#i miss the brief period of time when i drew him so so happy :')

[snaaildraws]

hunters + the besties

#comparing this hunter with the hunter from my pfp ... damn. #i miss the brief period of time when i drew him so so happy :') #i need to draw more human realm hunter #also man how do ppl draw King #toh #hunter toh #hunter noceda #the owl house fanart #toh fanart #king clawthorne #the collector #king toh

[cardansriddle]

Hi! Happy 1k!! Could I request 12 and 21 of the prompt list? Thank you🫶🏻

Old Flame - (tom riddle x reader)

Summary: Years have passed since your time in Hogwarts and when you attend a ball, you cannot seem to look away from your old lover. Perhaps it is time for the old flames to reunite again.

Warnings: none.

༻♛༺

Your dress trailed on the floor behind you as you strode around the grand ballroom of the Avery Manor. The annual ball they held was spectacularly decorated and included a guest list of only people with the highest rank in the wizarding society.

You sighed, sipping your champagne slowly as your gaze trailed over the people interacting with each other with forced politeness. A humorous scoff left your lips.

You decided to find a corner to settle in so you would not be forced into small talk with your former classmates, however, a shrill shriek of your name pulled you away from your plan, and you plastered on a smile before lightly turning around to greet the newcomer.

"Oh, it has been so long since I last saw you!" Greengrass exclaimed cheerfully.

"It has only been a month," You replied, confused. When you last saw her a month ago, she had a ball thrown to celebrate her engagement with Lestrange.

"Exactly my point!" She nodded enthusiastically, completely missing your point. Her eyes dropped down to your left hand wrapped around a champagne flute, and she tutted disapprovingly. "I do not see an engagement ring. It is time you find a husband!"

You laughed dryly. "I'd rather drop dead. Unlike some, marriage is not the only thing consuming my mind, Greengrass."

She chuckled, ignoring the jibe. "Do not fret. I will help you find an eligible bachelor." With a wink, she locked your arms and turned you so you would face the dancing couples. "Oh, look! Avery himself is a very fine match. I can imagine you hosting the annual balls, what a dream!"

"He is rather too crude for me."

"What about Malfoy?" She nudged you playfully. "You would have the wealthiest man if you were to choose him."

"Too narcissistic."

"Alphard Black?"

"Too g—"

"Tom Riddle!" She whisper yelled, tilting your face with her finger until you saw him.

And for him, you could not find any imperfections. He had many, that you knew, but that man had a magnetic air around him that drew you in until you were consumed by him. You knew that, for you had been with him for a period of time during your Hogwarts years. Flashes of memories came back to you in a blur as you continued to stare at the now grown man, a sense of longing forming at the pit of your heart.

As if sensing your gaze, Tom slightly turned his head to meet your gaze, rooting you to your spot as soon as his eyes held yours. You took in the sinfully attractive sight of him, the perfect curls framing his face and the fitted robes clinging to his body elegantly. Suddenly, all the air left the room. Greengrass, squeezed your arm in excitement. "Oh, my! Would you look at that! He is staring at you."

But you did not reply to her quip. Tom quickly dismissed the person he was previously engaged in a conversation with, and began striding towards you, not breaking the eye contact even for a brief second.

"He is coming here." The girl next to you whispered and this time, you did not resist the urge to roll your eyes at her.

"Thank you for voicing out the obvious, Greengrass."

She scoffed, but continued to cling your arm until Tom stood in front of you, his own flute half empty in his hand. He briefly registered the presence of your old friend, before speaking. "Leave us." No greetings, no pleasantries. Only a simple command.

Greengrass seemed reluctant to part from the scene, no doubt eager to witness the reunion between you. But with a pointed stare from both you, and Riddle, she sighed in defeat before departing.

"I have noticed the way you look at me." He broke the tense silence between you, daring to take a step closer to crowd your personal space.

"I was simply observing everyone." You defended weakly. "It has been a while since I have seen anyone from Hogwarts."

He only smirked lightly, raising his glass to take a sip from his champagne, and you followed the sight of his lips wrapping around the brim—

Stop. You berated yourself.

"You have changed." He commented, his gaze casting down and back up your body in what you assumed was appreciation, perhaps even wonder. His eyes darkened when they settled on your face once again.

"So have you."

"Do you wish to dance?"

It was your turn to raise your eyebrows. "You hate dancing."

Tom smiled at that. "So you remember."

"Of course I remember." A pause. You both understood the hidden meaning behind your words. The small fact was not the only thing you remembered. You remembered everything that had happened between you. Then hesitantly, you asked. "Do you?"

"It is all I can think about sometimes."

It took that one sentence for the feelings that you had kept bottled up and stored away in the depth of your heart to come rushing back at you full force.

You cast your eyes down, hoping to conceal the hurl of emotions steering in your eyes. Tom was a perceptive man, he always had been, and you did not doubt he could read you like the back of his hand.

You felt fingers grabbing your chin, tilting it up so you would be met with his piercing gaze again. There was a smirk dancing on his lips, and your insides churned at the familiarity of it all.

"You still want me," He said lowly, voice only just above a whisper. There was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, one you remembered all too well.

"Do not act as if you do not."

He only hummed in reply. You watched with bated breath as he tilted his head down towards you, a single curl falling on his forehead, and he stilled. Standing just a breath away from you, he waited.

"And what if I do?"

Merlin. He was bad for your health. How could you answer that? How could you stand there, yearning for him, and resist the urge to touch your lips upon his own?

"I would ask you to show me." Came your breathless reply. "Show me how much you want me."

"And after that?"

"And only then I might consider coming back to you."

Tom threw his head back to let out a chuckle, clearly amused with your tactics. He knew very well you would not have the power to refuse him after this encounter, and yet he still played your game. "Very well, darling. How about the library? It will be just like the old times."

The reminder of your little rendezvous in the Hogwarts library brought a blush to your cheeks. The days of you sneaking around past curfew just to have a taste of each other was something you could never forget.

"Well, are you going to just stand there or do something?"

Tom's smirk widened as he allowed his eyes drop to your lips. "Perhaps you have not changed at all, little vixen."

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x ex!reader

[contreparry]

hi Ann happy friday!!!!! can I please see "[pulling other person close, feeling them breathe a sigh of relief]" on whichever pairing you want!

Absolutely! Here's some pre-Fenris/Anders in that nebulous time period between the end of Dragon Age II and Dragon Age: Inquisition, for @dadrunkwriting!

The foolish man ran off.

Fenris sighed and kicked dirt over the dying coals of the campfire, more to work out his frustrations than to prevent a potential fire. The light drizzle of morning rain and fog killed any threatening sparks ages ago. Fenris drew the hood of his cloak over his head and scanned the tree line. He was only gone for half an hour at most, scouting ahead before they made their journey further north. North to where, Fenris wasn't about to say. He wouldn't deny that he felt a pull towards his homeland. He had unfinished business there, and now he had the inclination, the time, and most importantly the ability to set forth and conclude that chapter of his life.

The fact that Anders would be relatively safe in the country was merely a bonus.

Fenris promised Hawke that he would keep the man alive. It was no order, no demand, Hawke had not even asked him to- no, it was all his doing. Fenris made a promise, and he would see it through. And Anders... was a decent traveling companion. Quiet. Too quiet, in truth. That happened to soldiers sometimes. Fenris knew that. Fighters too, after hundreds of battles in arenas. Their eyes stared into the distance, seeing something no one else could. They lived in their memories at times, and occasionally a sound, a smell, a flash of color would tear them from the present and send them hurtling into their past, into a world of fear and pain and-

Fenris understood. He knew what it meant to live with pain and fear. And Anders, in those first weeks of their journey, was a dead man walking, shambling along the road with Fenris guiding him through the worst of the muck. He didn’t do much beyond eat when prompted and sleep when they rested. Fenris hadn't the heart or energy to speak either, so their journey was silent. But sometimes, when the fire died down and the wilderness sang with wildlife, sometimes Fenris would look over at Anders and... think. Perhaps if they hadn’t been so combative, if they showed a measure of grace, if they hadn’t gone at each other with teeth bared seeking blood, if they- if they hadn’t met each other as they were at their worst but as they could have been, perhaps… perhaps they would have had more quiet evenings by a fireside. Seemed too late to mourn what they never had, however, so Fenris pressed on with Anders in tow.

Anders grew chattier as time went on, but their conversations revolved around small things. He would make a short remark about a bird he recognized or some other observation. Nothing profound. It was... normal. At least, it was the sort of thing Fenris thought a normal man might discuss while traveling in the woods, and the thought of them being normal men was so ludicrous he wanted to laugh. But he hadn't. He let Anders talk. Point out birds. Plants. Weird rocks that looked like faces if you looked at them just right. It was almost pleasant.

But now Anders was missing, and Fenris cursed how lax he had grown over a few weeks of travel. Foolish of him to lower his guard. Foolish to think Anders wouldn't give him the slip. Fenris gathered his pack (at least the man hadn't taken that with him) and set off, following the muddy trail of heavy footsteps through the forest. He couldn't have gone far, and based on the path he cut through the brush Anders wasn't trying to hide his route. Fenris could catch up if he hurried. So, he did, swift and silent as he followed Anders' path of minor destruction.

Fenris emerged into a clearing as the morning rain lightened to a drizzle. A small cottage stood at the far end of the meadow. For a brief moment Fenris wondered if the occupants were sleeping through the poor weather, for all the lights within were out. But upon a second look it was evident that the cottage had been abandoned for at least a few years. The door creaked ominously on its hinges, and the grass in the meadow was overgrown. The chicken coop was in a worse state, the roof having collapsed in on itself. And it was here that Fenris found Anders. His back was towards him, his arms braced on the remains of a rotting wooden fence that must have once surrounded a tiny paddock. His eyes were fixed on the ruined cottage, and he did not stir as Fenris approached.

“So this is where you were hiding,” Fenris said, though he didn’t know why he bothered to speak at all. Anders was quiet nowadays, and his spirit companion (Justice? Vengeance?) refused to make an appearance. So it was no surprise that Anders ignored him. Fenris joined him at the fence and looked out over the abandoned cottage.

He wished Hawke were here. She’d know what to say. She would say some pithy remark about the place. Nice decor, she would exclaim. It seems like something that you’d like, Fenris. Look at the cobwebs! But Anders was quiet, and Fenris didn’t know how to start a conversation with the man that didn’t end in an argument. So they stood side by side, leaning on a rotten fence as they stared at an abandoned cottage in the rain.

“Didn’t think you’d find me,” Anders murmured, his eyes fixed on the cottage.

“Your trail was easy to follow,” Fenris replied. So he had run off, then. He supposed it wasn’t that much of a shock. It truth it was surprising that Anders hadn’t run earlier. It was a surprise that he hadn’t kept running. Maybe the weather stopped him. Maybe he was too tired to go on.

“Didn’t think you’d want to find me,” Anders amended. “It’s a nice place.”

“Hmm,” Fenris didn’t know if he and Anders had a similar understanding of the word “nice.” Perhaps the manor was a wreck, but at least it had four walls and a ceiling. Even if the ceiling leaked.

“Needs work. New thatching, clear out the insides, salvage what you can. Build a new chicken coop,” Anders continued. “But it’s good. Far away from people.”

“Mmm.” Far from people was one way to put it. Ass-end of the earth was another.

“I’m decent enough with a hammer. I can give you pointers. And you’re smart. You’ll figure it out,” Anders said, as if he was trying to reassure Fenris, and the unease that plagued him the moment he realized Anders wasn’t at their camp returned with a terrible vengeance.

“What, exactly, are you dancing around, Anders?” Fenris asked.

“It’s a good place for you to stay,” Anders said slowly, as if Fenris was the one who was behaving cryptically. “I’ll help you get settled, and then I’ll be on my way.”

It seemed that, despite his new tendency towards keeping silent, Anders still had the ability to utterly confound Fenris. Confound, bemuse, baffle. If this was a conversation from before they fled Kirkwall Fenris might have bristled at a hundred potential slights, but now he could only stand back and marvel at Anders sheer ability to make the strangest declarations at the oddest of times.

“… did you think that you were playing my escort?” Fenris finally asked, which made Anders stir. He rolled his eyes, sighed irritably (like he did back in Kirkwall, back before, years before this entire mess), crossed his arms over his chest.

“I was thinking- “

“Dangerous,” Fenris interrupted.

“-that I am a liability. You want a peaceful life without mages or magic and- well, can’t get more peaceful than “cottage in the woods,” don’t you think?” Anders said blithely, gesturing towards the ruined cottage with more vigor than he had displayed in months. Years.

A peaceful life away from mages and magic. Fenris stared at the stone and rotting wood before him and couldn't help but think the gesture was... sweet. Terribly misguided, of course, but sweet, nonetheless. Fenris let himself think of it: a thatched roof, chickens in the yard, the wind rustling through the thick oak branches, the silence of the forest in winter. He thought of it, held onto the possibility for a moment, savored what he imagined that life could be-

"... foolish man," Fenris grumbled, and he carefully wrapped an arm and his cloak around Anders' shoulders. "Can't be rid of me so easily. Come now, rain's letting up and we've got a day's walk to the next town on the map."

He felt Anders take in a shaky breath against him as they turned away from the cottage and the meadow. They walked together under the trees as the rain and fog lifted and bird song filled the air. Warblers, maybe? Anders would know, but Fenris would wait for him to say so. Or maybe he would ask later. They had a long journey ahead of them, after all.

"It seemed a good place for you. Quiet. You like that," Anders remarked. "It seemed... I thought it might make you happy. To have a place of your own where no one would bother you."

"It would drive me mad in a year," Fenris replied. "I have grown accustomed to being bothered."

Anders' sigh of relief shook Fenris to his soul.

#da drunk writing circle #my writing

[narakurosaki]

Edward and Winry: Why They Definitely Dated During the Two Year Gap

Since the end of the manga as well as Brotherhood, I’ve observed a chunk of the FMA fandom adopting the notion that Edward and Winry do not begin their romantic relationship until the exchange at the train station, two years after the Elric brothers have been home. Admittedly, this fanon has always been a pet peeve of mine, and it was one that I actively ignored, even as an awkward high schooler that had not yet been in a romantic relationship.

As awkward as Edward is, it’s odd to me that many people believe that he would skip the process of building a solid romantic relationship with Winry before asking her to marry him. Sure, they’re best friends and have known each other since childhood, but, ask yourself: if you were in love with your best friend, would you propose marriage at random, having never made your feelings known, before? I’m not a betting woman, but I think it’s safe to say most, if not all of you, wouldn’t.

We’re going to take a look at several moments within the manga and Brotherhood that serve to hint towards Ed and Winry engaging in a romantic relationship during those two years spent in Resembool.

I’ll be opening with Brotherhood’s fifth opening, “Rain”. It has always intrigued me that the version of Truth Edward sees takes on the form of Winry. I’ve had many theories regarding this that I’ve shared in the Edwin Discord server, but, recently, while researching Truth for a oneshot I’m writing, I discovered this in Truth’s trivia section:

For some reason, in the fifth Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood opening "Rain", Winry Rockbell appears as Truth. Perhaps Winry is what Ed needed most at the time of the episode in which the opening first aired. Another possible reason for Winry's appearance in the opening "Rain": at this point, the scene is playing a review of Edward's review of his journey to this point. When he faces Truth originally, and is then dragged backward through his Door (his ten year old self), he glimpses an outline of Trisha, the object of his sacrifice that brought him to the Portal of Truth, and also the most important female in his life at that time. But in "Rain", he sees Winry instead of Trisha, the current object of his affections and, after regaining Alphonse's body, his goal. A third possibility, is that Winry-as-Truth, was meant to show what he desired as a trap, fitting the next scene: of him screaming within a Philosopher's Stone, before images of every homunculus except Greed. Winry, his desire that tempts him away from what must be done, and the homunculi, whom he must face to succeed.

When we assess the second theory listed in Truth’s trivia section of its wiki page, it is easy to conclude that Edward, though a typical teenage boy concerning romance (not to mention emotionally constipated), came to some sort of realization regarding his feelings towards his best friend. Alphonse has always been his priority since the night the brothers performed human transmutation; he never thought of his future past that. He saw his goal—get his and Al’s original bodies back—and was determined to achieve it. It was the only thing he saw in his future for years. And, suddenly, his father returns, and the fate of Amestris (perhaps, the world, even) is thrust upon him. This, I believe, is what forces Edward to face the emotions he never bothered to acknowledge. There was always a possibility of failure on the Promised Day—Father could have succeeded, and any future Edward envisioned for himself would be unobtainable. He suddenly saw himself sharing his life with his best friend, the woman he had fallen for at some point in his life. Sure, he denied having feelings for her time and time again throughout the series (Hawkeye, anyone?), but that can be chalked up to being a typical teenage boy. Not to mention, he didn’t have time to think about being with Winry. He acted selflessly, focused on getting his little brother’s body back and fulfilling the promise he made to him.

This is somewhat touched upon in the third theory on Truth’s wiki page—the feelings he has for Winry tempt him away from the task at hand. While it does not tempt him away from the promise he made Al, it tempts him away from saving the country. While Edward is not so selfish as to abandon his friends and family on the Promised Day, he does urge Winry to take Pinako and Den out of the country, saving them from the country-wide human transmutation. Though he does not say he will join them, the request is still selfish on Ed’s part. He cares deeply for Winry, and Pinako has become a found family member for the brothers. While he’s unsure if he will make it out alive, he at least wants Winry to see another day.

At the end of “Rain” we see that the storm has cleared, as shown by the sun shining on Winry. She watches Ed sleep peacefully, a smile on his face. This is what Ed wants, this is the goal he wants to achieve after regaining Al’s body—a happy life with Winry.

This moment will be talked about briefly—in opening 4, “Period” (my favorite), Ed and Al pass through each other and look to their surroundings, noticing that they’re alone. Their world comes back into their view with the assistance of those who matter most to them. Winry is seen smiling behind Edward, reminding him that he isn’t alone. Being the first person he sees (or thinks of, depending on how you look at it), it speaks volumes as to Winry’s importance in Edward’s life. She is so much more to him than his mechanic and best friend.

In a blink and you’ll miss it moment, Edward thinks back to those who have impacted his life in a positive way when facing Truth one last time. Truth asks him multiple times if he’s certain on giving up his alchemy; Edward hears the voices of Roy, Riza, Hohenheim, Armstrong, Izumi, Mei, and Alphonse calling out his name. After a brief pause, he hears Winry, This is when Ed proudly asks, “Who needs alchemy when I’ve got them?”

The pause is significant. Ed is able to think of the others—familial and platonic relationships—without missing a beat. When he thinks to Winry, however, there is a pause. We hear her call out his name as he looks Truth in the eye. His goal has been achieved—he is able to sacrifice his Gate to bring his brother’s body back. With this in mind, and with Father having been defeated, Ed is free to think towards the future, and that is a future involving Winry. The pause symbolizes Ed’s freedom to do so, as well as his next goal, so to speak: live an “ordinary life” with the woman he loves.

There is a time skip of at least two months following the Promised Day. This specific scene is worded different between the English dub and the subbed versions. As shown above, Alphonse asks his brother if he’s “…sure about Winry…” in the subbed version as they return home. While we would expect to see Edward freak out to some degree (i.e. spitting out his coffee when asked by Hawkeye; reciting the periodic table when remembering the conversation in Winry’s presence) he only stares at his little brother questioning my. The question by Al suggests that he and Ed had some form of discussion regarding the latter’s feelings towards their best friend. To ask someone if they’re sure of something suggests that the individual has made some sort of decision. For example, one may ask me if I’m sure about my decision to go to college, something I’ve made known to those around me. During those two months spent in Central, or even during the train ride home to Resembool, the brothers had to have discussed Winry. Alphonse is not only Edward’s little brother, but his best friend and confidant. He can tell him anything without fear of judgment, and he feels safe in divulging what he thought of as selfish desires now that his brother has his body back.

In the English dub, the question is worded differently. Alphonse instead asks “What about you and Winry?” While not entirely the same as the Japanese, this question does continue to emply that Edward spoke of his feelings to Al at some point. This line is Al’s way of asking his brother what his plans with Winry are now that they’re home—how will he go about sharing his feelings with her?

Sadly, we don’t get an answer to either version of the question, as the Rockbell home comes into view and the boys prepare to make their return.

Now, to the most compelling evidence, in my opinion… The white hoodie.

Remember the hoodie Edward returns home in? Just a plain ok’ hoodie, right? No significance whatsoever. Or so we all thought.

Two years after their return, Winry is seen wearing the same hoodie when she sees Edward off to the West (in both Brotherhood and manga!). Now, why would a simple friend have possession of your hoodie? Sure, people share clothing all of the time, but it carries a much deeper meaning when both parties have feelings for each other.

Winry had this hoodie before Ed’s awkward marriage proposal, not after, and while this may be the only canon scene we see her in it, the artists for Brotherhood drew Winry in the hoodie at an earlier time.

Notice how Ed’s and Al’s outfits are different from what we see them in in their final scenes. (Note: It’s easy to argue that Al’s outfit is the same, but he actually lacks the tie he wears in his final scene!) The trio seem to be headed for Trisha’s grave, hence the flowers and the cemetery in the background. Winry is seen in that same hoodie she wears at the train station, and the same hoodie Edward wore home. While her outfit is not different whatsoever from the train station (lazy artists, maybe?) this artwork clearly takes place prior to the seeing the brothers’ off on their journeys. She’s also seen carrying a basket, presumably with apple pie, as the basket has made appearances in other Brotherhood art. It’s clear the trio plan to stay out for awhile, which leads me to doubt that even Alphonse is headed out in this day.

Can we also take notice of the heel on Winry’s shoes? She’s clearly shorter than Ed by a lot. Guess she just can’t handle it.

When you have feelings for someone, you don’t just hand them your hoodie for fun. The boyfriend hoodie, as I’ve dubbed it, is a common thing seen in various types of media. When in a relationship, the other party steals their partner’s hoodie and wears it proudly, even if it’s a bit too big for them (also seen in the manga, as the sleeves reach well past the middle of Winry’s hands). Do you really think Edward would let her steal the hoodie he came home in if they were still just friends? He would freak out to some degree and snatch it back. It’s a different story if the two of them are in a relationship.

With how awkward this boy is, there is no way in hell he let two years go by without confessing, only to propose out of the blue before leaving. While the proposal itself was awkward, what proposal isn’t? Rings are dropped, words are jumbled… Nerves get the better of both parties, and that’s what happened here. It wasn’t a confession of feelings, either. When you tell someone you like them (or love) do you ask for half of their life in return for half of yours? Edward was behaving like anyone would when proposing marriage—even if the love you share with your partner is indestructible, there is always that anxiety nagging you in the back of your mind. What if they say no? What if this is too soon? What if I mess up? What if, what if, what if…

In the timeline provided by Arakawa, Edward leaves for the west in 1917. He also marries Winry in the same year. Again, had the proposal been the beginning of their relationship, I just don’t see them marrying so quickly. Edward most likely returned home after a short stint in the western countries, having his fill of traveling, missing his fiancée more than anything. He rushed back home (within six months is my guess) and neither could wait to start their lives together. They’d been together for two years at that point, and lived without making their feelings known for years. I don’t blame them for rushing into their marriage; it’s actually quite cute to think about! But I fail to understand the idea that Ed and Winry kept their feelings for each other under wraps under the same roof for two entire years. Not to mention, Alphonse and Pinako had to have teased the ever-loving hell out of the two of them. There was no way possible they endured two years of that, mixed with awkward, sexually tense encounters.

#edward elric #winry rockbell #edwin #fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #edward x winry #edward/winry #meta #my meta #this is my first meta btw pls go easy on me #holy shit

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 10

WC: 4491

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: period typical sexism, noncon touching of reader by Lombardi (not sexual assault but he's creepy), gun usage, mild violence, language, german, sexual themes, anxiety, discussion about Nazis and art theft from Jewish families during wwii, mention of blood, alcohol consumption

🖼

You will your fingers to steady as you tighten the ankle holster you thankfully thought to pack. You had chosen to wear something more conservative, not wanting to get cold from the nighttime Mediterranean sea breeze. The flared white trousers hid the silhouette of your pistol. A high navy turtleneck covered the wire Niki had given you. As an afterthought you place his ring back on your finger, having become accustomed to the weight and feel.

Despite the days of mental preparation going into tonight you were finding it almost impossible to calm your nerves. The auction was the lion’s den, and you were walking in willingly. Interpol anticipated that tonight would be the same as the gala: get in, scope it out, gather what intelligence you can, get home safely with the painting. At some point earlier in the day Niki was gifted a case full of large bills as payment for the Raphael. All your bases were theoretically covered.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling in your gut.

You down the last of the contents in your glass, which was probably a bad idea considering you were about to go under cover again. But when in Rome? or something like that… you justify. Releasing a breath you leave the bedroom to find your partner.

-

You’d been on the road an hour and Niki had barely said a word to you. In fact, he’d hardly said anything to you since the day before. When he did speak it was brief and purely about the operation. You grew tired of listening to some soft pop song on the radio, grew tired of thinking about the briefcase of 30 million Pounds in the trunk.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you watch the sun setting in the distance.

“Nothing,” he replies lightly.

Turning to face him you continue, “you’ve barely said anything since yesterday.” Was he just nervous about tonight? He didn’t seem the type; Niki was cool and calculated with every step. Had you done something? Was this some form of rejection after the almost-kiss? You hoped not. While it was for the best that you didn’t cross that boundary you can’t help but wish you had.

“I’m fine, just focused on tonight,” he lies. His hands grip the steering wheel a fraction tighter.

You sigh. Tonight. “Well I’d like to think of something other than tonight, and I’m bored of this radio so talk to me. Distract me; tell me a story; ask me something, anything," you slump in your seat.

Niki wants to ask you about everything. About your childhood, your family. Ask what your favorite food is, your favorite film, what your hopes are for the future. And in return he wants to tell you about Vienna, about the time he wrecked his friend’s car when he was young, about his desire to someday retire to Ibiza and lay in the sun and sand all day. But he promised himself he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead he asks about your work, a neutral subject. “How did you get into working for the CIA? Doesn’t sound easy to be a woman getting in this field.”

You huff a laugh. “Now that is a loaded question…” You clear your throat. “Honestly it’s a pretty long story. I had this neighbor growing up, a sweet old lady from Poland. She used to watch me sometimes when my father went out. She had this drawing hung up on her fireplace that I loved to look at; it wasn’t anything special, really. But I thought it was beautiful. Once when I visited home from university I asked her about it - she told me that her mother had a painting in their old home,” you pause. “It was stolen during the war. They were Jewish.”

At some point Niki turned off the radio as you told him your story. “Anyway… She missed the painting because it reminded her of when she was happy as a child before everything. So she drew it from a photograph and hung it up. She let me keep the photo, thought I would like it since I became an art historian."

“And? Your neighbor had a son in the agency or something that got you in?” Niki tries to conclude.

“Uh no, not exactly.” You suck on the inside of your cheek. “Right after I finished my second doctorate I happened to go to a party at an art critic's home in New York City. Low and behold, guess what I see hung up in the guest bedroom?” You don’t phrase it like a question and you don't hide your disgust as you regale the discovery.

“He was a Nazi?”

“He wasn’t, but somehow he got a hold of art stolen by the Nazis." You rush through the next chapter of your tale. "So I took it back. There was this big investigation, yada yada. Somehow I ended up exposing a trail that did lead back to an ex-party member living in the States. I suppose I impressed the CIA with it, so they have me consult on art-related cases. Things like forgery, estimated value, whatnot. Usually nothing this big though,” you finish.

He turns to look at you from the corner of his eye. “Wait - you broke into a man’s house and stole art from him? What are you, Lombardi?” He says it seriously, but you can see the amused upturn of his lip.

You defend yourself. “Well when you put it that way it sounds bad, Niki." Your own lips quirk into a proud grin. "It was restorative justice, is all.”

“You’re a cat burglar,” he laughs. “And the government trusts you with art now? That’s bullshit,” he licks his lips through his smile.

“They saw my value for what it was worth. Priceless,” you stick your nose up haughty.

Priceless. Yes, Niki could agree that there was no one else in the world quite like you.

During your story Niki forgot about his decision to maintain a distance between the two of you. He asked a few follow ups to your story.

Then all at once it comes crashing back like a pit in his stomach, his need to keep distanced from you. The conversation drifts off between you again, and he says very little. You don’t push him but you feel the absence in his quiet. All too soon he’s pulling up to the dockyard and warehouse 31.

He cuts the engine. Neither of you make a move to get out of the car at first. The sounds of gulls and the occasional ship horn can be heard in the distance as you sit in silence. Niki pops open his door, but at your hesitation, halts. He studies you for a minute; your bottom lip is caught in your teeth as you chew it harshly, your eyes locked ahead onto the water. You were always so relaxed in everything you did; so sure of yourself. Now, Niki swears you are shaking in your boots. Closing the door he twists to face you.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course I’m nervous,” you bite back. Meekly, you add “I just don’t have a good feeling about this and… and I’m scared.” You don’t look at him as you reveal the cracks in your facade.

“Hey,” he covers your hand with your own, causing you to meet his gaze. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll be right there with you the whole time. You have your gun?” You nod. “Good. We have a plan, we aren’t pulling any risks beyond necessary. It will be fine, Schatz.”

You wrap your fingers in between his as he speaks. You only let go to exit the vehicle before finding them again.

_

The warehouse is more cramped than you anticipated. You expected to enter an empty shell with high ceilings and echoes bouncing off the metal walls. Instead, stacked wooden crates line the walls and create smaller cubicle-like sections in the back. A wooden pallet serves as a stage in the far end of the main ‘room’.

Upon seeing more than a dozen paintings and sculptures you freeze in your spot; Niki’s grip on your hand nearly wobbles you off your platform sandals when he keeps walking. “Careful, sweetie,” he tells you. Niki gives a look that pleads for you to focus, to stay in character.

“Sorry,” you whisper back as you gather your bearings. Your heart clenches as your eyes drift from each glass-enclosed piece. Millions of dollars worth of art surrounds you, paintings and the like that represent culture, history, identity. All stolen for profit. You feel like you could be sick to your stomach.

You wrap your arm around his back. The glock hidden beneath his coat presses into the crook of your elbow, another reminder of what tonight is.

“Ah, mia bella. I am so glad you could attend tonight,” Lombardi announces as he walks over to where you stand with Niki. You plaster a bright smile on as you face him. He leans in to give you a kiss on each cheek, which you return in greeting. “I trust you brought what I asked of you?” He shakes Niki’s hand. Lombardi is much rougher in his treatment of your fiancé. You want to roll your eyes at the ridiculous pissing contest between the two.

“Of course, what my Schatz wants, she gets. How could we pass up such a generous offer?” Niki supplies, tightening his grip on your back. The men share a look. Just like the gala, Lombardi breaks first.

“Very good! I have some business to attend to with other patrons, but perhaps you would like to look around?” He waves his hand towards the artwork. “The show will begin soon. But do not worry, mia bella. I have your treasure in a special place where it is safe.” Lombardi winks, picking up your free hand to plant a wet kiss to the knuckles. He leaves you.

“Find me a drink, will you?” you mutter to Niki.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He looks at you worried.

You turn into his body to shield your words from eavesdroppers. The smile you wear becomes increasingly fake as you say “It’s either a drink to hold in my hands or I'm going to go on a rampage and put a bullet in our dear friend’s head.” You felt frayed like a livewire. The anger that coursed through your veins was enough to actually consider murder.

His brows shoot up at your statement. “I will see what I can do.” With that he leaves you to see if there are refreshments. While he’s gone you spend your time studying a Holbein print. Thankfully, Niki returns after only a few minutes with some sort of liquor in a glass. You waste no time downing half of it in one go.

The beginning of the night follows much the same. You observe those present at the auction. One or two guests you think you might recognize as well respected from the art world. Pathetic, really.

Most of the time you spend looking over the artwork. As usual, you explain to Niki the pieces and their history. For a moment you even forget the reason you are here, as it feels like you are in any other museum, if not a bit avant garde. But you know you aren’t.

If Niki thinks anything of your agitation he says nothing. You however, are getting more annoyed with his attentions, or lack of. He’s indifferent, despite the nearness in which he stands. You consider that perhaps this is his way of giving you space in your frustrated state, but given that he started this behavior the night before you think it runs deeper. His eyes don’t linger like they used to when you talk, his touches are shorter and fewer. In all honesty you are feeling the distance and you hate it. You want him to be warm and affectionate. Against better judgement, you crave him in every manner of speaking. You aren’t sure when he wormed his way into your chest.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask into your glass as you down your second drink of the night.

Niki stiffens at your question. “Why would I be mad at you?” He’s not mad, no. But he is agitated by you. By how smart you are. By how fiesty you are. By how absolutely gorgeous you are. He almost can’t stand to be in your presence because he knows he can’t have you to himself. Because you’re his colleague. Because you’re in the middle of a covert operation. Because you would prefer Hunt’s presence over his.

Your words are hushed. “Niki, you hardly talk to me anymore. You don’t look at me like you used to. Did I say something? I thought we were….” you trail off, disgusted by how pitiful you must sound. Your lips purse as you check to see if anyone around you is listening to your confession.

He feels the intense urge to come clean, to explain everything to you in that moment. But logic and judgement get the better of him. So he lies. “No, nothing is wrong.”

You are about to call bullshit on him, but a man with a thick Italian accent beckons the crowd to gather for the auction’s start.

Fold out chairs have been placed around the stage area for guests to sit in. Niki chooses a pair towards the back that allows you to see the rest of the crowd. His arm rests on the back around your shoulders, you settle into his warmth.

The bidding starts with the Holbein you had been admiring. A whopping 10 million pounds for a simple print is the starting price. Sounds of the auctioneer and bidding patrons become blurred as you sit there, unable to focus on anything as you lock eyes on Lombardi. He stands to the side, a sly grin on his face as he makes millions.

You don’t realize that the auction is over already until Niki is inches from your face, his brows knitted as he calls your name. “Sorry,” you apologize. He sits back, still concerned about your dissociative behavior. Nevertheless, you peer around his head back to where Lombardi stands. He catches your eye this time, crooking a finger at you to come to him.

“Come, dear.” You grab Niki’’s hand and pull him up. His grip is firm and comforting.

Lombardi leads you behind a tall stack of crates. There, in the center of the space, is the Raphael from the Uffizi. The portrait of a raven-haired woman, her skin pale as milk, draped in the finest golden silks stares back at you. She is not encased in glass like the others were, you notice. You unclasp your hand from Niki and step up to the painting. Your fingers ghost a hairsbreadth from the surface of the canvas as you take it in.

“You like it, mia bella?” Lombardi chimes in from where he watches you.

“She-” you let out the breath you hold “-she’s incredible.” You stand in awe at the lifelike realness of the work.

“Wonderful!” He claps his hands together. “Now, if you would be so kind, fiancé, and retrieve the agreed upon price, then we can be in business.” Lombardi flashes a slimy smile between you and Niki.

“Niki, dear,” you prompt. He nods, understanding your permission to leave you with the man while he fetches the briefcase. You watch as he walks away.

“Tell me, mia bella, how did you and this fiancé meet? I did not ask the other night.”

At his inquiry you remember the tale Niki spun on the couch only a few days prior. “Oh! It’s really quite a sweet story, Fabricio.” You push out a fake giggle. “I came here on vacation and I was in a museum in Vienna. It’s one that he is a donor for," you explain. "He saw me there and told me he had to come speak to the ‘most beautiful piece of art in the entire gallery’. We went for coffee, and one thing led to another and he asked me to stay. And I did.” You lift your hand to show off the ring you wore. The overhead light sparkles against the clear stone.

He steps into your space. The smell of cigars overwhelms your senses. “Hmm, I could never fault the man for that, seeing as he is right.” His middle and index fingers raise and make contact with your cheekbones, delicately caressing the scarred tips down your jaw and over your neck. You suck in a sharp inhale. “When one has the grace of an angel, as you do-” his words cut off as he reaches the top of your sweater’s collar, the material tugging down. He blinks, his face hardening. “What is this, mia bella?”

He fingers the edge of the adhesive strip just under your turtleneck that holds the microphone wire in place. You jerk back and cover the spot with your palm. “It’s nothing, just a bandage. I’m afraid I burned my neck on a curling iron yesterday, silly me. You know us girls, can’t do anything without a little help,” you chuckle. Heat crawls up your neck and face, your heart beating like the hooves of a racehorse.

Lombardi remains apprehensive. “My dear, you look flushed, are you alright?” His eyes darken as he stares at you.

Panic rises in you. There’s no way he doesn’t suspect something of you now. “I… I think I may have overdone myself with the drinks earlier. Maybe I should get some fresh air, I’ll be back in just a moment.”

“Should I accompany you outside?” You don’t miss the way his tone has shifted from overly warm and laced with innuendo to one that is hard and calculating.

“No, no, Fabricio. I’ll be fine, please, stay,” you tell him as you back out of the room as calmly as you can. Even as you walk through the warehouse to the door you can feel his eyes burning into your skull. As you open the door you catch sight of him speaking angrily into the ear of one of his goons. You swallow.

Niki sees you exit the building as he returns with the money. You walk briskly towards him. He gives you a questioning expression as he makes it in front of you. “What-”

You claw into his arm and whisper “he knows.” The force of your grip twists Niki on his heel back in the direction of the car. Carefully you slip your hand beneath his jacket and wrap your fingers around his gun, pulling it out of his waistband but not from the cover of the coat. Your arm around his waist pushes him to walk with you.

“He- what?” Niki whispers back.

The bang of the door to the warehouse opening behind you and shouts in Italian makes you both jump into a sprint. “He fucking knows!” Your heels prove difficult to run in on the gravel path, but you don’t let it stop you. Niki has one hand in yours keeping you stable while your other hand brandishes his glock. You throw yourselves into the car, rolling the engine over and slamming the gas to the floor the second the first bullets start flying.

Whipping around in your seat you see three goons start up a black van and begin chasing you. “Hate to make this sound like a cheesy action film,” you start, “but we’ve got company.” Niki acknowledges you with a grunt, shifting through the gears with ease. The van makes haste behind you.

“This is a fucking Ferrari, can’t you go any faster!?” you shout over your shoulder.

“Maybe if you sit the fuck down and buckle your seatbelt I will! I’m not going to take the risk of sending you through the windshield,” he yells back. You huff but do as he says. The door handle creaks under the force of your death grip as Niki weaves between parked cars, shipping containers, and buildings to escape the oddly-fast enemy on your bumper.

A well aimed shot takes out one of the side mirrors; “Scheisse! What did you do that he figured us out?!”

“What did I do?!” you snap back, trading his glock for your own weapon from its holster.

“Yes!”

“I didn’t do anything! The bastard put his hands all over me and felt the wire under my shirt, asshole!” you ground out. He huffs at you. Another pop of a gunshot sounds before Niki pushes the car to go faster, sending the car flying through midair over a small hill and onto a forested road. You feel your stomach in your throat as the vehicle slams back to the paved road you swerve along. It’s late enough that there are no other cars on the tiny winding road. He takes the curves much faster than you would be brave enough to do given the circumstances.

He growls in response to your explanation. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbles. Niki swerves to avoid a rut in the pavement, sending you into the metal of the door.

A second set of headlights reflects off the mirror. “Shit, there’s another car.”

“It’s Hunt.”

“How can you be sure?” you ask.

“Because he drives like an asshole.” he deadpans.

Around the bend of a curve a bullet shatters the glass next to your head, spraying you with shards and ripping a yelp from you. Niki’s hand yanks you down into the center console. You rip him off your scalp. “Stop! God I’m so fucking done with tonight. Ugh! What is your deal with James?” You don’t expect an answer as you voice your thoughts aloud.

Niki mutters “he doesn’t know when to back off,” under his breath.

“What?” you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Don’t be stupid. He’s all over you, he flirts with you all the time. He just wants to fuck you and you play into his little games when we should be working," Niki snarls.

You scoff, once again twisting back to look out the rear window at the van still firing bullets at you. “So you are mad at me.”

“If you want to fuck him so bad, be my guest. I don’t care what you do or who you do it with. But don't jeopardize the mission.” Niki’s voice raises in annoyance as he tells you.

“You really want to do this now?” The sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of putting the case at risk for sex pisses you of beyond reason. Not once have you actually given James the impression that you were about to hop in bed with him.

“Why not, there’s nothing better going on, clearly,” he snarks back sarcastically, never taking his eyes off the road.

Your eyes nearly roll out of their sockets. "God you're fucking dense, Niki." You unclip your seatbelt and move your arm with the weapon out the broken window. Glass shards prick your forearms where you rest your body weight.

“Was zur Hölle machst du!?”

“Drive steady, will you?” you complain in response. “I saw it in a movie once, looked cool.” Careful of the branches whipping past your exposed upper body, you take aim and fire at Lombardi’s men. The first shot gets the windshield, cracking the glass and obscuring the vision, but doesn’t shatter it. Your second shot misses entirely. "Dammit!" A third shot finds home in the rubber of a tire thanks to a perfectly timed curve in the road.

With a screech the van goes lurching left and directly into the trunk of a tree. The crash is deafening. Thankfully, the car with James in it moves in time to veer around the wreck safely. With a sigh of relief you duck back inside the safety of the car.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Niki yells at you. The entire situation had him flustered and raging with adrenaline. The sight of your ass in his face almost caused him to crash until he realized that you’d stuck your entire upper body out into the open. He was petrified. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel immensely turned on at the sight of you being a daredevil with a pistol and taking out the pursuers.

“No. And I’m not going to sleep with Hunt. I don’t know why the hell you think I am, but I told you,” you cock your brow at him, “he’s not my type.”

_

The drive to a hotel an hour from Piombino is silent. A cold breeze pelts your face due to the knocked out window in your door. It feels nice. A reprieve from the adrenaline and sweat of your escape.

It's one in the morning when he parks the Ferrari near the back of the building to hide from view. Nobody needs to question why your car is riddled with bullet holes and broken glass. Niki checks you in. You stand there looking probably as worse as you feel, your white pants stained with dirt and blood. He gives you the key and you take off to your shared room. Niki and James go to debrief in Hunt's suite.

Your shower is hot, scalding really, as you do your best to scrub the remnants of the night from your skin. The weight of the evening has finally caught up with you.

You were caught. You could've died. Niki could've died.

And it would've been your fault.

They say that when you experience a life and death situation it causes you to really reevaluate your life choices. To reflect on the bad decisions. To consider your future options. Suddenly, things that didn't matter do, and those that did matter seem insignificant. You're more willing to take risks to get what you want.

You sit in your pajamas at the foot of the lone bed when Niki arrives. He walks over to you, carefully lifts your arms to inspect the cuts that cover your skin. "Are you okay?" His tone is the opposite of what you heard earlier. He sounds remorseful. Worried.

"Yes. I'm fine."

He nods, "good." He hasn't let go of your hands.

They say life and death situations change your perspective on things. Like how you knew it was a bad idea to break the professional boundary between you and Niki. How it was a terrible idea to think of the man every waking moment in an endless loop. How it was unthinkable that you wanted to kiss the living daylights out of him and never let him go.

How you didn't care anymore about what you shouldn't do when it came to him.

"Niki?" you whisper.

"What is it, Schatz?" His grip tightens on your fingers.

"Will you just fucking kiss me already?"

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @dragon-baron @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze @loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore @lorna-d-m @zemosimp05 @hungrhay @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @danielbruhlswife @i-am-dead-inside-666

#The Heist #Niki lauda #Niki lauda au #niki lauda x reader #Niki lauda x reader #rush 2013 #niki lauda rush 2013 #daniel brühl #Daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl fanfiction #niki lauda fanfiction #Niki lauda daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl niki lauda #Tw anxiety #Tw blood #Tw gun use #Scuttle-buttle

[laufulneutral]

We all know how much I love music Inspos! So here’s one that came to mind whilst I’ve been obsessing over this Coldplay song recently.

I’m sorry if this is crap. Only briefly re read so have fun or not cool thanks bye haha

(It’s a sad Arthur moment)

You are Arthur’s fiancée. Arthur turns up out of the blue after disappearing for 3 months after shish went down in Valentine and the gang had to leave. He never told you and he hasn’t been responding to letters. This isn’t the first time he’s had to go, he disappears a lot to do jobs for Dutch, but you always knew. However things have been strained since the trouble in Blackwater and Arthur goes for longer periods between seeing you, and he doesn’t have the time to see you and it’s all coming to a crashing reality, that unless you keep running with the gang, you can have no future together

A sharp knock on the door takes your attention away from the book you had become so engrossed in. You look up as your Aunt leaves the room to answer the door.

Soon enough you hear the familiar drawl of the outlaw,

“Hello m’aam, is Miss Y/LN here?”

A brief sense of happiness and relief floods your system before it’s taken over by anger again. Anger that he left, anger he hasn’t written once to you or even responded to any of the letters you wrote to him.

“I shall go see”

You hear the door close, and your aunt appears in the entrance to the room

“Mr Morgan is here to see you” she smiles gently, worry etched into her face. You return the smile, and nod once before putting your book aside and standing to straighten your skirt.

“I can tell him your busy” you aunt offers,

“No it’s okay” you reply, twiddling the silver band with a single ruby raised from it on your finger. “He is meant to be my fiancée, I cannot ignore him”

Pulling open the door you are greeted by the familiar cowboy,

“Arthur” you greet him

“F/N” he smiles broadly, taking your hand and raising it to his rough lips placing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. The touch sends electric through your body, some things never change no matter how long it has been. “Y’look lovely darlin’”

You close the door behind you and attempt to offer him a smile. You can’t bring yourself to say anything amongst the anger and hurt that’s bubbling more now you are seeing him in person.

“I’ve missed ya” he says, awkwardly knocking his foot against the wood of the porch. The tension between you is thick, “ain’t stopped thinkin about ya since I’ve been away.. some strange people down south”

“Why are you here Arthur?” You snap, unable to continue anymore small talk. His face blanches and his eyes show a quick glimpse of shock and hurt

“I missed ya, and I wanted to say sorry” he answers plainly

“For what?”

“What?” He grunts

“For what Arthur. What are you sorry for?” you demand, impatient with him already.

“Erm…”

You let out a harsh laugh, walking away from him to the low fencing of the porch. You wrap your arms around yourself pleading it will keep you together,

“I would have been back sooner but we ran in to trouble”

You shake your head “ain’t that always the way”

“Ain’t nothing I could of done.. Dutch said..”

You spin round to face him, your patience snapping “well if Dutch said it then it must be gods word”

“Y/N.”

“Don’t” you hiss “I am your fiancée … least I thought I was till you disappeared and I had no idea where you were for 3 months”

“I’m sorry.. Pinkertons showed up and after what happened in Valentine I couldn’t come back and see ya in case someone recognised me”

“How about letters Mr Tacitus Kilgore? Did pinkertons take over the postal system too!” You sneer,

“No” Arthur mumbles, his eyes stuck firmly on the floor. He is so inherently frustrating, he never understands how him disappearing effects you,

“You cannot begin to fathom the thoughts I’ve had about you since you left! I thought you was dead!” You exclaim, your hands swing around widely

“Oh darlin..” Arthur hums, his eyes meeting yours with concern, “course not, I ain’t trying to make you worry”

“What was I meant to think ? I rode out to horseshoe and found it abandoned.. I thought cause I hadn’t heard from anyone that you must be ..” you take a deep breath to stop your voice from cracking and shake your head “That was till I saw Trewlany, he told me you were holed up somewhere near Rhodes. I didn’t believe him at first.. said you would have let me know if you had to go”

Arthur says nothing watching you with a blank expression

“Arthur I have wrote to you. I have wrote and wrote and worried and cried…” you stop yourself, turning away from him again to not have to see his face,

“What can I do to fix it?” Arthur asks you, his voice desperate

You shrug, before mumbling “I just wish it could be like it used to be, y’know back in Blackwater”

Silence stretches out between the pair of you, only broken when Arthur sighs heavily,

“I ain’t too sure what to say darlin.. I’m sorry and I’m here now… ain’t that enough?”

“We’ve done this before Arthur, you do something wrong, I get hurt and then you apologise. We are running in circles, and I keep getting hurt. I’m tired of it”

Arthur comes up behind you and wraps his two warm arms around you. The scent of pine and campfire invades your senses, the smell of him bringing comfort to you the same as it always has done.

“You darlin, are the most important thing to me” he says gruffly, his lips kissing you lightly on the side of your face, the electric tingle igniting your skin, “please forgive me”

“I always do” you answer, your voice exasperated “but that ain’t changing anything, you do it again and again .. disappear for weeks .. this time 3 months. What will it be next time Arthur? 6 months ? A year?”

Arthur’s arms stiffen around you,

“This is my life Y/N, you knew that when you met me and you knew that when you agreed to marry me” he says, his voice irritated “Nobody said it would be easy”

You laugh, shocking yourself, before shaking your head “you’re right ! Nobody said it was going to be easy. Being in love with an outlaw” you take a deep breath before admitting the truth “but no one ever said it would be this goddamn hard”

Your voice cracks, and your eyes begin to threaten unshed tears that have built up over the last few weeks. Arthur turns you in his arms so your face to face, you look up into his sea blue eyes,

“What are ya sayin” he asks warily,

You search his face for something to change your mind on the hard decision you’ve been thinking over for the last month. You find it hard to face the reality when you are in his presence, he is so intoxicating and just seeing the man you love brings you such comfort. Yes he looked different. His beard has grown out a lot since you last saw him, his scar no longer visible under the untamed hair, and he still wore that silly blue, very worn shirt that suited him so well, but he was still that same man who you fell in love with. The same man who drew pictures of you and taught you to ride a horse. The man who when he proposed dropped the ring cause he was so nervous. The man you thought would be your husband

“Say something’” Arthur whispers, his eyes watch you intently,

“I can’t do this anymore” you say barely above a whisper . His eyes go wide and a hand immediately holds your chin so you can’t turn away. His eyes frantically search your face,

“You’re leaving me?” He says with disbelief.

You close your eyes, as tears start to form. When you open them again, you look down at your ring finger. Sliding the gold band off, you hold it out to him. Disgust fills his face at this gesture, his grip on your chin loosens as he steps away from you.

“Y/N… no... I love you” he says, his voice cracking. His face is holds a frown, as he looks at you with hurt and disbelief,

“I love you too Arthur.. but it’s not enough, this is too…hard” your voice cracks and the tears fall down your cheek. You look away from him, but Arthur grips his hands on your arms, making you look up at him through watery eyes,

“It won’t be much longer darlin’…I know it don’t seem great now, but as soon as we have enough money we’ll be gone.. just the two of us” he reassures you with so much belief that you so badly want it to be true. However you know the horrible truth, that there was never going to be that time.. there is always one more job, one more favour to do.

You shake your head, “I think you know as much as me that ain’t the case… you’ll never change that part of you, I wouldn’t want you too. It’s what makes you who you are” you place your hand with the ring in over his heart, “but I am not the women who can live that life with you, I’m sorry”

You slip the ring into the breast pocket of his worn shirt. The same shirt he wore when you first met, it hugs his frame so well and was the first thing you noticed when you met him in Blackwater. The grin he gave you after he brought you a new drink to replace the one his friend Sean spilt when he was trying to dance on the saloon bar. Arthur was so carefree back then, but since the trouble in Blackwater it’s got worse. You respected his lifestyle but couldn’t be a part of it yourself, and had enough of moving all the time. Staying in Coulter was the breaking point, and you both agreed you would stay permanently in Valentine, since it was not meant to be long till you and Arthur left together.

Stepping back out of his grasp, his faces drops and he reaches out again taking your hand which his larger one.

“I love you…so much” Arthur mumbles confused, a broken look on his face that is no longer hidden by his facade of confidence

You smile weakly at him, tears running down your cheeks “I know”

Your voice cracking through the sobs as you pull your hand from his and turn for the door

“Goodbye Arthur”

You step through the door, closing it behind you before he does anything stupid, like kiss you. You knew that was all it would take to get you to stay, you love him too much. Leaning your back against the door you slide down, the sobs overtaking your body.

After a few seconds you hear Arthur’s foot steps recede , and then hooves disappearing until the house becomes silent.

#Spotify #arthur morgan x y/n #red dead #arthursty #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption community #thirsting after arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #fanfic #red dead fandom #sfw

[fleckcmscott]

Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too. 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

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#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[nxrthmizu]

---

Prompt: ‘First Kiss’ 

Pairing: Daminette

Words: 1,562 Words 

A/N: ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST then fluff 

---

The first kiss. 

The first, special moment when two souls meet and use a wordless action to express their feelings for each other. Alternatively, it could be a completely spur-of-the-moment, thoughtless, and immediately regretted in the next moment. 

Because that’s what then fifteen-year-old Marinette’s first kiss had been like. 

Oh, she had regretted it the moment their lips touched, because she knew instantly they were two puzzle pieces that were clearly not meant to fit. She had stumbled backward, staring into Luka’s hurt, guilty aqua-blue eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation like this, I don’t know what I was thinking...” Luka’s smooth voice immediately erupted into an endless line of apologies. If Marinette was a normal-functioning human-being, she would cut him off and kiss him one more time, because who in their right mind would turn down a perfect, adoring, affectionate potential boyfriend like Luka? 

Only she wasn’t in her right mind. 

She knew it was eventually going to drive her to her breaking point. Adrien had come to her, time after time, asking for advice on how to woo Kagami. Any other girl would’ve refused to help instantly, steering clear of the repetitive heart-break that would’ve resulted from the blonde model’s constant onslaught of questions. 

Why did she have to be so soft-hearted for him, again? 

“Do you think she’ll like white or dark chocolate more?” He asked with a hopeless smile on his lips. 

She fumbled for an answer, mind drawing to a blank. She had mumbled a random, probably completely irrelevant and unbelievable excuse before running off like a coward, she thought to herself. Before she knew it, she had broken down crying in a park, sobbing the build-up of her pain and anguish until her breath caught and she had to stop to breathe. 

“Marinette?” 

The moment she heard her name roll off his tongue, she wanted to kill herself for the heart-break she had been causing a particular blue-haired guitarist. He persisted in caring for her, even after she had told him that she couldn’t find it in her heart to love him. He deserved so much more, especially since he was... Well, he was Luka. 

Her mind was screaming against her actions, but she collapsed into his arms anyway, crying out her sorrows. His hand patted her back comfortingly in a steady rhythm, soothing her in ways no one could. 

“I’m sorry, Luka...” She murmured quietly, hiccuping and still trying to find her breath after her fifteen-minute-long breakdown. 

“Don’t be.” He told her softly, fingers caressing her cheek and making her meet his eyes. 

The next thing she knew was that they were kissing. And then she was pushing him away, and there was so much hurt and guilt staining his eyes, but she just couldn’t find it inside her to love him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

---

Damian’s first kiss, on the other hand, had been of a similar affair. He had been fifteen then, in the period in which girls would lust after him restlessly, shamelessly, and without any thought towards how annoyed he was getting. He dreaded the day called ‘Valentine’s’... It was when the girls were at their worst. Someway or another, they all mustered u enough courage (Or stupidity) to approach him in hopes he would accept their... Crushes. 

“Don’t look so upset!” Jon chastised. “If you don’t want to eat the chocolate, you can always give it to me.” 

Damian rolled his eyes at his best friend’s antics, ignoring the buzz and annoyance the school corridors brought to him. As expected, there was a pile of chocolates and pink-themed gifts waiting in a pile by the side of his locker. 

“Take it, Jon. Take it all.” He told his friend nonchalantly. “Eat until you get diabetes. This whole stash can last you for six months.” 

“Damian!” 

The green-eyed teen clicked his tongue in annoyance, yelping in surprise. As he turned, the girl who had called his name lunged at him, furiously pressing her lips on his. On instinct, he shoved her away roughly, dropping to the floor and knocking out her legs. The girl squealed, taken by surprise. 

Students all around started to whisper, as they do, while Damian tugged out a tissue from his bag pocket, wiping his mouth furiously. “Jon, you wouldn’t happen to have a sanitiser, do you?” He snapped, anger and disgust blazing in his eyes. “I’ll have you know that I can sue you sexual assault.” His tone was venomous, and he relished in the pure terror in her eyes. “Let’s go, Jon.” He said coldly, turning on his heels without another glance at the girl, who had started crying as everyone else in the corridor either offered her sympathetic looks, laughed, or just rolled their eyes at her sheer stupidity. 

---

Five years after their individual first kisses, Damian and Marinette met for the first time, in the business class of Gotham University. 

Fortunately for the two of them, their first kiss together did not involve a girl crying. Instead, it went more along the lines of this: 

“Where are you going, Damian?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at his son, who was trying to be discreet while sneaking out, and was actually failing at said sneaking out. 

Before Damian could make an excuse, Alfred the great saviour popped out from the kitchen. “Master Damian is going out to meet his friend for a study date, I believe.” Alfred offered helpfully. “Master Damian, I have prepared some cookies for you and your friend to share.” 

Bruce spluttered. “A study date?” He screeched. Okay, maybe he did not screech, but he was surprised. 

“Yes, Master Bruce. Damian had been courting Miss Marinette for two months.” Alfred nodded with a proud tone in his voice. “You’re going to be late if you stay any longer, Master Damian.” He reminded helpfully, the green-eyed young adult excusing himself with a blush on his face. 

Bruce stared at Alfred, gaping. “Two months?” 

---

“My dad found out today.” Damian supplied helpfully, munching on one of Marinette’s macarons as the two of them mulled over Marinette’s various colour-coded notes and Damian’s typed and printed ones for their upcoming test. 

“That’s nice.” She hummed, popping one of Alfred’s cookies into her mouth. “How did he react?” 

“He screeched.” Damian scoffed. “Like you said he would. Here’s your ten bucks.” 

Marinette grinned triumphantly. “I told you he would screech!” The bluenette laughed victoriously, the green-eyed boy watching her fondly as he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, yeah. You win this one. I’m betting that once my brothers find out, chaos shall ensue. Once they find out, I’m going to hide you underground because trust me, it’s not going to be pretty.” He grimaced. “I’m surprised I managed to hide it this long.” 

“Alfred knew from the very beginning.” Marinette reminded him, flipping through one of Damian’s printed notes. 

“Alfred doesn’t count, he always knows. You can’t hide anything from Alfred.” Damian dismissed.

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him. “Just admit that you’re bad at hiding things from Alfred.” 

“I am not! It’s just that it’s really impossible to get anything past Alfred!” He defended. 

“You’re just being a sore loser.” She teased, laughing when he threw a stack of notes her way. “Now you’re playing dirty!” 

Damian made a face. “I just gave you ten bucks!” 

“That’s completely irrelevant!” 

At this, Marinette tackled Damian to the ground, pushing him down. They were already seated on the wide, open floor of Marinette’s apartment’s attic, surrounded by fluffy cushions and blankets, so their landing was soft. That wasn’t what they were concerned about, though. 

“Um.” Damian coughed awkwardly, not daring to move as he observed how Marinette was pinning him to the floor, one hand on either side of his face. A blush erupted across his cheeks. “Um.” He said, slightly louder this time. 

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.” She swatted at him playfully, the male taking his chance to turn the tables, throwing Marinette off him and pinning her down. 

“What a game changer.” He mocked, dodging the light slap Marinette aimed at him. “Gosh, you need to improve your aim.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Silence fell in the attic, only the brief flapping of paper heard in the attic. Damian stared into the swirling, blue eyes of his two-month-long girlfriend. If there was one thing that had changed once he started dating Marinette, after the bluenette muttered up the courage to ask him out after their six-month-long, playful, constantly-throwing-insults-at-each-other friendship, it was that he started doing things without contemplating the results like a chess game. In a good way. 

In the same way, he pressed his lips to hers without thinking. 

When he drew back, both their faces were flushed, red painted across their cheeks. “There’s no hiding this one from Alfred, either.” He muttered after a moment, rolling off the bluenette when she burst into a laugh. 

“Cause you’re horrible at hiding things from him, just admit it~” She teased in a sing-song voice, laughing as he lunged towards her, tickling her sides. “Stop! We have to study for our- Test!” She laughed in between her words, bluebell eyes twinkling in happiness. 

Both their individual first kisses had not exactly been... Smooth, but to say that they were satisfied with their first kiss together was an understatement. 

---

@how-to-fuction-properly​ here’s your second request! Sorry it took so long :) 

- Cady 

#daminette #first kiss #request #cady's requests #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #mlb #dc #mlbdc #cady writesss « #cadyh2o

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 3 - Sunset

Happy third day of Naegiri Week! In my personal opinion, this is probably my favourite piece that I’ve written this year. It’s a sweet one with just a twinge of angst. As with the past two pieces, I have no warnings to issue aside from a little bit of graphically violent metaphor. It’s a blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing though, so there’s no need to worry too much. I hope you enjoy the piece, and that I have done our beautiful couple some justice.

________________________

A boy and a girl stood on top of the school building; their gazes turned towards the sky. The day was in the process of dying slowly, the natural cerulean fading away, melting into colours the likes of which they almost never got to see. Life so often dragged them away from something as simple as watching the sky’s transitions. Before, when the times would begin to change, they would spend their time preparing for cram school or going out to do extra work. They nearly never took notice of the refashioning. Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d stop for a second and remark to themselves about its beauty. Their eyes would catch just a hint of the rosy pinks and fruity oranges, and they could smile to themselves about what a nice view they would have during their journeys. Then, just as they always did, they would move along with their day. Never taking notice of the sky again, and missing it turn to something much more beautiful than what they had previously seen.

 Getting to ignore a sunset, they quickly realized, was a privilege. A privilege that they could no longer have. When the Biggest, Most Awful, Most Despair-Inducing Incident in human history came to fruition, there was no time for trivial things like watching a sunset. Every day melted into a flurry of rioting, fighting, and danger that could eat them alive if they weren’t careful. The students of Hope’s Peak Academy got the worst of it, and Makoto and Kyoko were no exception to this rule. Walking onto campus every morning was gambling for one’s life as the Parade clamoured for justice at the gates. Makoto’s own parents had been so terrified of him getting assaulted on his way from their house to the school that they’d begged the headmaster to set him up in a dorm for the time being. And since Jin Kirigiri was a slightly foolish, but not entirely unreasonable man, he obliged. In the end, however, it only made things a little better. He and Kyoko still promised to walk every day to and from class together every day, just to be sure that the other would arrive safely.

 It was no real life that the two of them were living, but then again, they wondered if anybody’s life was much of anything at this point. This wave of anger that consumed more than just Tokyo. It reigned across the entirety of Japan, and bled even further. Neighbouring countries began to get caught up in the tide, and then their neighbours came in, and then their allies, and then their enemies. Before anyone could so much as breathe a word of soothing nature, the world had sliced itself open and soaked its people with its bloody rage. Now, all anyone could do was attempt to rinse themselves off and stitch up the wounds. There was nothing anyone could do about the fact that some were determined to keep opening new ones. Especially not at Hope’s Peak – as far as everyone was concerned, Jin offered the students as much protection as he could give.

 Makoto just wished there was more. Not just on his side of things, but on the side of the Reserve Course students as well. He could have been in their shoes, had he not been so lucky. Hell, he probably would have been one of the students even further on the outside, who couldn’t even breathe the same air as a Hope’s Peak student. If they wanted to send him there on money alone, one of them would have had to fork over a kidney to the black market just to get enough. His family was not financially stable enough for that, and he felt certain that many of the Reserve Course kids were not that financially stable either. Yet there they were, clamouring even as the sun began to drift off to sleep. He wished they would, too. At the very least, he took comfort in the fact that their numbers were dwindling for the day.

 “They look so small down there.”

 Kyoko’s voice was flatter than soda in the sun. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he might have thought her uninvested in the situation.

 “They do.” He muttered; his gaze fixed on a pair of boys picking a fight with the head of security. The sight of their shouting and waving their fists made him cringe. Juzo Sakakura was an alumnus of Hope’s Peak; the Super High School Level Boxer to be more specific. Not exactly the kind of man that anyone should want to mess with, especially on account of his hot temper. Pity stirred within him when he thought about how this would end. “Sakakura-san will crush them like small bugs, too.”

 She nodded curtly. “They should know better than to mess with him. He and the others have beaten up more than their fair share of Reserve Course students already.”

 Makoto bit his lip, wishing he had it within himself to do something. He was a small fish in a big pond. What could he possibly do? There was no control to be had over this situation, and yet he craved it.

 “I don’t know what they think that’s going to accomplish.”

 “Well, my understanding is that they think this will earn them some sort of equality or change, but so far their attempts haven’t born fruit-”

 “No,” he cut in, surprised even by his own interruption, “That’s not what I meant.”

 She blinked at him; her expression unchanging. Not even a twitch of the eyebrow or the lip to tell him what she was thinking. The girl was somewhere beyond neutral at this point, but she didn’t seem keen on showing it. “What did you mean, then?”

 “I don’t understand why the school hasn’t given in or tried to fix things. I’m surprised the police haven’t gotten involved,” heart thundering in his head, he continued, “Do you know if the school’s paying them hush money, or something?”

 Ah. A frown etched itself into her face within a matter of seconds, clearly the product of dredged up memories. So there was a little bit of emotion hiding behind that iron mask. Her father had had a case for her a few weeks back, after all. Though she refused to share many details, what she did tell him was that he suspended the case rather abruptly. He even went as far as saying that he “wasn’t satisfied with her work”. Her eyes had been glassy when she told him that. Keeping himself from pulling her into his arms had been more difficult than one might have expected.

 “I haven’t spoken to my father since the case.” Her eyebrows knitted themselves together as she glared at the students below. “Nor do I have any desire to speak to him again about much of anything.”

 Makoto could think to do nothing else but nod. “I don’t blame you. You were pretty upset after the whole thing.”

 “Should I not have been?” Her arms folded across her chest. “It was as if he gave me the case just to humiliate me by taking it away later. Not that it matters anyway. He doesn’t really care about the investigation. The one thing I know for certain is that he doesn’t care as much about the Steering Committee as he pretends he does.”

 Why would he not do something if that were the case? Was he honestly just sitting around twiddling his thumbs? He definitely tried not to make his impressions on people he didn’t know based on what others told him, but this seemed a little too suspicious to swallow.

 “What do you mean?” He dared to ask, shuffling slightly closer to her. Her refusal to meet his gaze remained rather blatant, but her face relaxed slowly.

 “He has little impact on the school overall,” she sighed, tucking a strand of hair back into place, “Jin Kirigiri is Hope’s Peak headmaster in title more than anything. They attempt to take his ideas into account, but he is a figurehead first and foremost.”

 “So he can’t do anything about the protests?”

 Kyoko shrugged. “He probably has been trying to, but the committee will not allow him that privilege.”

 His fingers gripped at his hoodie sleeves, as if to beg him to ground them in some way. If it weren’t for the cool air brushing delicately against his face, he might have thought himself to be in a movie scene. If Kyoko’s father really was doing all that he could, what chance did they have against the world? Things were already so close to falling off the edge into a chasm of desolation, and now nobody could do anything? The phantom sensation of a fist squeezed his throat. Part of him ached to reach his hand out to take hold of Kyoko’s own, feeling the smooth leather of her gloves against the palms of his hands. Would it be appropriate? She did still look pretty mad, but… god, he wanted to feel like everything around him was real for once. Throughout all of this chaos, she was one of a few things that reminded him that things were not as bad as he thought them to be.

 Shutting his eyes, he turned away from the scene. A few steps away from the rooftop’s chained fence managed to soothe his nerves within mere seconds. It somehow caught Kyoko’s attention, too.

 “I… I can’t watch them anymore.” He answered to the question she didn’t ask. Watching the Reserve Course students scream at shout like that is what they did all day in class and all day after. God, they needed a break from it. Regret stirred within him any time he drew himself back to the simpler days, when he took things like getting boba tea with Sayaka or rough housing with Mondo and Taka for granted. He’d give anything to go home and sit with his mom, and listen to those incredibly annoying women blather through their talk show. He missed the brief period of time in which his dad had begun to teach him how to drive, and the two would squabble over the controls and road safety. He even missed fighting with Komaru over who would get the TV on a Friday night, inducing many groans of frustrations from their parents. When all of these people were suffering, he knew was wrong to want it back, but… How could he not? Makoto’s heart was much too soft to comfortably look on as others suffered.

 The clacking of Kyoko’s high-heeled boots against the stone tiles of the roof signalled to him that she, too, had found it easier to turn away. “I can understand that. I don’t fancy watching them either.”

 “Kirigiri-san, could we…” To this surprise, his voice sounded like it was breaking. “Could we talk about something else? Something other than… whatever this is?”

 The clacking echoed closer as she moved to stand at his side; her hand found a soothing spot on his shoulder. One simple movement, and relief crashed over him in a waterfall. Warmth spread through his chest and for one moment, he felt completely safe. After so many weeks of fear and struggling, he finally remembered the sensation. His grandmother used to say that that was how you knew you loved someone. If you could find comfort in their touch during your darkest times. He definitely had it bad for Kyoko Kirigiri. The lovesickness, as his grandfather might say.

 “Is there something you want to talk about?” She spoke in a voice that felt like he was running his hand along a fleece blanket, taking in all of its softness. She tilted her body forward to try and get a good look at his face.

 A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t stop himself from turning to meet her. “Anything, really. Preferably something happy.”

 “Happy, hmm?” She tapped her chin, pursing her lips slightly. It was rare that one actually got to see the cogs turning in Kyoko’s mind, but it was always a sight to behold. “Umm… Sweden has a rabbit show all about jumping? I heard about it when my grandfather and I were there on a case when I was a girl. I think it might have been called Kaninhoppning?”

 Makoto laughed, shaking his head. “That’s adorable.”

 “It really is. Come to think of it, I have many happy memories from that trip… Although I never did get to see Kaninhoppning, I did manage to slip out onto our hotel room balcony for a half an hour to catch the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.”

 Having the chance to slip away from her grandfather on those trips was a rare occurrence, that he knew well. Though Makoto had never met Kyoko’s grandfather, he couldn’t say that he felt like he would particularly like the man. The manner in which he treated Kyoko as she grew felt strange to him, in the least. She even confessed to being connected to him more by blood than by love, much to Makoto’s shock.

 “What did it look like?”

 It became Kyoko’s turn to smile as she turned her head to the sky, extending a gloved hand to point at the atmosphere spread above them. “A lot like this one, I found. A smattering of colours.”

 He followed suit, breathing in a calming breath as his eyes found a familiar sky. Puffs of pink and oranges sailed across the surface of blue like mystical ships in a vast ocean; sunlight breaking through like the heavens smiling down on them. Almost like proof that someone was still sitting up there, waiting to give this sign.

 “It’s really something, isn’t it?”

 She nodded, stepping closer to him and sliding her hand to his other shoulder. Oh god, she put her arm around him?! That made his heartbeat skip. He prayed his face hadn’t turned fire truck red. She would most definitely resort to teasing him if she caught wind of his embarrassment. Apart of him wonder if she could sense it, for only a few seconds later she tilted her head as if to rest on his shoulder. Rather than leave her there by herself, he moved his own to meet it.

 “It is rather special, I agree,” she answered him with a smile, “Dare I say it, this is perhaps even more special than the one during my travels.”

 God. That skin of his had definitely flushed red by now. It was a battle to avoid stuttering while he spoke, and a fight he lost easily. “R-Really? What m-makes this so special?”

 Kyoko shrugged her shoulders; her voice pouring from her mouth like smooth molasses. “I’m here with you.”

 Butterflies began to beat around his stomach the moment the words fell from her lips. Ack! Don’t think about her lips, he commanded himself internally. The last thing he needed was thinking about kissing those soft, full lips… a pair so perfectly rose in colour and that probably would feel so sweet against his own… Aah! No kissing, no kissing! She wanted to try and be his friend, and he was worrying about kissing. He should have been worried about thinking what to say. Could she tell that he was thinking about that?

 A quick glance at her out of the corner of his eye told him no; Kyoko Kirigiri was not a mind reader. Very adept at reading body language, but she could not telepathically tell that someone was thinking about kissing her. However, he had to admit that she could definitely tell that he was nervous. So much so that she started to apologize.

 “Sorry,” she muttered, darting her gaze to the floor, “I hadn’t mean to embarrass you.”

 He waved his hands around frantically. “No, no! I’m not embarrassed, you just… caught me off-guard, that’s all. I like hearing you say stuff like that. You’re a lot more sentimental than you let on.”

 The detective bit her lip awkwardly, doing her best to act like her face was not slowly growing poppy-red. The sight of her made him have to fight to suppress a few giggles. She has no right to be this cute, he thought with amusement. Even stereotypically cute girls like Sayaka couldn’t rival the sheer adorability of his Kyoko.

 “I’ve never really thought about myself like that… Would you consider it a good thing?”

 Makoto laughed and nuzzled her shoulder affectionately. “It’s a great thing. In fact, it’s something I like about you.”

 “I like that about you too,” she murmured, her voice cracking as she continued, “Your sentimentality, I mean. Not mine, that would be… that would be strange, wouldn’t it?”

 Oh, how the tables had turned. Now Kyoko was the one standing there, totally embarrassed. Though it had been him only for a moment earlier, he wondered if it were wrong to relish it. Seeing Kyoko flustered was as rare as Shikoku’s glowing mushroom forests; one could barely help wanting to take in all of the charm.

 “It would be, yeah,” he laughed, “I’m glad you like that about me, though. In fact, I’d like to ask you something about it.”

 Kyoko nodded ever so slightly, careful not to hurt either of their heads with the movement. “Of course.”

 “Kirigiri-san, would you promise me something?”

 “As long as it’s not to help you cover up a murder, most certainly.”

 He laughed. Ever blunt, as always. “No, nothing like that. I just… I want you to promise me that no matter what happens next, that you and I will always be there to support each other. Could you do that for me?”

 Though he expected a moment of hesitation, he was met with none. Only a smile greeted him alongside her words. “I’m surprised that you felt as if you had to ask. I would do that for you in a heart beat.”

 Makoto pressed his cheek further into her shoulder. “I never doubted you.”

#naegiri2020 #danganronpa #naegiri #danganronpa 3 #kyoko kirigiri #makoto naegi #makoto x kyoko #naegi x kirigiri #despair arc #kyouko kirigiri #naegi makoto #kirigiri kyoko

[writingsfromstarfleet]

Hopelessly Oblivious - The Doctor X Reader

A/N: My gosh! So many apologies for how late this is, I’ve been well off my game. Though, despite it all, I hope you enjoy this, @tagthetrekkie & all you lot who still read my stuff (I thank you all immensely!) Hugs!! :) x

The medical field was always your calling. When you were younger, you had found a niche for helping others, and decided that you wanted to transfer that passion into a career. You trawled your way through the years at Starfleet Academy and graduated with some of the best scores of your class. Your first assignment came quickly; the USS Voyager.

Voyager was a relatively new ship to Starfleet, and you felt honoured to have been stationed aboard it. Excitement built in you as the day drew closer, and you wondered what it would be like to accompany the crew on their mission.

"Welcome aboard, Y/N," the voice of your captain, Kathryn Janeway, greeted you with a warm smile and a soft tone. Already you felt comfortable. "We're very excited to have you with us, I hope you find it accommodating enough."

You smiled back. "I feel like I've been here for years."

The captain introduced you to another crew member, Harry, who showed you around a little more before taking you to your quarters. He mentioned that you would be working with the Doctor they had aboard, and that piqued your interest. Before that point, you weren't aware there was another doctor. Excitement for the next day at its high, you tried to settle down and relax.

The morning came quick enough, and you rose with a good mindset, ready to start your first shift in the med bay. Getting dressed, you walked with a spring in your step, the closer you got, the nerves built up. Still, the excitement outweighed the anxiety.

Entering the doors, you were shocked to see how big the bay actually was. Inside, there was a young man waiting there for you with a smile.

"Hi there, you must be Y/N?" he asked, and you nodded. "I'm Tom, Lieutenant Paris, but please call me Tom. It's lovely to have you here, finally someone who isn't the Doctor to keep me sane here." You joined in with his laugh; so far, friendly faces all round had greeted you, and it felt like a family.

The Doctor made an appearance, and you were shocked to find he wasn't human, but rather a hologram. Not that it mattered, of course, but you thought someone may have mentioned it in the margin. He greeted you with a quick hello, before showing you round the bay and what everything was. He retreated to his office, leaving you with Tom to show you the rest of the ropes, as it were.

"You'll get used to him," he smiled, setting down her PADD and inviting you to sit alongside her. "He doesn't have the best bedside manner, but you'll warm to it soon enough. It's sort of nice in a really hostile way."

Laughing, you raised your eyebrows and cast your eyes towards his office door, wondering if what Tom had told you was true.

Weeks passed by on Voyager, and you were comfortable and well adjusted, having made some good friends already. Amongst them, to your surprise, was the Doctor. He was standoffish to begin with, as Tom had mentioned, though the more time you spent with him, the more he seemed to relax himself, opening up a little more and laughing with you. You were very glad he had taken a liking to you, as you had to him.

"Ah, ensign Y/N, good morning," he greeted you as you stepped into the medical bay, his usual happy tone lacing his words. "I hope you're in the mood to work, there's much to be done."

Smiling at him, you nodded.

"Good morning, Doctor, I am always ready to work, must just be the good company."

He raised his brows and you chuckled, setting down your things and reading the briefing notes for the tests you were due to run. Lost in the notes, you didn't realise the Doctor was staring at you still, wonder in his eyes as he watched you bury yourself in the task at hand. He was pulled out of his little daydream by your voice a few moments later.

".. over there. Is that right, Doctor?" You lifted your head to see him blink a couple of times; it was clear he hadn't been listening. "Did you catch that, Doc?" You laughed, seeing him visibly cringe at 'Doc'.

"Apologies, I did not, I was rather.. distracted." His tone was flat in his reply, making a statement that said he didn't want the matter pressed. You shook your head with another chuckle, getting back to your work once more. What neither of you saw was Tom and Harry, a knowing look on both their faces that said they could see something you both couldn't.

"So," Tom began, walking to you once the Doctor had left for his office. "Can I come to the wedding?"

"Tom!" you accosted, though you couldn't help but laugh with him.

"Oh come on, Y/N, I can see the way you both look at each other, we're smarter than you'd think," Harry joined in, and nudged your arm playfully. "Besides, I've never seen him take to someone like that; he never acts like that around anybody."

As the pair began to walk away, you found yourself sitting on their words. Did he like you in such a manner? Had you ended up feeling the same? Allowing your mind to wander, you began thinking of the interactions you and the Doctor had over the past month. Fleeting glances here and there that always ended in one shyly looking away, lingering touches when one was handing the other equipment; there were too many subtle signs you had been blind to until Tom and Harry had mentioned it all. Your head began to hurt, and you rubbed it to try and ease the pain.

"Y/N, is everything alright?" The voice of The Doctor brought you out of your thoughts and you smiled, shaking your head slightly.

"Oh, no, Doc, thanks." Looking at him, he seemed very unconvinced, almost a show of care spread across his face. "Really, I'm alright, often I think too much and create problems."

That must have been the first time you heard him laugh, and you'd discovered your new favourite thing. Eyes widening ever so slightly, you watched him laugh and smile at your statement, repeating the same head shake you had done prior, eyebrows raised.

"If you're sure, there isn't much I can do for overthinking, I'm afraid." His voice was calm and soft, much more so than when he addressed others, or when others were around in general. You wondered just how many other people saw this side of him. Titling your head, you spoke up, surprising yourself in the process.

"Hey, any chance you might fancy joining me in the holodeck tonight? I heard Tom has a new program we could try out?" Your voice was confident, throwing him off guard; so rare were the times you were as bold as that. The extended period of silence irked you, and you began to go back on your idea. "It's alright if not, I mean, I, uh-"

You were cut off with a hand on your arm and a calm, rather honest, smile from The Doctor.

"I would love to, Y/N, thank you."

You smiled at each other, perhaps a little too long, stopping only as you both caught sight of two senior officers beaming at you both. As Tom winked at you, you excused yourself, bidding the Doctor a good day and telling him you'd see him that night. Turning on your heels, you sped after Tom down the hall, missing the loving look from the EMH as you left, who smiling to himself before returning to duties.

Hopelessly oblivious, the both of you. In love, and hopelessly oblivious to it all.

#star trek #star trek imagine #star trek x reader #star trek voyager #star trek voy #voyager #voy #emh #the doctor #emh x reader #the doctor x reader #x reader #imagine

[hiagainyou]

ღNice To Meet Ya!ღ

Bee was excited, at first, she always dreamed about traveling to Japan, and here she was!

Well, she was a little bit more than excited really. She still felt like she was walking on cloud nine when she stepped off the plane and into the terminal, her backpack nestled lightly on her shoulders as she went to go find her luggage.

 What she wasn’t expecting was a rush of overwhelming anxiety to hit her out of nowhere.

 It happened as she sat down at a nearby bench, clinging to her luggage with a vice-like grip as she idly looked at the sights around her as well as doing a little bit of people watching to past the time.

 She was alone.

 She had no family here.

 No one to relate to.

 She hadn’t even considered the obvious language barrier between her and everyone else.

 Completely and utterly independent, if you could call it that.

 She didn’t know why she hadn’t considered it before. Granted, winning a lottery to go to one of the best hero schools would have anyone distracted until they landed.

 Or was that just her?

 She fiddled with the afro-puffs in her hair, fluffing them out nervously as she waited for her guide to come and get her.

 What if they never came?

 Did they know what she looked like?

 What if she flunked out of UA? What would she do then?

 Her quirk wasn’t anything special, not for fighting anyways, but she could see herself as a rescue hero of sorts.

 Or maybe a walking talking light bulb was more like it?

 She pulled out her phone and scrolled through it mindlessly once she drew her pattern to unlock it.

 Should she call her dad?

 Lament to him about her increasing anxiety about being 6,778 miles, thanks Google, from home and how this was stupid or how she was probably gonna either drop out or flunk?

 That didn’t sound too bad actually, it sounded like a normal conversation they would have.

 Before she could tap on the green call button, she heard her name being called.

 She lurched her head up, looking side to side nervously.

 Was she imagining it? Oh God, was she hallucinating?

 Could nerves do that to you?

 “Hi, are you Bee?”

 Maybe staring blankly at the person who addressed you by name like you couldn’t wrap your head around basic human interactions wasn’t the best response. But, Bee wasn’t the brightest person in the room.

 Well, not metaphorically.

 “Oh yeah, I’m so sorry! My brain froze the moment you called my name. I thought I imagined it at first. No one ever gets it on the first go.”

 The kind smile the woman gave all but melted her into a formless heap on the floor.

 “I know how you feel. When I first traveled here, a representative of my new agency had come to greet me, and my expression was the same as the one you just gave me.”

 The woman laughed to herself. It fell from her lips like notes from a soft piano solo, delicately accompanying her gentle frame.

 “So, you’re a Hero?”

 “Oh, yes! I didn’t even introduce myself, how rude of me.” The woman cupped Bee's small hands in her warm, slightly bigger ones, the smile etched on her face never faltering for even a second. “My name is Bellamy Reigns, I work as the support hero Flo here in Japan, it’s nice to meet you.”

 Their handshake was brief but firm, she only hoped to God that her hands weren’t as "clammy" as they usually were.

 She couldn’t help how warm she always was.

 “Are these all your belongings? I know you just got here, you’re probably going through some stages of jetlag but I can help you with that, right now we need to drop your stuff off at your new apartment and get you to your first day at UA.”

 Bellamy clasped her luggage and made a beeline for the entrance of the airport, Bee trying desperately to keep pace with her and also avoid bumping into the people passing by her.

 “Oh, this is sooo exciting! You’ll love it here, I promise! Ah, you remind me of when I was your age, so ready to be on my own and face the world. Only to call her parents in a panic because she didn’t know her right from her left she was so nervous!”

 Bellamy gave her an encouraging smile when she met her gaze as she glanced over her shoulder, receiving a timid smile in return.

 “Flo, so nice of you to join us, what happened this time?”

 A woman with cocoa brown skin, thunder cloud grey hair, and pumpkin orange hues dressed in simple business attire stared holes through the pair as they approached UA’s front gate.

 An hour behind schedule.

 “I was getting her settled into her new apartment and we lost track of time, that and our cab here was late.”

 The woman’s stare got heavier.

 “All I hear is excuses Reigns, why didn’t you drive your car here instead? You drove it to the airport, didn’t you?”

 “You know I don’t have the car right now Ami- “

 “And so, you still didn’t plan accordingly?”

 She began to tap her foot in annoyance.

 “You have to take more responsibility with your job Reigns, I’m honestly surprised they haven’t fired you yet.”

 “It wasn’t her fault, if anything, I’m the one that distracted her with all my hero-worship. And so what if we were late? You’re acting like the world was gonna end if we didn’t get here on time. You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

 Bee huffed at the woman, crossing her arms to mock her pose.

 The icy glare the woman gave her in return almost made her heart flatline. All the confidence she had mustered drained from her like emptying bathwater, causing her to slink behind Bellamy pitifully.

 “Her tie isn’t even on correctly.”

 “She wanted a bow tie.”

 “And you let her? Bellamy, you’re an adult, start acting like one.”

 “Having a bow tie isn’t a big de- “

 The woman brought her hand up to silence Bellamy, Bee catching the way the air around them became so tense it was almost suffocating.

 “We’ll discuss this later, she’s late and you have a class to teach. Dump her onto Weylyn and get moving.”

 Bellamy sighed through her nose before giving the girl beside her a warm smile.

 “Come on sunshine, you have a class to catch.”

 They walked into the bustling halls to be greeted by two girls standing idly by the lockers.

 One had long, flowy sea-green hair that cascaded down her slim body and stopped an inch shy of touching the floor. The deep color complimenting her round sepia brown face and bringing attention to her gleaming sunset orange eyes.

 The girl to the right of her stood rigid and emotionless, posed like a dutiful guard ready to attack at any moment. Her thick, bushy bark colored mane silhouetted her intimidating frame as two soft brown ears jutted from the sides of her diamond-shaped face. Her deep forest green eyes boring into Bee's chestnut brown ones seemingly in anger.

 The girl with the green hair was the first to approach them, her face brightening as she swung her arms up in a welcoming gesture.

 “Hello! You must be Bee, right? It’s so nice to have finally met you! I’m Arlo Weylyn by the way and I’ll be your guide until you get settled into UA.”

 Arlo brought her into a tight hug before pulling back to meet her gaze, her hands resting comfortably on her shoulders.

 “Oh yeah, that’s me! And yeah, it’s really nice to have met you too Arlo and...?”

 Bee tilted her head to look at Arlo’s silent companion who stared back at her with disinterest before focusing on the woman behind her.

 “Oh, this is Selah. She's been dubbed my shadow as of late but, don’t worry about her. She means well, I promise. Oh! Mrs. Flo, I couldn’t help but notice that Downer was seeming, well down, for lack of better words, did something happen?”

 Bellamy perked up at the sound of her name, her warm smile settling back on her face again.

 “Amias is fine Arlo, don’t worry about it, okay? Could you get sunshine here to her class, please? She’s already late, and I wouldn’t want her to miss out on any more important lessons.”

 Arlo nodded as she ushered the girl toward her first-year class, which was thankfully English as of right now.

 On the way to the classroom the trio, more like just Bee and Arlo, had made idle conversation about where they were from. Arlo being born and raised in Colchester England, and how their quirks worked.

 “So, your quirk allows you to glow?”

 “Yeah. It’s pretty boring, I guess.”

 “No, it isn’t! Any quirk can be amazing if you put effort into reaching its full potential.”

 “Whatever boats you float.”

 Bee fiddled with the straps of her backpack as she looked up, catching the gaze of smiling blue eyes.

 Her stomach did cartwheels as she forgot how to walk, almost tripping over her feet and getting up close and personal with the floor.

 Her stomach dropped into the Earth’s core as the owner of the blue eyes came closer, smile rivaling the sun with how bright it was.

 To be honest, he was probably rivaling her with how bright she must have been glowing. She just really hoped she wasn’t blinding anyone.

 He stopped in front of her and began to speak excitedly. His words zipping past her face like an arrow from an experienced archer.

 With all these people speaking English, she had completely forgotten about the blaring problem of a language barrier. Looking at Arlo almost pathetically for help.

 They had talked back and forth for a while as she stood there confused. Arlo gesturing to Bee periodically and the guy smiling even wider, if that were possible, with every word that fell from Arlo’s glossy lips.

 “Bee, this is Togata Mirio. He’s really happy to meet you, he says, and is hoping you two become friends.”

 Bee stared at the boy standing in front of her, noting how his soft blue eyes and blonde hair kinda reminded her of Lucas from Smash Brothers.

 Holding back a laugh, she brought her hand up to shake his, putting on her best smile for him.

 “It’s nice to meet you too, Mirio!”

#oc blog #self shipping #self ship #self insert writing #fanfic #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #boku no hero academia #boku no hero #otp: Miribee #romantic f/o #self shipping community #canon x self insert #black self insert #my hero academia mirio #mirio x self insert #bnha mirio #mha mirio #self love? I guess? #fluff writing #mirio fluff #my writing #long post

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 17

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 1863

Chapter Summary: Stu finds out.

A/N: I won’t be posting next week, but I’ll be back to my normal schedule the week after. As always, cross-posted to AO3.

You woke up at a decent hour for once. Both exhausted from your nightmare and its accompanying fitful sleep, and out of a desire to avoid Deacon and Viago, you’d actually gone to bed early the previous night. For the first time in a while, you wouldn’t have to choose between eating either breakfast or lunch. Flatting with four vampires led to a lot of late nights.

Checking your phone, you found a number of texts from late last night. Petyr had sent you a loose apology for scaring you half to death when you woke him up. Viago sent a text asking if you were free next Friday for the drinking game night. You shot him a quick reply confirming your availability.

A third text was from an unknown number, received early this morning. You opened the message, reading, ‘Hey Y/N. This is Stu. I got your number from Deacon. Are you free for lunch today? I need to talk to you about something.’

You paused, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. For a brief moment you were filled with anxiety. Was Stu asking you out on a date? Not that there was anything wrong with Stu, of course, he just wasn’t your type, and you really didn’t want things to be weird. But no, that couldn’t be it. Thankfully. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’ That wasn’t a date, but it could be something bad, something serious. Was Stu in trouble? Your anxiety flared anew.

You drafted a reply. ‘Hey Stu. Lunch is fine. Does noon work? What do you need to talk about?’

His response was immediate. He ignored your question but confirmed for noon and sent you the address of a café. You thumbs-upped his text and set the phone aside, chewing on the inside of your lower lip in concern.

~

You struggled with your groceries, one paper bag in each arm. You were nearly running down the sidewalk. The condensation from the thawing ice cream was wearing the structural integrity of one of the bags, and you desperately wanted to make it back to the flat before the bottom inevitably gave out. You’d forgotten your reusable bags at home, and were now at the mercies of paper. And paper, apparently, had few mercies.

You felt the contents shifting, and further picked up your speed, probably looking quite ridiculous as you more or less sprinted down the street, clutching the disintegrating bags to your chest. It was all for naught, though, as the bottom of the bag gave out, spilling a carton of ice cream, a quart of milk, and a boatload of produce onto the pavement.

You let out a loud sigh of exasperation, startling a passerby.

You leaned against a wooden telephone post, surveying the damage before getting to work. You added what you could to the other bag, resigning yourself to cleaning all the produce immediately upon arriving home. You decided to carry the ice cream and milk in your hands, not wanting to damage the other bag with either weight or moisture.

Standing once again, with your groceries balanced somehow even more precariously than before, you resumed your trek home. Or, more accurately, you attempted to resume your trek home. Instead, you took a half a step, but were yanked back to the telephone pole by your pants. Awkwardly turning around with your arms full, you found that your pants were caught on a staple that was holding up one of the many posters covering the post.

You sighed, setting down your groceries again, and taking extra care not to tear your pants, or worse, de-pants yourself. Turning around as best you could, you began working at the staple. After a few minutes, and one near-catastrophe with a would-be splinter, you managed to work the staple loose from the post. Unfortunately, it was still stuck to your pants, now holding a poster to your backside. You tore the sheet of paper from yourself and decided to remove the staple from your clothing at home. You were about to crumple it up and toss it away when something about it grabbed your attention.

It was a missing person poster. A woman named Kura had gone missing over a year ago, and her family was willing to pay a hefty sum of money for any information leading to her safe return. While obviously sad, that hadn’t been what garnered your attention. It was the photograph, large and centered on the poster, that drew you in. The woman in the photo had bright, brown eyes, and a wide, happy smile. You’d never seen her before.

But you recognized her.

Had you known her? You reread the information on the poster. You couldn’t have known her. She was last seen just days after you moved out of your flat with Dawn. Unless you met her in that brief window of time. Would that be enough for you to remember her so viscerally, even now?

Unless, of course, you’d known her after she was ‘last seen.’

That thought chilled you.

What had you been involved in? Had she wound up in something shady? Had you? Or worse, had you been, even just partially, responsible for her having gone missing?

You couldn’t rule that horrifying possibility out.

You felt light-headed.

~

You sat alone at the café, anxiously drumming your fingers against the table. Checking your phone, you saw you there were still six minutes to go before you were supposed to meet. You looked to the door anyway, repeating this pattern for the next four minutes until Stu arrived two minutes early.

“Hi, Y/N,” he greeted, slightly redder than usual. Perhaps he had rushed here? “Have you ordered yet?”

“No. I was a little early, so I thought I’d wait for you.”

Gesturing behind himself towards the counter, he offered, “I can buy. What would you like?”

“No, no, I can buy my own,” you brushed off his generosity.

“I wanted to meet, and at the last minute. I can buy. What are you having?”

“Thank you. I’ll have a smoothie, and I’ve never been here, so whatever you recommend, I guess.”

“Sure thing.” Stu went up to the counter, placing the order and paying, before returning with his coffee, your smoothie, and two caprese melts.

“Thanks, Stu. So what’s up? Is everything alright?”

You bit into the caprese melt. Damn, Stu had good taste.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His tone did little to convince you that this was true. He’s stared down at his yet untouched sandwich. You waited for him to go on. If he was this insistent on meeting, you trusted he’d decide to share his thoughts eventually. When he spoke again, he said, “Nick told me about the whole vampire thing last night.”

You stopped mid-chew, swallowing almost too much sandwich. ‘The whole vampire thing.’ That was certainly a fitting name for it.

You looked up from your plate, eyes searching Stu’s face. What was he looking for here? Did he still need to figure out whether or not this was all actually true, or did he just need the companionship of another human stuck in this bizarre limbo between the real and the supernatural? Until you knew where he was at, there really wasn’t any way to go forward.

“And did you… believe him?”

Stu nodded quickly. “Yeah. He showed me, uh…” He faltered.

You nodded. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” You had only known Nick for a short period of time, but in that time you were able to discern that he’s quite the showboat. So, you were willing to venture a guess that his demonstration of vampirism was a bit less gentle than Vladislav’s. “Are you okay?” you asked Stu.

“Yeah. Just shaken.”

You offered him a small smile. “I can relate.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You get on with your flatmates so well, and you’ve known about this for longer than me, obviously. I thought it might be easier to talk to another human about this than with a- well, with Nick or one of the guys.”

You smiled wider, ready to play the part of expert even though you didn’t feel it. “What do you want to know?”

“Nick told me most of what I wanted to know. There were a few things I didn’t think of at the time, or just didn’t want to ask.” He paused before continuing. “How often do they have to… drink….?” He asked, struggling to chose the correct word.

“Eat,” you answered.

“Eat, then. How often do they do that?”

“It depends,” you replied, glad you had recently learned the answer to that one. “Nick eats pretty much everyday, but that’s only since he’s such a new vampire. He’ll eat less after a few years. Vladislav, Viago, and Deacon only eat a few times a week.”

Stu looked away, down toward his very vegetarian meal. You could guess how he was feeling.

Continuing, you said, “Petyr eats even less than that, like once or twice a month, though sometimes he eats small animals in between. I don’t know if that’s just due to his age, or what. I think he might be a different kind than the others, but I don’t really know.”

A woman walking past your table threw you an alarmed look, but you ignored her.

“Petyr?” Stu asked, confused.

“Oh, right! You’ve never met Petyr. He flats with us. He’s really old, like 8000 years or more. He looks really freaky, like Nosferatu-esque, but he’s a cool guy.”

“Like Nosferatu?” he repeated. He seemed dumbfounded, but you could hardly hold that against him. “So how old are the others then?”

“I don’t remember exactly.” You realized you should put their birthdays in your phone, and made a mental note to do so. “Vladislav is 800 something. Viago is over three hundred, closer to 400, maybe. And Deacon is 150 or 160 or something like that. And, obviously, you’d know Nick’s age better than me.”

“Right, yeah. How long have you known? About vampires?”

“Not long. I was just looking for a flat. I actually figured they were delusional and thought that they were vampires, but not that they actually were,” you laughed. “It was actually the day Nick got turned that I found out it was all real.”

Any sense of humor you’d just had quickly disappeared, and you forced down the rising urge to apologize to Stu for what happened to his friend. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t do anything to stop it. Those words were becoming a sort of mantra to you.

“Do you ever…” he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Do I ever what?”

“No. Sorry. I shouldn’t pry. It isn’t really my business.”

“It’s fine. Pry away. You’re the only other human I know who’s in a similar situation.”

He smiled at you, and you returned the gesture. You supposed there were worse things to experience camaraderie over.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” he asked. “About the people they kill? Not that it’s your fault, or our faults, of course, I just-“

You interrupted him with your answer.

“Every day.”

#what we do in the shadows #wwdits #vladislav #vladislav x reader #another life #al fic

[doing-all-write]

three things

After moving in together, Reader and Ben host their first Friendsgiving together and have to come up with three things they’re grateful for. 

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of sex and shenanigans so cute they’ll rot your teeth

This is a continuation of lighthouse ! 

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates it today! Here’s a little something that @itsabenthing​ helped give me inspo to bring to life and I gotta say, I love these two idiots and their dumb relationship more than most things in my life. I hope you all love it!!

💖💖💖As always, likes, reblogs and comments are always welcome 💖💖💖

"Cranberries?" 

"Regular and the nasty canned shit." 

"Ignoring that hearsay...corn bread?"

Rustling was heard as her eyes scanned the list she held in her hand. Mentally ticking things off when suddenly the corner of a box of cornbread appeared in her peripheries as Ben painstakingly edged it closer into her line of sight. 

"The lady wants cornbread and THEREFORE, cornbread she shall have." 

Fighting a smile, she pursed her lips as Ben proudly withdrew it from her line of sight and placed it back into their grocery cart. 

They had been living together for a few months now and had quickly settled into a routine. Most days she'd kick the door open, heels thumping against the closet floor as she toed them off. The smell of whatever Ben was cooking, wafted down the hall to meet her nose. Flipping through the mail she picked up on her way in, she'd pad down the hallway, humming whatever song she had been listening to in her car before coming inside. 

Popping herself up on the counter she would word vomit about her day as Ben stirred, chopped and let her taste test what he was making. Making encouraging noises and occasionally interjecting at opportune times. ("No, Karen does need to calm down. I mean, it's an Instagram post, it's not the end of the world. I barely use mine and I'm doing just fine." "Yeah, but we're not all hot, blonde Hollywood stars." "You think I'm hot?" "Smoking, just like whatever is cooking in the oven." "SHIT.") 

They'd end the day with whatever show they had been watching together on Netflix (Recently it was Riverdale. She loved it because she read the comics growing up. Ben loved it because it was so over the top. And he had a soft spot for Bughead.), then get ready for bed together and fall asleep in each others arms. 

It was so disgustingly domestic and simple, half the time she found herself looking at Ben and asking him, "Is this it? Like, this is all we do? We hang out?"

Chuckling, he'd pull her closer, "It sure is, love."

She'd sigh contentedly, and nuzzle closer to him, happy with how quickly their lives had merged together. 

Not every day was so peaceful. There was the one time she left their back window open and a bat had flown into the apartment. There was 30 minutes of chaos as Ben bellowed at her for leaving the window open and she locked herself in the bedroom threatening to divorce him if he didn't get rid of the bat NOW despite his protests that they weren't even married. 

Or the day when they had sat down and hashed out which chores they hated (she: cooking, cleaning bathrooms and dusting. Ben: sweeping, doing dishes and taking out the trash. The payoff though was that whenever she took out the trash she'd gleefully tell Ben to step into the trash can as well. Only after he locked her out of their bedroom had she stopped) and would take over to prevent the other from having to do it. 

Some nights she'd be out with friends, or at a late work event or need to run some errands only to come home to Ben air drumming along to a Queen album he had popped on the record player. 

Other days she would be left to her own devices and would wake up in the tub, the bath bomb she had used a distant memory, with Ben standing over her, telling her how she can't fall asleep in the tub while he's gone because what if she drowns? 

They were most thankful for each other when they had had long, difficult days. Trudging home from a work day full of bullshit meetings, last minute deadlines and unhelpful co-workers, with only one call to Ben to have a brief meltdown, she'd open the door to find him wearing nothing but an apron with her favorite dinner on the table.

(Frozen Chinese food from their local grocery store and "is that...White Claw...in our wine glasses?" "It sure is, love. We're real classy bitches now.") 

When Ben was gone filming for long periods of time, she would FaceTime him as she cooked, or did laundry, or other normal things around the house just so he could feel like he was part of her day to day routine.

(The first time they had done that he'd remarked, "It's like a baby cam."

She scoffed, "Well, yeah. Kind of. I mean, I am baby."

"You're my baby."

"Shut the fuck up Hardy, you can't be that cute when you're that far away from me.") 

When he finally would get home, disentangling himself from the Lyft, body screaming for rest after having been put through the wringer with training and long days and nights of filming, the only thing that'd keep him upright was her. She would barrel out of their apartment to meet him in the landing. He'd barely have time to drop his bags as she flung herself into his arms, peppering each others faces with kisses as he promised over and over again he would take her with him next time he left so they never had to be apart for so long.

They'd even had a couple of parties together. A low-key house-warming when Ben moved in and a Halloween party. She had dressed up as Sabrina from The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina and had talked Ben into being her Harvey. Though he got to wear what he normally did, he complained the whole time. She was sympathetic but right before they opened the door to let their friends in, she had stuck devil horns on his head that he didn't have time to rip off.

(After everyone had left, he had made her wear those as he fucked her senseless. She hated to admit it but it was incredibly hot.) 

The Halloween party was such a hit, their friends had talked them into hosting Friendsgving as well. Hence, the run to the grocery store where she had printed out the Excel spreadsheet clutched in her hand to help keep track of what was needed for each dish. 

Ben had taken one look at the spreadsheet, took her hands in his, and in the most loving way possible, explained that this seemed like a bit much for a party and he was worried that, day of, she'd be so stressed, he'd have to talk her down from stuffing her head in the oven alongside the turkey. 

Now, she felt something move across the nape of her neck, she flinched, looking around only to be met with Ben's wide eyes staring at her, feigning ignorance as he paused mid-inhale, getting ready to blow on her neck a second time. 

The smile he shot her made her knees weak and she rolled her eyes, muttering about what a pain in the ass he was as she pushed the cart farther away from him.

His hands came down beside hers on the rail as his lips pressed into her hair, "Get in"

"What? Get in where?"

"Where do you think? Get in the cart, I'll push you around." 

She scoffed, "Ben, we're adults. We're hosting a dinner party we bought the $5 bottles of red wine instead of the $3 ones. There is no way in hell I'm going to let you-"

"C'mon, love. The old you would have done it." 

Before Ben had even said the last word, she was hauling herself up into the cart, pushing food out of the way and tucking her legs underneath herself, mumbling all the while about how unfair it was that that always worked on her. 

Ben chuckled as he waited for her to get settled, once she nodded at him, he started walking down the aisles, leaning his forearms on the rail, giving her an up close view to the sinews and muscles flexing as he meandered down the aisles. 

"You keep staring like that, people are gonna ask you to keep it in your pants." 

"How can I? I mean, Christ Benny, your forearms are enough to make me cum right now."

He made a retching noise, "Please, for the love of god do not cum all over the potatoes. They're right in your lap, we have to feed those to people-" 

A laugh came ringing out of her mouth like a bell, "These mashed potatoes seem extra creamy, whatever did you do to them?" she affected a high pitched voice and waggled her eyebrows. 

"That's it, we're done. I'm leaving you in this cart." He threw up his hands, walking backwards as her eyes grew wide, 

"Ben, please do not leave me here alone in this cart like a big dumb baby. Please. It was a joke." 

Ben came back with a sigh, "You do look like a baby. Like when you wear your romper to work."

That comment was met with an accusing finger, "HEY. That romper is professional and stylish and also gives a whole new meaning to being naked and afraid in bathrooms." 

"I understand wearing it to work but I just don't get why you would wear that out. Waiting for you to come out of the bathroom at the bar," he sighed, "felt like I was standing there for an hour."

"It was like 10 minutes tops. Grow up."

He rolled his eyes and shoved the cart away from him, quickly bringing it right back, causing her to screech and grasp the sides with white knuckles. 

"Jones!"

He chuckled as he swung them around to the next aisle, "I've got you, love. Now, what do we need down this aisle?"

Her head swung side to side as she examined the goods. She pointed to a package of spices, that Ben grabbed and tried to shoot into the cart, missing by a mile. She eventually circled her arms so he could try and shoot every new food item they picked up into the makeshift basket. (She drew the line at the eggs.) As they roamed the aisles, she slowly became more and more buried until food reached up to her shoulders. 

As Ben debated between getting regular sized versus mini marshmallows for the sweet potato casserole, she asked, "What are the three things you're grateful for today?"

They had started this soon after Ben had moved in. He'd wake up in the morning to find her writing in a notebook, after observing her doing this for a couple weeks, he got the courage to ask her what she was writing about. She explained that every day, she wrote down three things she was grateful for. Didn't matter how big or small it was. Just three things that she was grateful to have in her life. 

He teased her mercilessly about how he had better be on that list every damn day but when they were laying in bed that night, she asked him and it became a habit. Crawling into bed together, they would exchange what three things they were most grateful for in that day. 

Furrowing his brow as he shot the mini marshmallows, he threw his hands in the air when he made it in and announced, "I'm grateful I made that shot."

After checking out, in which Ben insisted that she stay in the cart while he did so, causing the cashier to give them strange looks but ultimately giving her a sticker that they usually only reserved for children, which Ben gleefully stuck to her forehead, he rolled her out to her car where she popped the trunk. 

Loading the bags in, Ben clambered in to her front seat, pushing the chair all the way back. 

"It's like living with a midget."

"You are BARELY 5' 10" my man, do not be speaking ill of my height right now." 

Driving back it was quiet except for the soft sounds of Bruce Springsteen playing over the speakers. Reaching over, Ben grabbed the hand that had been resting on her thigh. She glanced over, smiling, as she looked at her boyfriend, felt his thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of her hand.

She whispered, "I'm grateful for us."

~~~

Friendsgiving had been a massive success. Before, the apartment had been a madhouse. The kitchen looked like the end of a Great British Bake Off episode, complete with Ben doing his best Paul Hollywood impression ("You keep that shit up Jones and I will give you food poisoning on purpose.") 

But the food had turned out well (Ben silently gave her a thumbs up when 15 minutes had passed after everyone was done eating and no one had thrown up), everyone left with a plate of leftovers and promises to get together soon and now the apartment felt strangely still. The only hint that it had been filled with people was the pile of dishes in the sink. 

They fell into an easy rhythm, her washing, he drying. The jazz they had queued up for dinner still playing, adding an air of domesticity to the whole affair. The pine candle she had lit after they had eaten, signaling to everyone the holiday season had truly started, sputtered as it gave off its last few whiffs then burnt out. 

As she placed the last plates back into the cabinet, Ben refilled their wine glasses, leaving them on the counter as he disappeared into the bedroom. 

Turning around she was met with Ben in his favorite hoodie, the collar sinking down to reveal his collarbone, meaning he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath it and gray sweatpants, which she cocked an eyebrow at. 

"You told me about the memes, I'm just trying to satisfy all your fantasies." he joked as he held out a second pair of sweatpants to her. She giggled as she shimmed out of her tights right there in the kitchen, pulling the sweatpants on underneath her dress. Ben swatted at her butt as she walked past him to grab a shirt from the bedroom. Once she ambled out, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she was greeted by Ben, laid out on their couch, wine glasses on the table in front of him and the largest rectangular box she had ever seen in her life. 

Ben notoriously had weird taste in art and the skepticism must have shown on her face because Ben rolled his eyes, "It's not art. Don't worry. I learned my lesson when you ripped me a new one telling me that Andy Warhol isn't a real artist."

"Well you only have to make that mistake once with me." she conceded as she crept towards the box. "Is this, for me?"

Ben nodded, shifting, rubbing his hands down his thighs, then through his hair, a classic sign he was nervous. 

Smiling, she knelt down in front of it, running her nails down the edges she ripped the tape off. 

"Ya know, I have a pocket knife. It's easier." 

"Yeah but these bad boys are like built in pocket knives."

"Okay Wolverine."

Flipping him off, she opened the top of the box. Ben watched bemusedly as she struggled to wrestle the object out. Letting her struggle for only a few seconds before he got up and grabbed on to the end of the box she pulled her gift out.

Almost dropping it she gasped, "Ben, what the hell is this? What did you do?" He laughed as he smugly took a sip of wine, "Take off that bubble wrap and find out, love."

Staring at him, she ripped open the bubble wrap. First exposing the dark mahogany frame, then the white border, then..."Oh my god. Ben. Sweetheart. Is this...?"

He just tipped his head, making a get on with it gesture as, hands trembling, she ripped off the rest of the bubble wrap. 

Exposing the puzzle they had done together the day she had asked him to move in with her, matted and framed. 

Bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, she felt how wet her cheeks were. She sank back on her heels, laying the frame down in front of her as she leaned over it. Ben was by her side in a second, arms around her, pressing kisses into her hair. 

She couldn't believe it. Her heart felt like it was going to break from how much love she felt for Ben in that moment, "This is the best piece of art you've ever gotten."

"Nah, I'd say you were the best piece of art I've ever gotten."

"Oh god." She wailed as a fresh wave of tears came flooding out of her, making him laugh as his own eyes got watery, tightening his grip on her. 

Once the tears had stopped, she lifted her head, sniffling to look at the puzzle again. She squinted her eyes, "Ben."

"Yes?"

"Is...is there a piece missing from this?" 

He chuckled as he fished in his pocket for a second box, "There is. But for good reason."

Hands shaking like a leaf, she pried the box open only to reveal the piece of the puzzle she had stepped on the morning after she asked him to move in, winking up at her on a gold chain. She dropped it immediately as she threw herself into Ben's arms, tackling him to the ground. 

For several moments it was just the sound of her crying, him telling her to stop crying because it was making him cry, them kissing each other and exchanging promises of love and exclamations about how amazing the other was. 

After collecting herself and wiping her eyes, she held out her wrist, "Well? Put it on me you idiot."

He laughed, wiping his own eyes with his hoodie sleeve, fingers shaking as he clasped the bracelet onto her wrist. 

They stared down at it until Ben kissed the palm of her hand and brought it up to his face. 

Staring at each other, lost in the other's eyes, Ben said, "You know how at dinner you had everyone say three things they were grateful for?" She nodded, feeling a new batch of tears making their debut, "Obviously I said you but, love, you are always the top three things I'm most grateful for everyday. Every day I look at you and find something else about you that I'm grateful for. And I hope I get to keep doing that for however long you can stand to be around me." She giggled through her tears, nodding vigorously as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.  

She felt him take a steadying breath in as he squeezed her tighter into his embrace, "You're always what I'm most grateful for. And I will never stop being grateful for having you in my life. I love you so much it makes my heart ache sometimes."

Nodding furiously, voice wavery and thick from her tears, she said, "Everyday when I write my list, you always make the number one spot. No matter if you had yelled at me about letting a bat into our apartment the night before," He squeezed her tighter, laughing through his own tears, "This is just about the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me, so, yeah, Jones. You made me the happiest girl alive when you agreed to be my boyfriend and every day since then. I look at you every day and wonder how in the world I got so lucky but grateful that you're in my life. You're the love of my life."

Beaming, he pulled back only to place a deep kiss on her lips. Clutching his shoulders, they held each other there for a few long seconds, finally breaking apart to breath each other in.

Breaking the silence, she asked the age old question, "Where are we going to hang this?" 

"I was thinking over our bed." 

"Perfect. Just perfect."

That night, as they fell asleep, they had murmured what three things they were each grateful for. It came as no surprise to either of them that their three things they were most grateful for were each other. 

#ben hardy #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy one shots #ben hardy fluff #ben jones #ben jones oneshot #ben hardy oneshot #ben jones fluff #ben jones fanfic #three things #gratitude #grateful #thanksgiving fic #ITS HOLIDAY FIC SEASON GANG JUST HERE THOSE SLEIGH BELLS JINGLING #fluffy oneshot #relationship fluff #thanksgiving #ben hardy imagine #ben jones imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben jones x reader

[grell-writes-stuff]

A Self Indulgent First Chapter

Enjoy...something

Words: 2,549

Genre: Young Adult / Paranormal

---------------------------------------------

Slam!

Gasp!

And then the apathetic yell of “Walk it off, Willow!” from Coach Martin. No stopping the game or running over to make sure I’m not deprived of air or dying or something. Just “Walk it off, Willow!”

I suffer for a second with the wind knocked out of my body. My inhaler finds its way from my pocket to my hand, and while I hold the one breath I force myself into and wait for my crap lungs to jump-start again, I contemplate the most-likely-illegal play that landed me flat on my back in the middle of the field. Quarterback Tom Styles’ outstretched elbow connecting with my neck at full speed in his chase for the checkered ball and high school sports glory, clearly confusing his claim-to-fame varsity moves with a pickup game of soccer since I doubt he has the brain cells to remember the rules to two sports at once. And probably a little bit on purpose. Because he’s a dick.

My chest wheezes a little, but at least it’s something, and the weak inhales finally start to catch as a sun-freckled face appears above me and blocks out the light. Ivy offers me her hand.

“Did th-that look a-as bad as it f-felt?” I sputter.

Ivy tilts her head from side-to-side like it’s the scale measuring how uncool I am. “Worse. Very pathetic. You will die alone.” She yanks me to my feet and acts like a support in spite of the height difference.

“P-Please stop making m-me take gym with y-you.”

“Nah. It’s too funny.” She ignores my scowl. “Come on. Let’s get you some water and wait for those shitty lungs to work again.”

She escorts me – hobbling like some eighty-year-old man with spine problems and not just what will soon be a terrible, ugly bruise – toward the bleachers, empty except for the water bottles of our classmates. I’m happy enough to sit on the sidelines, not just while recovering from having all of the air robbed from my chest, but for the rest of gym class, and also forever. Ivy is equally as happy, but only because it prompts the girls’ teacher, Coach Caruthers, to scream in her booming voice:

“Hammond! Back on the field!”

Without missing a beat, Ivy responds, “In the event of moderate injury, students are allowed to have a friend or fellow student for mental, emotional, or physical support. It’s in the code of conduct.”

I don’t know if that’s actually something in our school’s rule book, but Ivy has read the whole thing cover-to-cover for the sole purpose of seeing how many provisions she can disregard without getting into trouble through malicious acts of over-compliance or sheer dumb luck. So, she’s either following the rules to the letter or lying about them. As I sit, I see that Caruthers does not look impressed when Ivy plops onto the bench next to me. The whole reason our gender-segregated phys. ed classes collaborate so often is because they’re full of athletes – and me, the outlier – so more often than not, it’s just an extra practice for the varsity players. Even though Ivy was born with the “good at physical stuff” gene, and talented enough to be a forward on our girls’ soccer team, she prefers to rely on the natural part of her ability and not the practice part to the vexation of literally everyone.

“Hammond!” Caruthers screams. “On the field, or off the team!”

Ivy squirts a stream of water into her mouth and quickly swallows before passing the bottle on to me. “Cool. Who’s replacing me?” she retorts.

I focus on downing some water and breathing evenly again and not on the vein beginning to pop out of Caruthers’ angry-red neck. She can’t say anything back because, well, Kinross High School isn’t huge. Pretty much everyone who can play sports is already playing sports, and as far as Ivy’s tendency to disrespect anyone of authority can go, she’s also crucial to securing victory over visiting teams. Caruthers just grits her teeth and returns to refereeing the game where Tom Styles has once again stolen the ball that got away from him, this time without incapacitating anybody since the one guy with asthma has left the field. (Asshole.) I watch as Abby Jefferson starts to gain on him, and Tom makes the choice to skillfully send the ball flying across the grass to the next open player, Drew Young, the only person in our gym class who does even less than I do.

That’s not for lack of talent either. I’ve seen Drew actually try on the rare occasion, and he could absolutely score a spot on a boys’ sports team. But most games, like today, he receives the pass and kicks the ball along to the next open player – it’s intercepted by one of the girls – and continues pacing the field leisurely. Coach Martin yells at him to get his head in the game, but Drew doesn’t bother. If the activity doesn’t involve selling the pens that he stole from the cheerleaders to the football team, the little weasel has no interest.

The game continues on.

Ivy reclines until her shoulders are touching the bench behind us, tilting her head back and staring at the sky. I have to wonder how comfortable it is.

“My dear Sid,” she theatrically addresses me. She likes to be dramatic sometimes. She thinks it’s funny. “I have a proposal for you.”

“I told you I’m not training a messenger pigeon with you. We only live three houses apart.”

“I’ll wear you down eventually, but no, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” She looks over at me without breaking her questionable position. “I know what we’re doing tonight. I’ve concocted a perfect plan, you see, for this most All-Hallowed of Eves.”

“You can say ‘Halloween’ like a normal person. It’s okay.”

“Let me bring you back in time,” she continues, ignoring me, “to the Kinross of yore. Just decades after its founding, the Salem Witch Trials came about and our town was no exception to the noose–”

“Salem is two hours away, Ivy,” I interrupt with the fact.

“Shut up. The Salem Witch Trials swept across the state of Massachusetts, migrated into Kinross, and thus the most famous trial of Kinross history was set in motion when one Ann Kelly was accused of being a creature of the occult!”

“Can I get the abridged version of this plan please?” I ask her. “Like, the part that takes place in this century?”

Finally fed up with my interjections, Ivy sighs exaggeratedly and rolls her eyes at me. “Blah, blah, blah, she was hanged, she’s buried in the historical section of Riverview, and we’re going there tonight during the witching hour to see” – she switches to her best spooky voice with elongated, trembling vowels – “her haunted grave.”

“Hard pass.”

That makes her sit upright again with a slouch to her posture. She’s wearing a fabricated pout. “Sid,” she whines.

“Ivy, I’m not sneaking out with you at three in the morning on Halloween to go see a ‘haunted grave.’” She opens her mouth, but I follow up with, “Our parents would kill us. Besides, what’s-her-name probably just angered a bunch of Puritans and got executed because of religious prejudice. That doesn’t mean she was a witch.”

“Well, of course. I think angering Puritans was a mandatory activity back then. But come on, Sid! The legend says she’s a witch, and it’s the perfect Halloween thing! I think we are obligated – if not encouraged by the spirit of Halloween herself – to go see a ghost witch.”

“Does the spirit of Halloween have a gender?”

Ivy pushes past that and waits to catch my eye dead-on. “Bet you a hundred bucks we actually see Ann Kelly’s phantom.”

My lips part to say no just a split second before I register the number. “Wait – a hundred?”

Something cocky has taken up her face, and she recites with inflated confidence, “Ten A-Hams. A Franklin. A thousand Roosevelts.”

“You know what? Fine. I’ll take your money,” I tell her. “You’re on.”

Her grin is smug as we fist-bump on it and close the deal, but I decide that I don’t care so much with the promise of an easy hundred dollars coming my way. Ivy ingests another stream of water, and swallows while her eyes quickly scan the grass to catch up with the game again. Suddenly, a yell flies from her mouth:

“Box him out, Julia! Come on!”

Then she’s up off the bleachers and jogging back out onto the field. As unwilling as Ivy is to make an effort and practice, she’s also equally as competitive, even if this is just a gym class where victory doesn’t really matter. I, on the other hand, take my time on the bench. Struggling to breathe isn’t my idea of fun. I need to stop letting Ivy manipulate me into taking phys. ed. If she keeps it up, she might kill me.

 ***

I can nearly be qualified as a mess by the time Ivy and I reach our lockers after final period, and she’s humming like she’s got live wires for veins despite just spending an hour burning off energy. Meanwhile, I’m still recovering from my last bout of airlessness after I returned to the field and ran for maybe ten minutes. And I feel gross. The benefit of having P.E. last period is that I don’t have to shower here and can wait until I get home or to Ivy’s. The con is the window of time in between. I usually try to keep the gap as short as possible, and therefore, my time at my locker brief. I think Ivy and I took enough time getting changed after gym to avoid most people – at least the non-athletes.

“Hi, Sidney! Hi, Ivy!”

A mixture of feelings suddenly rockets through me and don’t add up in the end. While my chest is beginning to slowly overclock, and the hallway seems a few degrees warmer and rising steadily, I’m ready to play dead as Naomi Park opens the locker right next to mine on the opposite side of Ivy’s. Her shoulder is a fraction of an inch from touching my arm which is probably too close when I’m still drenched in gym sweat. Ivy greets her politely with ease while my brain is trying to catch up with the mundane situation and not think about how she smells like some kind of flowery perfume and I smell like crap.

“Hey, Naomi,” leaves my mouth and sounds too drawn-out and weirdly cheesy, so I just try to smile to make up for it. That feels awkward too, but she thankfully doesn’t seem to react to that, and her glossy pink lips tilt up without much effort into a perfect grin.

She puts some books on the shelf in her locker. “Any exciting Halloween plans?”

“Nope,” Ivy says immediately, likely because our actual idea involves a wager and might not be entirely legal – it’s a misdemeanor at the least. I just take the hint and don’t add anything to refute her answer.

“You? Any plans? For tonight – Halloween?” I wish that had come out differently. It could have at least sounded coherent.

“Nothing tonight,” Naomi responds. “But Heather’s having a ‘Belated Halloween Bash’ on Saturday while her parents are out of town so I’m ‘required’ to be there.”

“Oh, cool. That’s…cool.”

“I guess so. Heather’s parties get a little boring after a while though. I bet your plans for Saturday are much more fun.”

“Yep. Pints of ice cream, horror movies, and making bets on how long it takes Sid to hurl when the blood starts gushing,” Ivy interjects.

“Ivy.” I mutter the snap of her name so it doesn’t sound as harsh as I want it to. The temperature in the hallway rises astronomically.

Naomi giggles, which hurts. Well, it would if her laugh wasn’t so musical and twinkly. It’s like a damn harp quartet. “Sounds like a good time,” she comments. Her locker door shuts. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Yeah, totally – tomorrow. See ya’, Naomi!” She’s nearly out of earshot down the hall, and I wait until I know she definitely can’t hear anything before I say to Ivy without daring a look at her, with the heat of embarrassment and shame boiling me alive from the inside, “Please say nothing.”

I can hear the grin on her face when she speaks. “You realize she’s just another human being, right?”

“Are you kidding? She’s at the right hand of Heather Loch. She’s popular. I’m shocked she still knows my name.”

Ivy shuts her own locker with a characteristic slam. “Dude, you’re ridiculous. She likes you back. If you just talked to her, and told her that you like her, you would have a girlfriend.”

“Ivy, she thinks I’m a loser.”

“I think you’re a loser and I still like you sometimes.”

I roll my eyes and can’t say anything to that. I don’t care if Ivy thinks I’m lame. It’s not the same. We’ve been together for as long as I can remember, so at this point, she’s locked into this friendship, no matter how easy it would be for her to hang out with the people at Kinross High who are actually popular and liked.

I close my locker and we start walking to the main exit of the building and eventually across the school’s student parking lot. Some groups linger, but most people seem to be dispersing and heading home for the day. Ivy and I walk straight through the lot as always, avoiding the cars pulling out.

I want to avoid the Styles’ Ford Everest – which is so bright red that it’s an assault on the eyes – but we have to walk past it and the clump of popular kids loitering next to it: blonde, perfect, popular Heather Loch, Asshole Quarterback Tom and his not-as-terrible twin, Ed, and my locker neighbour and secret crush, Naomi. The girls are under the guys’ arms like they belong there, popular with popular. There’s usually not much interaction between our pair and their group because I’m pretty sure most of the popular kids either don’t know who I am or just hate me for no reason, but today Tom decides to rub in his full-contact plays on the soccer field.

“Nice moves out there, Pussy Willow!” he shouts clear across the lot. It makes me feel the bruise on my back, still fresh, but I’m past the point of being mad about it. Really, Tom’s just an annoying jerk, and that’s all he’ll ever be.

I try to tap into Ivy-like sarcasm and passiveness. “I get it. Because my last name is Willow, and you’re insulting me. That’s really funny. It’s original.”

He yells something back that includes one of Ivy’s favourite swear words, but we disregard it and turn out of the parking lot in the direction of our houses. Ivy states that we’re going to my place because, in her mind, it’s easier to sneak out of a single-parent household. I don’t try to refute it because arguing with Ivy when she has her mind made up is like talking to a brick wall.

#writing #wip #untitled #my writing #my ocs #ya #young adult #writeblr

[brideofedoras]

Happy Birthday, John Kennex

In honor of Karl Urban’s birthday, I wrote a little birthday fic to go along with Soulbound.  John Kennex’s birthday is June 7, 2007.

Disclaimer: I only own my OCs

Word count: 1900+

Rating: 18+

Warnings: brief mentions of anxiety, asthma and self harm

-1-

Emily smiled and waved to the nurses on duty as she walked by the nurses’ station.  Sara was on duty, she noted, rolling her eyes when the woman winked at her.  She clutched the little malachite dragon she carried a little tighter in her right hand before letting herself into John’s room.

Her heart stuttered in her chest when she saw the detective, still unconscious.  Someone had shaved off his stubble earlier and had given his dark brown hair a trim. 

She had to swallow a few times before she managed to find her voice.  “I… I, uh… have it on good authority that today is your birthday,” she blushed when she realized her voice sounded a little on the breathy side.  Oh, lord…  At least I’m not wheezing.  “The big Four-O,” she placed the dragon on the bedside table next to the photograph of John and his partner, Marty Pelham, and Marty’s wife Maria and son Marty Junior.  “But don’t worry,” her breathy voice took on a teasing tone.  “I won’t tell anyone your real age.  Sandy and I will keep it a secret.”

She busied herself with her normal routine upon arriving for her daily visits.  She straightened his blanket over his chest, smoothed her hands over his chest and arms to make sure the wrinkles were out, grounding herself to keep her anxiety at bay.  She blushed when she felt his heartbeat kick a little harder when her palm brushed over his chest.  “I’m beginning to think you really enjoy my visits even though I’m the most boring and awkward visitor you’ve got,” she teased.  “Yeah, I know.  I shouldn’t talk down on myself like I do but I am awkward and I’m sure what I talk about is boring.”

Finally, she squeezed his fingers and ran her fingers through his shorter hair.  “I miss the scruff,” she admitted softly as she traced her fingertips along his smooth jaw.  Her blush darkened when she realized she’d spoken out loud this time.  “Oh, god, don’t mind me,” she giggled nervously.  “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.  I…”  She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.  “You look very nice when you’re clean-shaven, but you also look pretty hot when you’re scruffy,” she confessed with a half-sigh, half-whisper.  “I…  I don’t know why I find it so easy to talk to you, to admit things that I know I’d never be able to say out loud if you were actually awake… much less be able to open up to anyone else...  I…  I probably would never be able to talk to you if you were conscious…  I mean, I’m…  I’m nobody.  And you’re…  You’re you.  You probably wouldn’t even give me a second thought,” she turned away from the bed to walk over to the window.  “I’m such a painfully shy and awkward person with anxiety and asthma, no one looks twice at me as it is,” she wrapped her arms around her stomach before she growled at herself.  “I’m sorry, ignore me.  I’m just…  I know I’m hard on myself,” she admitted quietly.  “It’s your birthday.  I’m supposed to be happy and in a celebratory mood, but you already know how I feel about birthdays.  But I am happy, in a way.  I’m hanging out with the best-looking guy in the world, even if he doesn’t know I exist.”  She returned to the bed and leaned down.  “Happy birthday, John,” she whispered before kissing his cheek.  “I brought you a present.  I know I didn’t have to, but after I accidentally caught a glimpse of the tattoo on your arm I knew what I would get you for your birthday or Christmas.  I like dragons, but I prefer the European ones to the Chinese ones.  I found a Chinese dragon carved in malachite at a shop near campus and had to get it for you.  It’s really pretty.”  She moved away from the bed to sit down in the chair.  “So…  I’m thinking about applying for an internship through the Synthetic Dispatch Division.  Dr. Lom is open to taking on an intern.  I’m scared to death I won’t get the internship if I do apply, but I won’t know unless I try, right?  I haven’t talked to Sandy about it, not yet.  We’re meeting for drinks later at McQuade’s.”

She grew quiet as she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath he took.  “Maybe someday we could go out for a drink after you wake up.”  When she realized what she’d said, she quickly backpedalled, stammering and blushing hard before she could string a coherent sentence together.  “I…  I really need to shut up, huh?  Not go out like as in a date or something like that, I could only ever dream of going on a date with you.”  She blushed harder and smacked her hands over her face.  “Shit.  God, Emily, you’re such a damned idiot!”  She cussed at herself.  “Drinks between friends.”

She scrubbed her hands over her face.  “You’ve come to mean a lot to me in such a short period of time already,” she reached for his hand.  “You let me ramble and babble when I get nervous or anxious and somehow I feel much calmer when I hold your hand.  And I’ve rambled and babbled a lot already today.”  She took a deep breath and grimaced when she wheezed.  “It’s a beautiful day out today.  Couldn’t ask for prettier skies.  The sunrise this morning was gorgeous…”

-2-

Thunder rattled the windows of the hospital room.  Must be storming.  Dammit.  Emily better not be out driving in this.  I want her here but I don’t want her to get into a wreck either.  Sam, I hope you and Lizzie are watching over your daughter, please don’t let anything happen to her.  She has no idea how much she means to me.

Another rumble of thunder rattled the windows, drowning out the whoosh of the door sliding open.  The scent of vanilla cupcakes reached him and he breathed an internal sigh of relief.

Emily was safe.  She was there.

The door swooshed open again, followed by the scent of raspberries.  Sara, his favorite nurse.  She was nice, always talking to him when she was checking on him.  Always making sure he had the softer blankets or more supportive pillow.  “Here’s the towels you requested, Em.”

“Thanks, Sara, I don’t want Karen or Tim hollering at me for dripping all over the room,” Emily’s voice was filled with light-hearted amusement.

Sara laughed.  “They won’t holler, Em.  Karen will give you the look and chastise you before she hugs you, and Tim is such a good-natured soul.  They’ll chalk it up to job security.  Anything else you need?”

“Nah, thank you, I’ll holler if I do.”

The door swooshed open and shut again, leaving him alone with Emily.  He listened to the gentle rustle of fabric, towel maybe, before the sound of a raincoat being shrugged off reached his ears.  

“Hi, John,” her voice sounded a little regretful.  “I wasn’t ignoring you, I promise.  I’m dripping all over the place and don’t want the housekeeping staff to worry about my coat and boots dripping all over.”  Her voice strained before he heard the slide of two zippers.  “It’s nasty out today.  The storm didn’t hit until I was halfway here.”

Should’ve stopped somewhere to wait it out, Sweetheart, I don’t want you risking your life just to spend time with me.

“I know, I could’ve pulled off to wait it out but it hasn’t let up at all and I didn’t want to sit in my car in a sketchy parking lot,” her hands brushed his chest as she straightened the blankets.

His heart thumped harder when he felt her palm settle over it.  Good call.  But I still don’t want you driving in a storm, Emily.  I’m not worth you getting hurt.

“I couldn’t miss my favorite guy’s birthday today,” her breath puffed over his cheek before her plush lips pressed against the stubble.

Favorite guy, huh?  Sweetheart…  He wished he could turn his head, to feel her soft lips on his.  He settled for feeling her smile curve on his cheek instead.

“Happy birthday, John.  Whenever you wake up you’re going to have a lot of cards and a few gifts,” the chair scraped closer to the bed.  Her hand curled around his.  “Just because you’re in a coma doesn’t mean anyone who loves you can get away with ignoring birthdays and holidays.  Sandy’s got a box she’s putting them in for you.  I didn’t bring a gift with me today, it’s at Sandy’s.  I wasn’t about to bring it with me.”  Her breath hitched on a wheeze.  “I finally worked up the courage to go through Daddy’s stuff and found a few guitars I never knew he had.  Sandy told me you collect guitars, that you play a little, and I asked her if maybe I should give them to you.  They’re vintage, from the 1970s and 80s.  Or would they be considered antiques?  I don’t know.  They’re beautiful, though.  One’s an acoustic and the others are electric.  Daddy even had sheet music for some of the old classic rock songs.  I sent those over with the guitars.”

Sweetheart, they’re your dad’s, you should keep them.

“I don’t have the room in my apartment for them, I don’t want for them to remain in their cases tucked away in a closet.  They’re meant to be picked up and played and proudly displayed.  I don’t know how to play, other than random strumming that sounds god awful.  I never was musically-inclined growing up, I would’ve taken the amp apart to see how it works and if I could improve it,” she laughed softly.  “Maybe that’s why Daddy had them in storage, to keep me from doing just that.  I…  I would like to learn how to at least play a few chords, though.”

I could teach you.  Not that hard.  I’ll get a guitar in your hands and sit behind you, wrap my arms around you to guide your hands.  He groaned.  Slow down, Kennex, he warned himself when he felt arousal stirring in his belly just from the image in his head.  Dammit.

Her fingers laced through his.  “I hope you will like them.”

I already do, Sweetheart…

-3-

The gentle press of soft, plush lips on his woke him up.  John groaned, wrapping his arms around Emily.  “Mornin’, Baby,” he murmured before deepening the kiss.  

She braced her hands against his shoulder and shoved.  “You’re ruining the moment!”  She giggled when he pinned her beneath him and attacked her neck with voracious kisses.  “John!”

He lifted his head.  “You started it by kissing me awake, Baby.”  He frowned when tears glistened in her baby blue eyes.  “Emily?”

“I get to look into your eyes this time when I say it,” her voice cracked as a tear slipped down her temple into her dark hair.  “Happy birthday, John.”

John cupped her cheek and brushed the tear away with his thumb.  “Baby, don’t start cryin’ on me,” he chastised gently, shifting onto his back and tucking her to his side.  “What are your plans today?”

“We’re not going to spend your birthday with you in bed and me in a chair holding your hand,” she retorted.

“How ‘bout we both spend the day in bed?”

She giggled.  “John!”

“It’s my birthday, can’t I pick how we spend the day?”  He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“What about your birthday cupcakes or breakfast or your present--”

He hauled her on top of him and silenced her protest with a kiss.  “Later.  Much… much later,” he growled between kisses.

#almost human #john kennex #john kennex x ofc #soulbound #soulmates #happy birthday #karl urban

[atelier-dayz]

The Conception and History of AtaLao

This is just a post for me to ramble on about how Ata and Lao (and Asha but he’s like 1/2 not an OC) got started as OCs and recount some of their history leading up to their roles in Under the Desert Sky. So for the one or two of you interested in reading this: 

(GIF from awhiteshirt)

It’s long and convoluted so everything is under the ‘read more’ link.

Otherwise, just carry on scrolling through your dash! 8D

The Beginning

To talk about the start of AtaLao, I first need to talk (briefly) about Rogue One and The Lost Bladesman. 

So I watched Rogue One and fell deep into Chirrut/Baze. That of course meant watching movies that Donnie Yen (DY) and Jiang Wen (JW) were in, which included The Lost Bladesman. 

The Lost Bladesman was set during China’s Three Kingdoms period and starred DY as Guan Yu (GY) and JW as Cao Cao (CC). And lemme just say, in this movie (and in several other Romance of the Three Kingdoms adaptations, including at least one of the Dynasty Warriors games), CC is HELLA THIRSTY for GY. Which kicked off an interest in CC/GY and led me and two friends to evocates’ phenomenal Romance of the Three Kingdoms/The Lost Bladesman series a guide to (dis)honouring your deities which had an interesting approach to A/B/O. 

Between that fic series and the many Hong Kong triad films and old “classic” HK films we watched, my friends and I ended up writing an A/B/O HK Triad AU in which CC was the head of a recently resurrected triad trying to protect/build up their home-city, while GY was one of the few good cops in a (obviously) corrupt system. 

Anyways, getting to the AtaLao part... 

On the left is General Zhang Liao, who acts as CC’s right-hand man in The Lost Bladesman. So naturally, he became CC’s second-in-command in our Triad AU! And look! He is, in fact, Asha! 8D Hence why I say Asha technically is and isn’t an OC LOL

As our Triad AU grew bigger, we added three “elders” to CC’s triad, people who had been important members of the triad before its collapse (due to the police) and were pulled back out of hiding when CC resurrected the triad. One of them, we decided, would be Elder (Ata) Zhang, Asha’s father. (Which was how CC also met Asha.) Elder Zhang had been The Accountant for the triad pre-collapse, knew where all the money in the triad was and went, highly trusted and held in high esteem. He was never arrested by the police, though they did pull him into interrogation once with...not great results for them. (Keeping this PG with minimal violence LOL I can talk about this another time if anyone is interested.)

I, on a whim, decided Elder Zhang’s facecast would be...

Tony Leung because it’s Tony Leung. 

CC had his work cut out convincing Elder Zhang and Asha to support his bid for lead of the triad. *nods*

But what happened to Elder Zhang’s mate? Asha’s other parent? (Lao?) 

(Aside: Andy Lau as his facecast because I LOVE HIM. And he and Tony Leung have SUCH AMAZING CHEMISTRY and ALL THE FODDER for me to use for inspiration, but I’ll stop myself here before I pic spam.)

WELL. 

He died when Asha was about 5 or 6. He was shot and killed by the police while he and Ata were out on a date under suspicion of being a triad member. (”He has the face of a gangster,” they said.) The irony is, he is actually a normal civilian, a low-level architect, and has nothing to do with the triad other than being Ata’s husband.

Thus, by the time our AU took place, Lao hadn’t been present for...over 30 years and was only rarely referenced as a near mythical figure. (;﹏;)

So there we have the beginnings of AtaLao. 

Their backstory makes me incredibly sad all the time. Especially when I think about their childhood/courtship and their dreams and plans for their future. I have lots of art drawn, content made, and thousands of words written for them so just say the word and I’ll share LOL

Proper AtaLao

What do I mean by ‘proper’ AtaLao? Well, when we were working on the Triad AU, none of the characters outside of the canon characters GY, CC, etc had names; we just abbreviated actors’ names. (Asha was just called Zhang. Ata was Elder Zhang. Lao was AL.)

Sooo that brings me back to Rogue One and....

The Ascension of the Lord of Imwe *jazz hands*

With so much inspiration material thanks to the movies DY and JW were in (and because I’m a martial arts nut), I started writing a Chirrut/Baze epic wuxia AU titled the above. It involved Chirrut inheriting the title of Lord (Baze as his right-hand / retainer), a power struggle between households to gain/hold the favor of the Emperor, and the Imwe household working to prove the murder of Chirrut’s father. (It is not posted anywhere. Don’t think it’ll ever see the light of day, but it exists. LOL) 

Since the story involved such a huge cast, I thought, why not pull in Zhang to help Baze with security. And if I’m gonna bring in Zhang, I should bring in Ata and Lao! And give them a happy ending. ;u;

And as it turned out, Ata worked perfectly to serve as a parallel for Chirrut (and AtaLao for Chirrut/Baze). 

(And this part, you’ll notice, I took to fill in his backstory in Under the Desert Sky.) Ata Zhang was the firstborn son of a prominent family, but he was born mute (a reference to an...incident in Triad AU) and treated poorly because of it. He would have been selected to inherit the family title, but was passed over for his “normal” younger brother. He took over the family’s bookkeeping (a reference to his role as The Accountant), and later, bowed to their wishes to an arranged marriage, from which he got Asha. 

(Chirrut is the firstborn son of the Imwe family, fully expected not to inherit the title because of his originally sickly constitution and failing eyesight. To the surprise and consternation of many, he did in fact inherit the title.)

As for Lao, he was an orphan taken in by the Zhang family and initially raised to be a servant, before they switched him to security. He met Ata when they were tiny children, and he accidentally found Ata crying over the way people were treating him. Lao ended up promising to always protect Ata, and eventually becomes Ata’s personal bodyguard. 

Please know there’s a LOT of PINING, and longing looks, and knowing they have feelings for each other but never acting on them, and then there’s Ata’s marriage, and baby Asha imprinting like a duckling on Lao, and-- aaaaaaaaah (　ﾟДﾟ)＜!!!!!!!!!!!

Eventually though, as I reference in Under the Desert Sky, Ata’s wife leaves, causing a scandal, and the family takes their displeasure out on Asha, which is the last straw for Ata. He takes Asha and leaves, but of course Lao goes with him. They finally work things out, and when we see them in the fic, they’re an old(ish) married couple who joined the Imwe household along with Asha to protect Ata from his younger brother, who is trying to assasinate him to secure his leadership in the family. 

That is AtaLao. 

(Please look at this picture of them that my dear friend Kei / kannibal on here and twitter drew for me and that has been my phone wallpaper ever since. ♡ฅ(ᐤˊ꒳ฅˋᐤ♪))

And since they already were in a fic with Chirrut and Baze, I figured, why not include them in Under the Desert Sky, an actual SW divergent AU and not just something wildly AU LOL And it works out perfectly as a pseud-parallel(?) with Ata as a Guardian, Lao as a Mando vs Obi as a Jedi, Jango the Mando. d(￣◇￣)b

Other Existing Iterations of AtaLao

I will keep this brief in the form of bullet points:

Infernal Affairs AU - After watching Infernal Affairs, I had to, had to write a mash up of it and our Triad AU. In it, Ata is still an accountant for the Triad, but was planted by the police. Lao is the mole the triad places among the police. Ata and Lao have a sort of missed connection history when they meet in the fic. I do want to finish it someday because I love what I have written so far. Maybe for the zine I’m hypothetically making one day...

In addition to Triad AU, we also ended up creating an epic high fantasy/Three Kingdoms AU and made two additional variations on top of it. The Main AU involved Lao as a High Priest and healer who ends up mentoring one of the Emperors’ daughters in the healing arts, while Ata is a major in the Emperor’s army who ends up leading a lot of supernatural investigations alongside Lao. 

Modern AU is a urban fantasy version of the high fantasy AUs, with everyone in similar roles, just updated for the modern age. 

AAAAND THAT’S IT. I’ll do a post on AtaLao in Under the Desert Sky sometimes since I know their backstory won’t be much of a focus in the fic. :)

PS I ended up making a little diagram to make sense of the AUs that ended up popping up in what order and from what influence. Not sure it’s actually helpful to anyone but here is it: 

#miya rambles #atalao #my ocs #long post #probably not of interest to most people so just carry on 8D #I could yell about them all day #under the desert sky