn’t sure what he wants.

“Why?”

Geralt’s jaw works as his mouth stays shut. There are words, Eskel knows, caught behind teeth and tongue and throat that will not come out because Geralt’s mind won’t let them. Ever since Blaviken, he’d been like this. Their hands are still tangled together and Eskel squeezes Geralt’s fingers to his palm gently.

“Why do you want me to come to Toussaint with you in the middle of the season, Geralt?” He asks again. Sometimes saying it again, saying *more* helps. Sometimes it makes it worse. He desperately hopes this makes it better.

“I don’t want…” Geralt starts. Stops. Squeezes Eskel’s fingers back. Then he pulls away. “You’re probably hungry. I’ll get food.”

Eskel drops it. Geralt will come to him in his own time. Eskel will decide what he wants to do in the meantime. A few days rest as planned here in Novigrad will be enough for now.

Geralt comes back with food for them both, and Eskel’s body remembers that it is starving. They don’t speak much during the meal, and when it’s over they talk about everything other than Geralt’s invitation.

Geralt doesn’t bring it back up that day, or the day after. Or the day after that.

They spend a week together in Novigrad. Eskel raids the bookstore—it was very impressive, filled with tomes on tomes of books with knowledge and poetry and stories and everything and anything. Geralt came with him, though he only picked at the plays and atlases, but he purchased several books that Eskel looked at longingly, tucking them in his bags to travel, saying they will be waiting in the library for Eskel when he comes back.

Eskel decided that meant they were not going to talk about the invitation to Toussaint again unless he brings it back up.

The thing is, Eskel doesn’t want to leave Novigrad. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt. He doesn’t want to go back on the Path where he will be lonely and cold, where there is little food and fewer friendly faces. Back to monsters and fighting and nursing himself back to health, to glares and fearful children, to long stretches of time with no contact with anyone other than the horse and his reflection in the water.

He doesn’t want to risk not being able to get back to Geralt.

That night, he begins the conversation.

“We’ve been here a week,” Eskel observed, taking a bite of a soft, buttery roll. He was not sure what kind of money Geralt was paying the innkeep here but they have eaten well since Eskel arrived.

Geralt freezes momentarily. Had Eskel not been watching, he would have missed it.

“Yep.”

“Been trying to think about where to go next. Not many monsters up north anymore,” Eskel keeps his commentary light, his tone gentle and observational only. Nothing to indicate that he’s leading the conversation anywhere.

“Eskel.”

“Geralt.”

Ah, he has been found out. Figures it wouldn’t work on the man who has known him the longest of anyone alive in the world right now.

“I- I can’t-…” Geralt pushes back from the table a little, tension clear in his body and shoulders, “I won’t-”

“I was thinking I could head south. Maybe travel with you. Head to Toussaint. I know they were having vampire problems decades back. You think there are still any hiding out? I bet there’s an infestation in your library. I should really check that out, you know. Since you’re all out of practice and all.”

Geralt glares at him but there is a relief etched in his bones that Eskel can feel as he grins unrepentantly, feeling his stiff scar tissue crinkle the skin on his cheek as he does.

“You’re an ass.”

“Hmm, but you’re friends with an ass so I think that says more about you than me.” Eskel teases and Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Ass-kel.”

“Come now, Geralt. We’ve surely grown past the insults you thought up when we were twelve.”

“Not if you still act like you did back then.” Geralt points out and Eskel laughs. The tension breaks, and the two of them end up nearly giggling over their dinner.

It is good to hear Geralt laugh again. Eskel wonders when the last time he heard it was and realizes it’s been much longer than a season on the Path.

Travelling with Geralt is easy. It is also the hardest thing Eskel has ever done.

They camp on the road. It’s economical, and reminds them both of earlier times, times before the world changed and left them behind. It also leaves them with little to no privacy between them and Eskel has never wanted a wank more in his life than when he has to wake up and watch Geralt still asleep in his bedroll, or bathing in the stream. But trying to get off with another Witcher around is even more difficult than it had been to try and get off in a keep full of them—especially when he doesn’t want Geralt to know.

Because Eskel is sure Geralt would figure out exactly what was causing Eskel’s need as soon as he was caught.

Geralt’s back is nearly unmarred by scars, leaving his mark clear as the day Eskel first saw it. The mark Eskel has seen in his mind's eye for decades. Nearly a hundred years of thinking of that shape, the line of it. The pink is the same shade as it was before but seems so much darker, starker with the contrast to Geralt’s death-pale skin. The shock of color interrupted by fine scars from smaller wounds, and from the bright white hair trailing between Geralt’s shoulder blades. Eskel wants to run his hands over it, claim it, mark it up with bites and scratches and make it his because that mark ties Geralt’s soul to another and Eskel wants what he cannot have.

He turns away, usually, and does not watch as Geralt bathes. Does not imagine what he is doing, does not follow the sounds of the water moving as it is sloughed over skin, hands chafing at dirt to scrub it off, dripping, dribbling sounds as it is squeezed from the long locks of hair.

The trip to Toussaint from Novigrad is the longest it has ever been and Eskel is glad when they arrive at Corvo Bianco, greeted by the man Geralt has hired to run things in his stead. The rooms Eskel normally uses are clean and available for him and he realizes he has actually agreed to do this. He will be staying in Toussaint. He won’t be finishing the season on the Path. He will be with Geralt.

He doesn’t know if he’s made the right decision.

Geralt is far more relaxed in Toussaint than he ever was anywhere else. He allows himself to be open with his affections—something he lost when he went off on the Path, and gained back in fits and spurts after rearing Ciri. Hugs to his brothers for no reason, gentle touches to shoulders and arms and hands, leaning on them when sitting together, especially when drinking.

Lambert always scoffs and complains, shoving the man off and griping about how he’s become sentimental in his dotage. Geralt always grins and laughs, making a joke of it, teasing the youngest of their remaining family and ramping up the gestures to absurdity for his benefit.

With Eskel it is quieter, softer. Eskel always returns the touch, reveling in the chance to hold the man he cannot have. Arms around Geralt for the hug, squeezing him tight. A returned pat to the shoulder or back (where his mark is, don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t–), a squeeze of fingers when their hands touch. His arm wrapping around Geralt’s shoulders when it’s late at night and they’re leaning on one another, deep into their cups and watching the stars and the lights of the town below the vineyards as the night drifts on around them.

If he adds a few touches of his own here and there, well, it’s just to show Geralt that it’s okay to share these moments. And a kiss to the top of the head during those late nights is entirely innocent enough.

(Wishing it was more, wanting desperately for more, more, more, is just something Eskel has gotten used to after all this time. Wanting and wishing is one thing, acting on those is another and he won’t do that to Geralt, he won’t.)

So it is that they find themselves late into the night, out on Geralt’s balcony, several bottles of wine in, and Geralt resting his head on Eskel’s shoulder, Eskel’s arm not around his shoulders but further down his back, settling on his ribs. His fingers are absently tracing patterns through the fabric of Geralt’s shirt—if he’s tracing the line of the mark on Geralt’s skin, well…It’s on his back, Geralt probably doesn’t put that together.

Geralt sighs softly, a happy, content sort of sound, and turns his head into Eskel’s shoulder, headbutting it gently with his forehead.

“You good?” Eskel asks, his voice barely above a whisper. For some reason talking louder feels like it might break some sort of spell between them. Something that would cause them to have to part.

“Yeah,” Geralt hums, a smile visible from what little of his face Eskel can spy looking down at him, “Yeah, I’m… I’m good.”

“Good,” Eskel pulls him in closer, abandoning his tracing of Geralt’s soulmark through his clothes to lay his hand steadily on Geralt’s side.

“You?”

“Yeah. Me.” Eskel teases laughing a little, “I’m good.”

“Good.”

And it is. Good, that is. They’re happy. It’s warm, the last of summer fading into autumn, a breeze blowing and rustling the leaves of the vines in the vineyard below. They can hear music from the town—probably none of the human inhabitants of the land Geralt owns can, but the two Witchers are able to. It’s faint, what with the distance, but it’s audible and sets a nice background tone for their evening. There are bugs making chirping noises and night birds calling in the trees and it’s peaceful and everything Eskel never knew he wanted alongside everything he always wanted.

“Esk?”

“Hm?” He glances down again at Geralt, having been staring out at the lamplight across the valley in a daze, feeling Geralt’s body heat against his own and his thumb absently stroking against the ribbones he can no longer feel so starkly under Geralt’s skin.

Geralt’s face is… much closer than Eskel thought it had been the last time he’d looked down at him and now it’s moving even closer and–

“Ger?” He whispers when Geralt stops, a hairsbreadth from their lips touching.

“I–” Geralt stops again, pulling back a little.

“I didn’t say stop,” Eskel breathes, leaning in and connecting them together in a way they haven’t before.

Geralt is on him like a starving man on a feast, hands gripping at Eskel’s shirt, pulling him in closer, closer, closer. And Eskel goes willingly, opening his mouth to Geralt’s assault, letting him do the leading, finding out where Geralt wants this to go because wherever it is, however far, Eskel will follow.

His hands bracket Geralt’s sides, palms resting above hip bones and thumbs pressing gently into the softer flesh under his ribs. Eskel slides them up and down slowly, just a fraction of an inch in either direction, and Geralt makes a noise that Eskel has never heard him make before and suddenly Eskel is the starving man and Geralt is the feast.

They break for air when even their lung capacity is at its limit. Gasping and panting, Geralt leans into Eskel’s neck, biting kisses into the flesh there, bared because this is home, he is safe and needs no armor, no barrier between his vulnerable parts and Geralt because he can trust this man like he trusts no other on this earth.

“Fuck, Geralt. Geralt, I–” Eskel groans, tilting his head to the side to give Geralt more room, “How long?”

“Forever,” Geralt breathes and Eskel’s hands grip his hips, yanking him closer, closer still, burying his face into Geralt’s neck for his own marks to be made on the pale, pale skin.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel’s teeth bite at Geralt’s jaw, “I wish I’d known.”

“Please,” Geralt asks, “Please come to bed with me. I– I can’t. I can’t wait for you anymore.”

Eskel answers by grabbing underneath Geralt’s ass and hauling him up. Geralt inhales sharply—whether in surprise or arousal is hard to tell—his legs wrapping around Eskel’s waist as his arms drape over his shoulders. And then there’s more kissing, which honestly Eskel doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without because it’s perfect.

Geralt doesn’t have a mark on his face, and doesn’t have scars on his arm, but Eskel thinks that this has to be better than kissing your soulmate.

He carries Geralt through the door between the balcony and Geralt’s bedroom, carefully making his way over dirtied clothes and stray shoes and half-read books to reach the bed. His knees bump the edge of the mattress and he grins wickedly into the kisses Geralt is plundering his mouth with before releasing his hold on Geralt suddenly.

Geralt clearly did not realize just how much of his weight Eskel was holding, falling to the mattress with a shocked yelp of surprise before Eskel was on him again, leaning over him, pressing him back into the bed.

“Still good?” Eskel asks between kisses to Geralt’s shoulders and neck.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Geralt is nodding and his breathy words are half-whined, “Still good, fuck Eskel. Eskel I’m– I’ve–”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.” The kisses he is giving to Geralt get gentler, softer, sweeter, “I’m sorry, me too.”

“You’re an idiot,” Geralt breathes, fondly, “The fuck did I do falling in love with a dumbass like you?”

Eskel’s heart is fit to burst at this and he looms over Geralt suddenly, “Say it again.”

Geralt is blinking with wide, dark pupils encompassing almost the whole of his golden irises, his hair is fanned out around his head like a snowy halo and Eskel wants more than he has wanted ever before and he didn’t even know that was possible but here he is. Geralt is with him, wants him, and he can have him and it’s so much more and so much better than he thought it would be.

Why the fuck did they wait so long?

“Fuck, Eskel. Eskel I love you,” Geralt’s hands rest on Eskel’s arms, but they’re sliding up to cup Eskel’s face, thumb tracing the scar from lip to cheek and back again, “I have always loved you, you stupid idiot. How the fuck have you not known?”

“When the fuck was I supposed to know?” Eskel asks, frowning, “You never said!”

“I thought you did! I thought you were waiting for your soulmate or whatever but maybe you’d settle for me eventually.” Geralt scoffs, “Seriously? You had no idea? I’ve been so obvious that Yen said something about it ages ago.”

Eskel wants to comment on the fact that Geralt thought Eskel was waiting for his soulmate when the whole time Eskel thought Geralt was waiting for his soulmate. He wants to say something about how low Geralt’s self esteem is that he thinks Eskel would have to settle for him, like Geralt isn’t the only thing in the world Eskel can’t put a price on if he absolutely had to. He wants to make mention of the fact that Geralt thought he was being obvious about it, that Yen somehow figured it out.

Instead he just grins down at Geralt.

“I love you too, you son of a bitch.”

It’s good, what they have. It’s pretty much the same as it was, but Geralt is even more physically affectionate and now Eskel can kiss him and hold him and Geralt kisses and holds him back. Geralt is very good at kissing and Eskel tries to be as appreciative of it as possible every time he is gifted with the opportunity.

They have not gone farther than rutting against one another through their clothes and Eskel can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

On the one hand, he very much wants to fuck Geralt. It’s something he’s been thinking of doing for nearly a hundred years, and now that he gets to be so close to it, it’s almost painful that he can’t. On the other hand, seeing Geralt’s soulmark while they’re intending on doing something intimate together, despite how many times Eskel has fantasized about marking it up, making it his, making Geralt his, he’s not sure he would actually be able to follow through with anything if he saw it in the moment.

Geralt, too, seems to be reluctant and that’s probably the main reason Eskel hasn’t made any motions to go further with it. They share a bed at night for sleeping, they wake tangled in one another, they eat together, they drink together, they hold and touch and kiss and say “I love you” to one another like it’ll be the last time they ever get to say it, like it’s the first time they’ve ever said it before, and it’s good. It’s so good. It’s more than Eskel ever thought he’d get, and it’s enough.

Eskel has taken to helping out in the fields for something to do during the day. It’s harvest season and they need all the hands they can get out there, so he joins in and assists. It’s warm in Toussaint, in the early autumn, and he is sweating and dirty when he comes in for the afternoon.

Geralt is sitting outside, drinking and reading his legs crossed as he reclines a little in the chair he’s sat in, reaching blindly for the glass of wine on the table beside him to avoid looking up from his book. Eskel smiles but does not interrupt, instead shucking his shirt off with a roll of his shoulders and taking the bucket of water beside the patio and upending it over his head.

The sluice of water is chilly enough despite the bucket’s position in the sun, and while bracing, it is also refreshing and feels good on his sweaty and overheated skin. He shakes his head out like a dog—or a wolf, he thinks to himself with a smile—his medallion clinking gently on his chest as he stretches out. Not quite as rigorous as a training session with Vesemir, but close enough. He might even be sore later if he’s lucky.

There’s a startled gasp from behind him and the clattering of a glass on wood, followed by a curse. Eskel turns around to see that Geralt has knocked his wine over and is desperately trying to clean it up while also not setting his book down in it. His movements are flustered and Eskel wonders what startled him so.

“Good book?” He asks, a laugh at the edge of his voice, amused by Geralt’s movements.

“What? Oh, uh. Yes. Yes very… very… um,” Geralt struggles to come up with a word. “When did you get that big scar on your back?”

“What?” Eskel blinks at the non sequitur.

“The big scar on your back. That’s– it’s– it looks old but I don’t think I’ve seen it before?” Geralt is affecting a tone that says he’s trying very hard to appear nonchalant, which means he’s failing miserably at it. Eskel crinkles his brow with a confused smile.

“I have lots of scars on my back, Geralt. You will have to be more specific.”

“It’s…” Geralt stands, still acting flustered, and turns Eskel around, laying a hand on the top of Eskel’s shoulder and dragging it down in a rough diagonal before tracing the edge of it—it spans the whole of Eskel’s back, and he thinks he remembers which one it was.

“Uh… Leshen, I think. About… twenty years on the Path? It’s been a while, Geralt, why?”

Geralt spins him around and takes his arm, pulling it forward and stretching his elbow flat. The network of dots on his elbow are visible to the sun for the first time in, gods, half a century at least—he’s tried to keep them covered as much as he can because looking at them was too much. A pale finger traces over them, slightly cool as usual. Eskel wants to take those fingers and chafe them between his palms to warm them up but he knows that would only work a little. Plus he kind of likes that Geralt’s hands are cool to the touch.

“Yeah, uh… that’s where they put the needles for the-”

“The Trials. Yeah. I remember.” Geralt whispers, his finger tracing a connecting line between the star-shaped marks, “Had it done twice.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eskel scowls, remembering the fierce terror at waking up and not knowing where Geralt was, learning that he was having more torture forced on him, then the recovery period where he had sat sentinel at Geralt’s bedside.

“Worst thing I ever lived through,” Geralt murmurs, glancing up at Eskel through white lashes and oh.

Oh.

“Oh.”

Eskel feels numb. And dumb. And like he’s been struck by lightning. Or a griffin. Or a Leshen.

Oh.

“So… we’re idiots, right?” Eskel asks after a moment.

Geralt laughs leaning forward to drop his head onto Eskel’s shoulder. Eskel’s arms come up automatically to hold him, threading fingers through his hair, loose and long and gorgeous. He finger-combs the locks as Geralt shakes, not answering him. Eskel doesn’t worry, it happens sometimes, that Geralt won’t have words.

He does worry a little when he catches the scent of tears, “Geralt?”

“Yeah,” He finally says, “Yeah, we’re idiots.”

“But you’re my idiot,” Eskel says and it’s the strangest, greatest feeling in the world that it’s unequivocally true.

“And you’re mine,” Geralt leans back, tilting his head to the side, and taking Eskel’s mouth with a fierce—but somehow sweeter than even their chastest—kiss.

They knock their foreheads together lightly, eyes closed for just a moment as Geralt’s hands reach up and cup Eskel’s neck and face.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#the witcher #eskel big bang #ebb2021 #eskel/geralt #my fic #my writing #the captain writes #soulmate identifying marks #mutual pining #idiots in love #soulmates #making out #fade to black #happy ending

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