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minahoeshi · 3 years

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you were loved the most of all.

Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader | break-up angst

summary: You should've known that when Ushijima Wakatoshi found it easy to fall in love with you, it might be even easier for him to fall out of it. But who expects the worst when it comes to loving someone as seemingly perfect as him, anyway?

Chapter 1 of 2

Chapter 2 of 2

He said it was easy to fall in love with you. He said he didn’t know when exactly, at which place, nor for what reason. Simply one day, Ushijima Wakatoshi found himself looking at you with the epiphany that maybe there’s something more meant to happen between you and him. There you stood before him that day, the person he could promise love to. (And there he stood before you that moment, the boy whose promises you found yourself believing in no matter what.)

So maybe that’s why it was even easier for him to fall out of love. When he told you he was no longer in love with you, it didn’t matter to you to ask when exactly, at which place, or for what reason. Even the universe itself is meant to fizzle out one day along with the death of the stars. Just one more person drifting away from you like a lone planet with no real orbit shouldn’t leave you broken. You are used to this. You won’t fall apart.

But you break anyway.

It was snowing outside when he decided to tell you to end things now before it hurts both of you even further. Not that the snow has anything to do with the coldness creeping up your chest threatening to spill out of you in endless sobs. You were glad, though. That at the very least, he remained honest with his feelings. He never left you guessing. Every time, he never forgets to tell you what’s on his mind. His honesty is something he thought was necessary.

“I understand, don’t worry. Thank you for telling me right away. I know you’re also considering me–” you tell him and choke up. There are tears running down your face but you’re not worried about that. Wakatoshi never let you mask your emotions around him. For the longest time, he reminded you to feel free to be completely bare with him. All the good and the bad, he said. Don’t be afraid to show them to me. I will always understand.

He steps closer and puts you between his arms. You feel his chin on top of your head as you lean your face into his chest. You’re sobbing now. “I’ll be fine, Toshi. We’ll be fine.”

He kisses the top of your head and lets you stay in his arms for minutes. “I loved you then, and I love you still. It’s just that they’re no longer the same kind. I will stay if you ask me to, okay? Anything you want.”

This only makes you cry harder. He’s always been too good. And even in breaking your heart, he’s too good. You want him to hold on. You want to ask him to stay with you for years and years. Even with a different kind of love, you’ll let him be as long he’s close by. But someone like him who has dreams beyond yourself shouldn’t ever be with someone like you who still lacks certainty toward anything.

“Just for tonight,” you ask, still crying. “Can I stay?”

“of course,” he replies. Anytime you want. Anything you want. It has always been this way.

Because humans are creatures of routines and familiarity, you spend that night the way you usually do when you’re at his place. You cook dinner with him and eat on the dining table, sharing stories and laughter. You keep adding food to his plate and he smiles as you giggle at everything you find funny.

It’s okay, it’s okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.

You clean the kitchen and stay in the living room. He leans on the couch as you lay down with your head on his lap. You keep talking and laughing. He goes along, sometimes adding things to make you laugh even more, sometimes simply agreeing, sometimes asking questions. You keep it loud and light, afraid of the silence. Inside you, it’s so heavy, your heart might just fall off. This will be the last, you tell yourself. You want to be happy for now. While he’s still here.

"Do me a favor, okay?" You tell him as you're nearing slumber. "Let me leave first tomorrow. Maybe stay in bed, maybe pretend you're asleep. But tomorrow, don't get out of the room until I've left the house." Your voice shakes, feeling yourself wanting to sob.

"I don't want to wake up to another empty bed but I don't want to see your face when I wake up too," you curl into him even further. "I'm sorry for being selfish. I'm sorry I still don't really know what to do. And I know you wake up pretty early and you know, do stuff, but just for tomorrow, please?"

Wakatoshi didn't really understand why. He originally planned on cooking breakfast for you and taking you to the train station. He would watch you board the train and he'd make sure to smile at you as he waves. You always waved back. That's how it works. Even after fights, and even after especially bad nights, you'd still do the same. Watching you leave with a smile was how you both knew you'd still be fine the days after. That nothing much can affect your relationship. For years, this has been the routine.

But tomorrow, he knows he has to give way. He knows what he said hurt you. It would be wrong of him to do what he wants simply because he's used to.

Tomorrow's the last, he realises. And then if you want, he'd never see you again.

You wake up pretty early. The sky is a calm shade of blue, the world outside still waking up. You check the time on your phone and find it's 6 AM. Last night, you slept with your back on him. The sight before you is the other end of his bedroom and you notice just how much of yourself you've managed to leave around his place. Pieces of just one other person in his life, scattered in places around his world pretending that’s just where they belong. You didn't mind leaving things behind back then. You never really thought of the day that you might’ve to take back all of them. Just how does one pick up parts of themselves when they thought they’ve finally found a place for them to stay?

But as you stand up, you conclude that when things end, traces shouldn’t be left behind. He didn’t decide to break up only to be reminded of you even after you’re no longer close to him. So you go and pick every little thing that's yours. Even your jacket and sweaters and a few pairs pyjamas in his closet. You'll just take his things from your place too and hand it to Tendou's shop. Coming back here won’t do you any good. Him coming to your place instead wouldn’t either.

Collecting all your things, even the ones you can't use anymore, you leave the bedroom and enter the living room. You don't have many belongings here aside from some DVDs and books. You only take the books and leave the rest for him. You've always preferred reading anyway.

Setting your bag and things aside on the sofa, you go ahead and wash yourself in the bathroom and bring your toothbrush and some other products with you when you're done. You then head to the kitchen to cook him something light to eat for breakfast . You knew you didn't have to. He knows how to cook. It has always been him cooking breakfast for you. When you could, you’d rather stay in bed until the very moment you must start preparing to go to uni or work. But you did anyway. He's probably in his bed, awake. He has never been a heavy sleeper. With all the moving you did around his room, he was bound to wake up if he wasn't already.

You make him a simple omelette and write a small message on top of it with ketchup. "Good luck with practice today!"

You've already cleaned everything you used, preferring to wash and set utensils as soon as you're done with them. That way, when you're sitting down to eat, there won't be any cluster around to distract you.

You put the ketchup down and decide that should be enough. You'll stop here. You should go now.

Ushijima is sitting on his bed. He's been awake since 5 AM when he usually goes on his run. It isn't the first time he chose to stay with you instead of going out, but he can't help but feel heavy this time. He stayed in for you. But as the minutes pass by, it seems that he simply cannot find the courage to sit up and face you.

He wants to sink into his bed.

There's knock on the door followed by sentences uttered softly. "Toshi, I'm going now. There's breakfast on the table. Make sure to eat before you go."

There goes the heavy feeling again. Maybe if this keeps up, he might just actually sink and never get back up.

You've done that a few times. Leaving while he's still in the room. You don't even open the door. You simply knock and tell him you're about to go, always reminding him to eat before he goes too.

But this will be the last, he thinks. If you leave now, will he never see you again?

a/n

chapter 2 will be up soon not rly sure when tho. (it's up now the link is at the top)

also, im not entirely sure but i think i didnt use any pronouns or gendered nouns for this except "girl" in the 1st paragraph which i erased just now? if i'm right, then i hope everyone reading this get to feel as though theyre rly the person in the story. unless ofc u dont want that bc this isnt the happiest ushitoshi x reader fic u can find🥲. but thanks for reading!!!! m so sorry for typos nd other errors as well. i kinda cant read my own writings bc sometimes doing so makes me wanna smack myself in the head and never write again nd i hate that so now im leaving my mistakes to the gods nd hope they love me enough or smth. but yes thank u sm again for reading!!!!

#ushijima x reader #ushijima scenarios #ushijima angst #ushijima fanfic #ushijima reader insert #ushijima x y/n #ushijima wakatoshi

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empress-simps · 3 years

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Strangers (six)

▪︎Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuroo x Reader, Bokuto Koutaro x Reader, Bokuto Koutaro x Akaashi Keiji and Hinata Shoyo x Kageyama Tobio

▪︎Pronouns: She/Her [Fem! Reader]

▪︎Alternate Universe: Soulmate Au!

▪︎Genre: Angst

▪︎Warnings: Some typos and probably grammatical errors

▪︎Synopsis: Finding out your soulmate rejected the bond to be with someone else feels terrible.

Note: I'm so proud I wrote this in one go HAHHAHA- this is long and I hope y'all like it! I'm writing this late at night so my mind is tired and this was all I squeezed out of my creativity

》 next

》 previous

》 Strangers Masterlist

Akaashi could feel his heart beating loudly against his chest as he sat on the train going to Miyagi. He fiddled with his thumb, desperately trying to keep his compsure calm to mask his true emotions.

As he thought of all the scenarios that can possibly occur, he balled his fists and let a few tears fall.

"You promised me, Kou."

You don't knkw what to say, or act infront of your supposed soumate. He shouldn't even be here in the first place, but that's the least of your concerns right now; What you're worried about is how serious he look and told you he needs to talk to you.

Hinata eyed you worriedly as he attemps to make an excuse for you to get out of the situation you're in. "Er... Bokuto-san, she isn't feeling well-"

Next thing you knew you were being checked over by the said boy. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He asked worriedly, putting his palm against your forehead.

You shyly stepped away and moved his hand away from your forehead. "I'm fine, Bokuto-san. Don't worry about me." Bokuto felt shivers down his spine as your hand touched his for a brief moment. It all felt familiar to him as he used to feel those things with akaashi, but he realized one thing.

This feeling he felt, is much stronger than what he shared with Keiji.

"Of course I'll worry about you! You're my soulmate.." He whispered, noticing the small wince you did as he uttered those words making his heart break.

"We.. aren't soulmates anymore Bokuto-san.." You said slowly, not failing to notice the worried looks tjrown at your way by your friends. "You should get home, it's getting pretty late." Bokuto sighed, "Can I atleast walk you to your house? I need to tell you something too." He pleaded, as much as you don't want to you couldn't.

The fact that he travelled all the way here makes it hard to turn him down. You figured that it's the least you could do. "Sure, my home isn't that far from here."

"I'm... sorry for rejecting the bond like that."

Bokuto's voice rang in your ears as you stared at the ceiling above you. You tried to not think about the whole ordeal that happened but faiiling miserably; mind still swimming with thoughts that is slowly drowning you.

Out of nowhere, your phone started to ring with the special ringtone you've set for a certain Nekoma captain. You scrambled to grab it from your desk and answered with a small smile on your face.

"Missed me, kitten?" He teased, making you roll your eyes and click your tounge.

"Cut your crap, Tetsuroo."

"Oya? What happened to being polite to your senior?"

"I am being polite, Kuroo-san."

You heard him snort as you tried to hide your giggles, you could picture him having a small playful smirk on his face as he twirls a pen in his hand, answering a chemistry assignment or stuff like that.

"Kitten?"

You hummed, propping your feet against the wall. "I told you to stop calling me that, it's embarassing."

"What's wrong?"

A sudden silence enveloped the entire room as you stopped, not knowing how to respond. "Well..." Kuroo hummed, encouraging you to continue. It's still a mystery for you on how he manages to sense your emotion.

"Bokuto went here."

That alone made kuroo drop his pen and focus all his attention to you. "What happened? Are you okay? Did he want anything from you?" He asked, worry evident in his voice.

"He said he's sorry and that he's going to fix this.." You mumbled, voice dying down. Kuroo sighed, anger and jealousy rolling of him in waves. "Then..? What did you say?" He asked, waiting for your repsonse anxiously.

"I said that there's nothig to fix. He kept telling me that when we first met." You mumbled, looking at the gray mark on your wrist.

Noticing something out of ordinary, you sat upright and looked at the mark with confusion. "What the..." you mumbled. Tracing the dissappearing lines with a light finger.

"Are you okay?" Kuroo's voice oulled you away from your thoughts as you reassured him you're fine. "It's just... is it normal for the mark to be fading? All I know is that it just turns gray.."

"Hm? My mark is starting to fade too." Kuroo replied, staring at his wrist. The name of his supposed to be lover slowly dissappearing.

He exactly knows what's going on, but he decides to keep it to himself, for now.

"Why are our marks fading?" You asked, clearly confuzed and scared. He shrugged, even though you can't see it. "I don't know. I haven't seen anyone with their marks fading. Just keep calm hm? We'll be alright. It's late, you need your beauty sleep. Just call whenever you want okay? Goodnight kitten, sweet dreams."

"Goodnight too, you sly cat." You mumbled before ending the call.

Talking to Kuroo felt like a breath of fresh air. Even if you try to deny it, when you hear him call you that stupid nickname you can feel butterlies in your stomach making you feel flustered and weird. He eases all your worries away with just uttering a few simple words of affirmation.

The longer you think about it, realization dawned in you.

Kuroo's starting to feel like home.

Taglist [Closed]: @decaffeinatedtealover @lulu-102 @whateverfeelz @ginsan-eyes @pluviophilefangirl @bakuhoesbro @aonenthusiast @amecchii @jadasz @random-734 @sleep3deprived @snflwrkenma @archishaya @kissungjae @sakusasimpbot @its-the-aerieljeane @dimsumhomie @jessie9008 @crapimahuman @ushijimascumslut @ysatrap @denkibutinsteadofpikachuitspichu @johnnysactualgf @just-a-saltine @nekomavsnohebi @acsycharm @sazunari @baby-jichu @felixsamour

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu au #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu soulmate au #haikyuu smau #kuroo smau #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu kuroo x reader #haikyuu bokuaka #bokuto koutaro x reader #haikyuu x manager #haikyuu x you

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promptprophet · 3 years

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Welcome back

I am not dead, although I am ready to throw down. Okay so there is a lot under the cut, but by every star in the sky I have been gone from all of my blogs for a while due to some roccuring issues. If any follow my main at @prophet-rebellion then you may have noticed that.

Some pro-tips:

1. Do not attend a gathering with family that does not believe in Covid. Because if they are anything like mine, someone will tell them they tested positive, your Uncle will encourage them to come anyways and not tell a single other person - and then, surprise surprise, everyone ends up with Covid.

2. Do not let your advisor plan your schedule entirely. Even if they are the Dean of your department. Because if they are still like mine, they will give you six classes. Which would not be an issue of 18 credit hours if it were not for the fact that 5 or the 6 are writing enriched. The only one that it not is math-based which is not my strong suite anyways.

But, in other news - I took a toll for the worst at one point. It has since gotten better. Granted, I had to be the biggest pain-in-the-ass to the campus physiatrist because he wanted to revoke some of my medication. Just because I am somehow making all As for the moment does NOT mean that I do not need my ADHD medication.

Speaking of! Yours truly got formally diagnosed with combination ADHD, depression, and anxiety. And after a lot of trial and error, we have found a medication and dosage that actually helps with the latter two! ADHD is still a work in progress because he is fighting me on it. He also doesn’t want me taking my meds unless I have a face-to-face class that day - as if it is some 9-5 weekdays only issue and I do not have class outside of those times, or online ones. But! A work in progress!

Also, Covid gave me the perfect chance to drop an incredibly toxic group of people in my life. One one hand, my mental health is so much better for it, and so is my own sense of self worth. On the other, it is definitely hard to do and hard to adjust to suddenly losing so many people. But I have reconnected with my 14 year old sister for the first time in 5 years - she wants to have lunch. Which is nice considering I have no spoken to my sisters in 5 years for her, 6 years for the older one (the middle). And I am also trying to reach out to my brothers more. It is interesting, because I did not know them until later. I am the oldest out of 5, 2 half-sisters of my mom’s side, 2 half-brothers on my dads, ironically enough.

I am also seeking out a competent doctor even with Medicaid, because I know need two more surgeries. This will make surgeries 4 and 5. It should have been 2 at most. But 5? And that is minimum, not counting if anything goes wrong again. It is taking longer, because I refuse to see my prior surgeon, and the only opening this past winter break as when I had to have my wisdom teeth removed, so, that did not happen.

Given circumstance I have managed to find a place to stay during breaks. Which is great because as some of you may recall I was kicked out after I turned 18 in 2019, and the room I rented over that summer was terrible (maybe leaving a known alcoholic with no regard for privacy alone with a just then 18 year old girl is a bad idea - if the number of times he barged into my room unannounced to try and get me to drink with him was anything to go by), but it was so my parents could travel full-time. Which, they are doing now and I am happy for them because my mom has 10 years maximum if she is lucky before needing oxygen (Smokers Lung), and my dad is dealing with medical injuries he got while serving - they discharged him because they would never heal right.

I have also picked back up with my job on my college campus! So money! And have secured a much better paying job over break than my McDonalds job, meaning I am not so hard pressed for cash. Which is also great because the last week of summer I had to dish out $2500 for my truck after it broke down in Tennessee and we had to get towed back to North Carolina.

So! Down to business! Now that I know what was wrong with me, and I no longer have issues with suicide, I’m on medication, and last semester I had a therapist that was a major help to me. I am actually in a better spot to be here. It has certainly taken a lot of work, and 2020-21 has thrown just about everything that it seems to have been able and hell, I am still looking for a third job.

Speaking of, god damn, the commissions! Jesus H. Christ, I wanted those done by January! And it’s March! Although I have been making progress on them, that is absolutely true - I am working on them a bit oddly though, switching between which ones I do to try and stop burn out and also because I was not drawing while mentally at my lowest. So to anyone who commissioned me who may not be looking at those messages, but sees this, I am sorry, they are being worked on. And I understand this is a ridiculous amount of time to wait for them and thank you all for being so patient.

I have also been considering if it is a good choice for me to come back to this page, and yes, I think that it is. Having something that I do every day has proven to be very helpful, and the amount of joy and love I have for these pages and the followers on them is immense. I was trying to clear out storage on my phone and I have an album just of prompts or asks that you guys have sent that continue to make my day. It really does mean the world to me.

I cannot be too sure if many have noticed my absence, if Prompt Guy did either. But I am stopping it now. I am finally in a good place. And yeah, I have a lot to do still - if all goes according to plan then I graduate next year. So after this I only have two more semesters before I graduate with my Bachelors in Business, with a focus on Entrepreneurship at the age of 20. And I better because I cannot afford to be in college much longer. I want to be back here, and return to my regular postings and interactions. I am getting those commissions done no matter what - that is a constant guilt over my head. Trust me, I know that it is there. I know. But I joined as an admin because I had followed this page the day it was created. And then I saw it had gone dead with no posts, so I applied as an admin. I got it. And things went very well. Well, I intend to hold back to what I wanted when I was first on this page, bringing it back to consistent postings for everyone.

I am here. I am back. And I am staying.

Also, I apologize if there are any typos, I have been doing a lot or writing for homework and personal work (trying to stop burn out and the threat of school ending my love to write) and my eyes have been strained the last few days, so everything is a bit fuzzy. Speaking of fuzzy! Turns out I needed glasses! So I have glasses now!

Yours truly, Prompt Prophet

#I lived bitch #but really I am back #Warning #Long post #Very long post #But god it has been so long since I have been back across ALL of my accounts #And I feel like I owe an explanation and a run down of what I plan to be doing

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calmlftv · 4 years

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sweet creature. - m.c.

description: this is entirely self indulgent but here’s some dad!sos michael for our dad!sos michael needs. 100% fluff

word count: 2.3k

warnings: pregnancy, descriptions of labor pains and birthing process, descriptions of pain.

w/n: hi thanks to @spicycal i started and finished this within a matter of hours, i did not proof read this so if there are typos or errors im SO sorry! thank u sarah for the brain zoomies x

taglist: @spicycal @n-ctarinenga @irwinkitten @castaway-cashton @blackbutterfliescal @notinthesameguey @ashtonsos @loveroflrh @bestyearssos @treatallwithkindness @bestyearslftv @another-lonely-heart-blog @ashtonlftv

****

When Michael first finds out you’re pregnant, he’s overjoyed but nervous; while talking of the future he had confessed he was nervous about being a dad, his fears of “fucking up” his kid rearing their ugly head as you had laid in bed together. Your post-sex glow was shining over the two of you despite it having been a bit of time since your activities had ended, the conversation having started from your lack of protection earlier in the evening.

You had frowned at him, his face buried in the valley of your shoulder, lips and bits of scruff tickling your bare skin. “You’d be a great dad,” you said softly, fingers running through his hair. “I see how you wave to staring babies at grocery stores and in the dog parks, Michael. You’d be an excellent father to your kids.”

He lifted his head to match your gaze, his beautiful eyes shining. “You think so?” He asked softly, his answer being only a silent nod. He gave you a half smile and nodded back, dipping down to let your lips meet together.

“Then let’s give it a try.”

Your heart had leaped at his answer, the two of you giggling madly as his lips traveled down your neck. The conversation ended with the two of you deciding to just see where things go, not really doing anything to ensure anything but not exactly stopping it, either.

After some time you had started to feel unwell, chalking it up to stress in the current climate, the conversation you and Michael had being pushed completely to the back of your mind. You went weeks without taking a test, the sickness coming and going until Michael finally handed you the white and blue stick.

You had raised an eyebrow at him but went into the bathroom anyway, pacing back and forth in front of the sink as you waited for your answer. Michael had set it face down, the two of you biting the inside of your cheeks as the timer on your phone went off. Together you flipped it over, the answer you had been waiting for spelled out right in front of you.

The following months were filled with mixtures of emotions, the growing life inside of you quickly becoming the center of your lives. Michael insisted on taking a photo every month, his lips pressed firmly against your belly as Calum or Ashton would take the photo, a smile always on your face at the excitement he had over the arrival of your sweet babe.

At 6 months you were both in your best friend's wedding, a beaming smile as you stood behind her on her big day. The two of you joked about how you always knew you would be the pregnant one at her wedding, the drinks being poured for your other friends in your honor as you and Michael danced the night away. The wedding seemed to inspire something within him, his eyes glistening a bit differently as he twirled you around the dance floor.

“I love you,” he whispered, lips right beside your ear as he swayed with you. “And our little one. So much.”

You blushed and smiled, getting a little teary. “And I love you and our little one, too. So so much.”

The night continued on, the send off going off flawlessly and the two of you returning home. You both fell asleep right away, exhaustion hanging on every bit of you as you settled in.

At 7 months you had your baby shower, a bit later than you had wanted but with travel restrictions still being so complicated, you wanted to have time to get Michael’s mother and family there. While you had decided not to disclose the gender just yet, the party was filled with love and plenty of gifts for baby Clifford, everyone enjoying themselves with the games your best friend had helped you choose. Michael stuck by your side the entire time, ever the doting boyfriend as he checked in every so often, bringing you anything you needed and always being your helper when you needed to get up.

As it started to quiet down Michael seemed to get a bit jumpy, you having to call his name a couple times before he would appear beside you again, a nervous smile on his face as he would help you with whatever you needed. You had caught him in what seemed like a meeting with the boys, the four of them quickly talking over each other as they noticed you approaching, Michael seeming unbothered as he smiled at you. You just smiled back at him and let him kiss your forehead, your hands running over your belly as he kept you close.

About an hour after you walked in on that meeting Michael came over, helping you out of your chair and leading you to the backyard just in time to see the brilliant orange skies of Los Angeles, the sky taking your breath away as Michael chuckled.

“You’ve always loved sunsets,” he said softly, a light blush on your cheeks. “D’ya think little one will like them, too?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I hope so,” you said softly, hand resting on top of your bump. You sensed Michael shifting beside you, the nervous energy around him making you raise an eyebrow as you faced him.

“What’s gotten into you today?” You asked softly, gently reaching up to get his attention. “You’ve been nervous all day…You’re not having second thoughts on this baby are you?”

Michael quickly shook his head. “No, no! Absolutely not,” he said, eyes dropping to the ground as he took a deep breath. “Just...nervous.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about?”

Your lover lifted his eyes and met your gaze, a chuckle escaping him as he pulled his hands into his pockets. “You know,” he started, stepping closer to you. “Ever since the day we met, I’ve been wildly and incredibly in love with you. It slammed into me like a ton of bricks, and even through our friendship, I knew that all I wanted was you. All I could ever want is and always will be you, my love.” He paused, smiling at you as you tried to wipe the tears from your eyes. “Now, with our little one almost here, I’ve come to realize that I couldn’t ever ask for anything else. I want to keep you and our family safe for the rest of our lives, so…” he trailed off, hands coming out of his pockets as he knelt down to one knee.

“Yes,” you said, Michael laughing.

“Hang on, let me ask the question!” He laughed, the ring emerging from his palm. “My love, my angel. Will you marry me?”

You laughed and nodded, repeating your answer as he took your hand. You sniffled as he stood, his hands cupping your cheeks as he chuckled.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing your lips together in the sweetest kiss.

“And I love you,” you whispered back, your lover pressing his lips to your forehead as he tugged you close, your belly bumping his as you laughed.

The rest of the night was the two of you celebrating your engagement, your friends and family members all offering their congrats on everything. Once the night was over and your friends were helping you clean up you were shooed off to bed, Michael escorting you away as your friends all said goodnight.

The next couple of months were a whirlwind, you and Michael throwing yourselves into the project that was the baby’s nursery. Your due date crept closer and closer, each day without your bundle of joy in your arms making both of you impatient. Thanks to Google, you were able to try every old wives tale to induce labor, mixing it with bouncing on your yoga ball as you tried to urge your baby out.

Your due date came and went, your date for inducing being set for a couple of weeks out while Michael and you prepared for a maternity shoot with Andy and Sarah. While it was a bit late, you had decided you ultimately wanted photos done for the memories, although you and Michael had already decided you wanted another one by this point; Andy and Sarah were more than happy to provide the photos for you, taking you to a stunning location and taking every photo possible.

Unbeknownst to Michael, you had felt some contractions already, brushing them off as the Braxton-Hicks your OB had warned you about. However, midway through the photos, you felt a trickle down your leg, embarrassment already creeping over you as you thought you had peed yourself. However, very soon after a contraction rolled through you, causing you to bend over and hold your belly.

“Angel?” Michael asked, immediately reaching for your hand. “What’s going on?”

“Um,” you uttered, standing up straight as the pain passed. “My water just broke.”

Immediately his eyes went wide, your lover looking to Andy and Sarah in shock. The two of them quickly started packing up while Michael ushered you to the car, carefully helping you in and quickly driving back home to pack the hospital bags. While he was scrambling around you were timing everything, bouncing on your ball again as you did so in hopes of it lessening the pain.

Soon enough you were back in the car, the two of you racing to the hospital and checking in at seemingly lightning speed. Once you were admitted and connected to everything Michael was at your side, hand holding yours as waves of pain rolled over you, each one worse than the last. With the help of nurses the two of you walked around, Michael cheering you on as you got closer and closer to the birth.

Then, finally, after what felt like eons, it was time to push.

Michael was at your leg, holding it back as he kept his face close to yours. With every push he whispered his encouragement, telling you how great you were doing and how beautiful you were, and how proud he was of you as you both ushered a new life into the world. Soon enough you heard the first cries, tears streaming down both of your cheeks as the doctor quickly cut the cord.

“It’s a boy!”

You let out a choked sob as your son was placed on your chest, the flood of emotions washing over you as you reached up to touch your baby. To your surprise, Michael’s hand was already there, his face pink and covered in tears as he gazed at his first born.

A few hours later you were all taken care of, a couple nurses helping you tie your hair back while your baby was cleaned. They smiled as the door opened, a third nurse rolling in the little bed your baby was laid in, the boy sound asleep as he was placed right beside you. After checking in that you were okay the nurses left, finally leaving you and Michael alone with your son.

Michael walked over, looking at the baby with a smile on his face. He seemed to be holding himself back, his hand reaching out to gently drag a finger across his son’s cheek.

You watched him and smiled. “You can hold him,” you said softly. “I’m sure he wants his daddy.”

Michael met your gaze and blushed, smiling shyly as he nodded. Carefully he picked up the baby, holding him in his hands as he gazed at him in amazement. He moved to his seat and sat down, eyes never leaving the sleeping child in his arms.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, your heart soaring at his gentle tone. He sniffled, his eyes filling with tears. “You know your daddy loves you? How perfect he thinks you are?”

It took everything within you to control your own tears, your hormones still all over the place. “We need to name him,” you said softly, Michael looking up at you.

He nodded, looking back at his son. “I’ve always loved the name Ashton,” he chuckled, making you laugh lightly.

“I like that name,” you answered. “But I think I like Colby more.”

He met your eyes and nodded. “Colby,” he said, trying it out as he looked back at the babe. “Colby Tyler Clifford.”

You beamed, nodding in agreement as Michael looked at you for approval. “Colby Tyler Clifford it is.”

Michael grinned and carefully shifted Colby, leaning over to kiss the knuckles on your hand. “Have you slept yet?” He asked you, the question a bit pointed.

You sighed, getting his point. “I should,” you answered, eyes on your baby. “Promise you’ll stay with us? And that you’ll wake me if anyone comes by?”

Michael chuckled and nodded, standing and shifting the baby as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I promise,” he whispered, noticing your eyes already closing as he pulled away.

Soon enough you were asleep, Michael pacing the room with your beautiful baby boy in his arms. He hummed little tunes as they came to his head, quietly singing lyrics to them as he focused solely on his son. Eventually he found his way back to his chair, still quietly singing as he heard a light knock on the door.

He looked up just as a nurse quietly stuck her head in the door, obviously noticing your sleeping form in the bed and waving him over.

“Hey,” she greeted, keeping her voice down as she noticed the babe in his arms. “When mama’s awake again we’ll get some paperwork and birth certificate over for you to sign, okay? And you guys have a visitor, they’re seated in the waiting room.”

He nodded, confused about the visitor but stepping out with the nurse. Colby stirred slightly in his arms, his little mouth opened in a yawn as his heart melted, doors opening for him as he stepped into the waiting room.

Immediately his eyes landed on Calum, his best friend standing from his chair the second their eyes met. He grinned at the bundle in his arms, his phone being tucked into his pocket as he stepped closer.

“Hey mate,” Michael greeted, voice quiet as he turned slightly. “Meet your godson, Colby Tyler.”

#michael clifford #5sos #michael clifford fluff #5sos fluff #dad!sos #blurbs.mc #dont come @ me for this ending #idk why i suck at endings lately #pregnancy tw #labor tw #pain tw

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rpfuntimes1986 · 2 years

Text

"Dossiers And Dead Bodies" - A Crimes Of Passion companion fic

Author’s notes (general):

* This is Interlude 1/???, releasing approximately weekly alongside the official Crimes Of Passion visual novel by Choices - Stories You Play. The overall premise is “The Luke & Ruby 💎 scenes that PB won’t give us because this is a single LI book”. There may be one scene, there may be several, there may be none, depending on what fits each main story chapter each week.

* As COP is an ongoing weekly release where I write based on theories and best guesses, some elements of this story may end up not corresponding to what happened in the main story. Hopefully PB doesn't make too much of a liar out of me. Depending on how significant these discrepancies are, I may either ignore, retcon or rewrite them completely as we go.

* As much as possible, I’ll write these interludes in a way that they fit the overall story whether or not you chose any diamond scene(s). Otherwise, I will put an author’s note at the beginning of each scene.

* I chose Caucasian female Cameron, but I'm pretending she has the premium long ginger hair with the bangs from VoS, because what was that red spaghetti hair monstrosity in COP?

* I ended up picking Caucasian blond male Trystan because considering how the Brits handled the whole Meghan Markle thing, I couldn't imagine a Eastern European monarchy accepting a black person into their fold thirty-something years ago. Which is a real shame because black Trystan (male or female) was my favorite, but oh well.

* If you find any typos, you may keep them. ;-) Do point out any no BS errors to me, though, please. I’m in the market for a beta reader if anyone is interested.

Alright, disclaimers over.

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Author’s notes for Interlude 1:

This scene takes place after the end of COP Ch. 2

Summary: Luke and Cameron hang out after that rough day at work.

Content warnings for this Interlude: Anything and everything you should expect for COP (murder, gore, horror…), plus some cussing

Interlude 1

Cameron frowned as she watched Luke's caller ID light up her lock screen. Him calling her after work typically meant one of two things - either more shit had hit the fan and Mafalda was about to text her, or his grandmother still hadn't figured out how not to cook enough dinner for an entire army. Crossing her fingers that it was going to be the latter, she swiped right.

"Tell me you're bringing me food, or I'm hanging up," she half pleaded and half grumbled, sinking a little deeper into the depths of her couch. Enough today-ing for today. Just because she couldn't get this case off her mind didn't mean she needed any more bad news tonight.

There was a pause before Luke answered. Cameron had a hunch that for a split second or so, he may have contemplated pranking her, but apparently, he didn't have a death wish after all.

"I figured you may be on your third drink, but forgot to eat," he chuckled, his tone gently teasing. "That's some stellar adulting, Rose."

"Shuddup."

"You're welcome. See ya in 10."

Hanging up and letting her phone drop out of her hand onto the couch, Cameron pursed her lips before putting on her best apologetic face.

"Look, I know I'm breaking cardinal rule numero uno here, but I gotta get up. I'm sorry." A purring ball of white and gray velvet stared blankly at her as she gently scooped him up from where he'd curled up on her stomach, then put him down on the floor. One of Luke's favorite pastimes was making fun of her for worshipping the ground that Sir Fluffington walked on. Little did he know that the stubborn feline who'd showed up on her balcony that night and never left, had played a major role in helping Cameron bounce back after being bullied out of her previous career and having to rebuild her life from scratch.

Putting her ginger mane in a messy top knot, she double-checked her tee and sweatpants for any conspicuous stains before slipping into a pair of crocs and heading downstairs. The usual Drunk Tank crowd was in the process of shuffling in, and she half-heartedly smiled and waved at a few of the regulars as she ducked behind the counter. Grabbing a mixing glass, she filled it with the appropriate amounts of Rye, Sweet Vermouth, and bitters, then tossed in a couple Maraschino Cherries. It was the least she could do in exchange for homemade Japanese comfort food.

"Rough day, slugger? You don't usually just sneak in." At the other end of the bar, Thomas 'Tommy' Rose cocked a brow as he tossed a barkeeper's towel over his shoulder, loosely crossing his arms. Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, he gave her a look that spelled 'talk to me if you want, but I'm not going to pry.'

"Yeeeeaaaahhhh..." Cameron sighed, drawing the word out as she gnawed on her bottom lip. She put the mixing glass down for a moment, adding some ice and slowly stirring while she collected her thoughts. To say that she was reeling would be overly dramatic, but she'd also be lying if she said she was doing just fine.

"Missing persons case I was working turned into a homicide real quick..." She trailed off, a muscle in her jaw popping as she recalled the events from earlier in the day. "Then Morris and Holbeck of all people showed up to the crime scene, and I'm pretty sure they were not joking about dragging me down to the station."

Not that the accusations would've actually stuck, but Rahim Madani would've slipped through her fingers. It was too soon to tell if the information that the art dealer had provided would lead anywhere. However, Cameron preferred having intel and not needing it to solve a puzzle, rather than the other way around. She also didn't like that the only reason she hadn't spent the afternoon in jail was due to her new partner flexing his connections. Thanks, but yikes.

Tommy scowled, washing a mug rather aggressively. "Those bastards! I'm gonna---"

But Cameron just shook her head. "You're gonna what? You're already on thin ice with your buddies because you haven't cut me off. What's the point of getting worked up? It's fine. It's whatever."

Her uncle scoffed, but didn't argue. Turning around to serve another customer, he effectively ended the conversation. Cameron poured the cocktail into a Martini glass, then headed back towards the entrance, nearly bumping into Luke just as she reached the staircase up to her apartment.

"I come bearing gifts!" he announced cheerfully, carefully raising a sizeable grocery bag.

"Trade you for a Manhattan!" she grinned, holding up the glass in return.

They settled on her couch as always, with Sir Fluffington committing an act of treason curling up on Luke's lap instead of Cameron's... but then again, she had made him move earlier, so she supposed she deserved that.

"So, do you wanna know what any of this is?" he asked as she pulled one plastic container after the other from the bag and set the different dishes on the coffee table. Some classic rock cover band began playing downstairs, the muffled sound of music providing some pleasant background noise.

Cameron gestured vaguely dismissively. "Nah. Anything your grandmother's ever made was delicious. All of this smells amazing. Seriously, if the woman wasn't pushing 70, I'd insist she open a restaurant."

Luke couldn't help but smile softly in response to the compliment. Living with an elderly relative could be taxing at times, but the food was most definitely a perk.

"So... how're you holding up?" he inquired after a while of sitting in comfortable silence, his glass now half empty on the coffee table, and Cameron finishing up her main course. He knew that former homicide detectives weren't squeamish, and it wasn't like Luke had never come across any graphic material while doing research. But to say that today's case was particularly messed up was an understatement. He'd heard enough from Mafalda to feel sick to his stomach thinking about the details too much.

Cameron shrugged, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I honestly don't know. I've seen some brutal shit over the years... Pregnant women. Little kids. But Sonja? I really hope I'm wrong, but I have a bad feeling about this."

"Why? 'cause Prince Charming is assisting?" It was supposed to be a good-natured joke, but a hint of derision hijacked his tone before he could help it. Deep pockets and friends in high places being the problem and the solution all rolled into one when it came to navigating the justice system... it made Luke feel some kind of way.

Hand, meet forehead. Cameron groaned. "Don't remind me. That's tomorrow's headache. But no. This case is just creepy. Whoever is behind this is seriously sick in the head."

Reaching for the dessert container, she frowned curiously when she saw the look on Luke's face. Putting obnoxious people in their place had always been somewhat of a hobby of his, but something about his expression was... off just now. "What? And don't say 'nothing'. Your poker face sucks."

"Maybe that's what I want you to think. Maybe 'no poker face' is like 'no makeup' makeup."

"Uh huh. That's not how that works. Now spill. You really don't like him much, do you?"

Luke snorted. "I mean, I didn't appreciate having my research skills questioned by His Royal Privilegedness, but that's water under the bridge. Digging up some real dirt from his past, even just those crumbs, that shut him up pretty quick." He then shifted as if whole-body weighing the pros and cons of their unusual new client, before reaching for his cocktail. "There's nothing else to really... say. The man's got an in with high society, and more money than he knows what to do with. Just because that's gonna come in handy, doesn't mean I have to like it."

Cameron grimaced. "Mmh, no argument there," she mumbled. This wasn't the first time they had to try and reconcile the reality of how the justice system worked versus how the world should be. "But that's honestly not my biggest concern about having to work with him."

"What do you mean?"

Cameron clicked her tongue, remembering her initial conversation with the Prince when she'd visited his apartment. Who were Vicenzo and Marius? And why in the world might his own mother want him dead? "First time I met him, he thought I was an assassin... by which he was entirely unfazed. I do wonder if that's related to what you found out about the boat incident. Plus, he's frickin' insufferable. He pretty much hit on me the entire time. Likes to hear himself talk a little too much." She rolled her eyes, then popped a piece of matcha mochi ice-cream into her mouth.

Luke hummed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... be careful, okay? I know you can handle yourself, but I trust him about as far as I can throw him."

"You are pretty strong, though, I'm just saying."

"Ha-ha-dee-ha-haa. I'm serious, Cameron." He didn't mean to get aggravated or wear his heart out on his sleeve for that matter, but his emotions got the better of him for a second.

Luke would never admit that concern for her safety wasn't the only reason Trystan Thorne made him grit his teeth. Not in a million years did he expect anything beyond the comfortable, easy companionship they'd fallen into over the past few months. His sass and her antics were a match made in annoy-the-living-daylights-out-of-Mafalda heaven. He couldn't help carrying a torch, though. Cameron was unspeakably gorgeous before she even put any effort whatsoever into her appearance, not to mention her wit, tenacity and compassion left very little to be desired in the personality department. Even if all they'd ever be was friends, he was one lucky sonuvabish. Still, it hurt to see Early 2000s Brad Pitt waltz in just like that and get Cameron all flustered. She could complain about the Prince's smooth-talking all she wanted, those charged looks and easy banter - also known as chemistry - hadn't escaped his attention. And if Luke was honest with himself, he felt... outclassed. Which was stupid, seeing how he was an objectively successful adult, back on the straight and narrow and all, and didn't have too much trouble getting someone's number if he really wanted to. Not that it mattered. She'd never once looked at him like that anyway, as far as he knew.

Taking a deep, silent breath, he fixed his face. "Just watch your back, okay?"

Cameron wasn't sure where that little outburst had come from, but her stomach did some weird fluttery thing that left her a little rattled. "... Okay," she agreed softly. Looking down at the container in her hands under the pretense of considering more dessert, she bought herself a few extra seconds to get her head back on straight. Only then did she realize what she was holding. It somehow hadn't registered before.

"Is that... a five pound tub of miso paste?!" she snorted, the awkwardness between them momentarily forgotten.

Luke blinked, really noticing the faded Japanese characters and picture label on the clear container for the first time. He couldn't help but chuckle, the tension inside him dissipating. "Um... yep. Sure is."

Cameron burst into full-blown laughter, wiping at her eyes. "First rule of The International Grandmothers' Guild has got to be 'always repurpose big containers!' or something."

"What's the story here, Rose?" Luke steepled his fingers, amused and intrigued. She wasn't wrong.

Cameron smiled, feeling nostalgic. "Man, I must've been... nine, maybe ten. We went to my Nana's for Christmas, and I demanded we bake cookies. So we're in the kitchen after running to the store, laying out the ingredients on the table, and I realized we forgot to buy butter. But what grandmother doesn't have butter in the house, right? So I open the fridge and... besides some fresh produce and a bottle of milk... all I see is stacks of five pound tubs of Country Crock. Deli meat, cheese, condiments, canned vegetables, leftovers, you name it. All in unlabeled Country Crock tubs. Took me half an hour to find the fucking butter."

This time, it was Luke's turn to crack up until he was damn near crying, and as she watched a grown man's body shake with laughter, Cameron couldn't help but think that this was... nice. Really nice. Intimate even, although she'd always tried her best not to let those kinds of thoughts run rampant too much. Workplace romances were never a good idea, she'd learned that the hard way when her fiancée had turned on her right alongside the rest of her colleagues. Not that there was anything wrong with a little window-shopping, though. That way, she got to appreciate the goods from afar without having to pay the price for doing something foolish. The piercings, the glasses, the scruff, the leather jackets... Yeah, it was probably a good thing that they worked together and this was never going to happen. Not that Luke had ever even made a move.

She couldn't quite remember all the things they talked about for the rest of the night as conversation flowed easily again, jumping from topic to topic like tennis players passing a ball back and forth, until they were both on the edge of a food coma. Then the clock struck midnight, and they both groaned at being rather terrible adults.

"Alright, I should probably get going," Luke murmured as he helped Cameron gather up the empty containers.

"Yeah," she agreed reluctantly, rising from the couch a moment after he did. She was actually starting to feel tired. Yep, she was gonna go with tired and not 'not wanting Luke to leave', because that would be dumb. "Rumor has it that coffee is not an adequate substitute for sleep."

"And wherever did you hear such nonsense?" Luke smirked as he held out an arm, and Cameron slid in for a side hug. "See ya... later, technically."

"Good night." She walked him to the door and locked up once he was gone, standing there with her arms wrapped around herself for a little while until she snapped out of her little reverie. With teeth brushed and hair combed, for once Cameron was out cold as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Sir Fluffington, indicating forgiveness for past transgressions against him, slept comfortably on her butt.

#choices: stories you play #pixelberry #fanfic #fanfiction #choices crimes of passion #choices vip #choices books #choices mc #choices #choices cop #luke watanabe

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marinaaniseed · 4 years

Text

Dark ‘n’ Stormy, Pt. 11

Summary: It’s the day after the stuffing chapter. New Asgard decides which system of government it wants. Not much smut, an awful lot of politics.

Length: 6.9k. A more sensible person than me might try to edit this down, but honestly, I feel like you’d all be horribly disappointed if I didn’t write all the words.

Warnings: Eh the usual. Kinky food stuff, smut, drinking, swearing, mental health wonkiness, Asgardian politics, body shaming, intrusive media, social media shittiness, uncomfortable family relationships, mentions of starting a family, mentions of dead characters, smutty pictures, some ridiculously long speeches that might give you feels. I think that’s it.

Notes: This chapter, quite literally, took months to write. Apologies, therefore, if it’s a bit disjointed or I contradict myself. This bad boy is now over 50k in total (!) It took a while, because I couldn’t quite decide how I wanted it to go. Also, writing a story a day for the entire year is quite time consuming and a really fucking terrible idea. Typos and errors are all my own but please alert me to anything spectacularly bad so I can fix. I’ve not given this any distance, so I am hella word-blind.

Also, one of you gets a mention :P

Need a reminder of what’s happened? Pt. 10 & the masterlist.

If you like what I do, please let me know.

It wasn’t the cockerels crowing that woke you, but the dogs excitedly greeting someone.

“Whuh time issit?” you mumbled into Thor’s hair, your hand resting on his still full tummy as you spooned the sleepy Thunder God.

“Too early.”

He wasn’t wrong. Groggily you pulled yourself away, rummaging around for something to throw on so you could investigate who your visitor was.

Opening the bedroom door, you spied the Valkyrie crouched down by the settee, rubbing Geri’s tummy.

“Why?” you asked, not really awake enough to form a proper question.

“Why what?” Valkyrie responded, continuing to fuss the dog at her feet.

“Why are you here? Now? At this godforsaken time?”

“Has Thor forsaken this time in particular?”

Your glare said it all.

“I jest, sorry. Have you been online? Checked your phone? Seen or heard the news?”

“For fuck’s sake, Brunnhilde,” you said, startling the dogs and finally rousing Thor, “I’ve literally just gotten up. Because of you. When would I have done any of that? And why does it matter?”

“I’ll make the coffee, you go get Thor.”

You’d barely turned and taken a step, when you collided with the solid mass that was your lover.

“What’s wrong? Why is the Valkyrie here?” he asked, holding you to his stomach.

“Not a fucking clue.”

You weren’t exactly a morning person. Even less so after a few cocktails, and when your awakening had been rude. Not the good kind of rude, either. Thor knew, from prior experience, that waking you unexpectedly was like deciding to disturb a wasp’s nest. Nothing good would come of it and it wasn’t something you’d likely repeat in a hurry. You were a surly, venomous grump, sure to sting whatever had disturbed you.

Either Brunnhilde was more foolhardy than he thought, or something was seriously wrong.

Brunnhilde returned to find you slouched on the settee, buried in Thor’s hoodie with the hood pulled up and over, almost to the point of covering your eyes, in a vain attempt at ignoring the world. The steaming mug of caffeine placed on the table next to you was met with a snort of derision, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that Thor sat next to you, before pulling you onto his lap. Maybe whatever had brought the Valkyrie would concern only him, and you could doze off against his chest.

“Did you enjoy your pizza last night?” Brunnhilde asked, breaking the frosty silence.

“Yes,” Thor smiled at the memory. “How did you know we had pizza?”

“That’s what brought me here. I’m sorry it’s so early.”

Why would pizza have brought her here, Thor wondered. Did she need a recipe? Did she have some left over? Was she planning to open a pizza place in New Asgard?

“Someone… someone, erm, they snapped some pictures of you. The two of you. In the restaurant. They must’ve recognised you.”

“So?” Thor queried softly, hoping that you had begun to return to sleep in his arms.

“Well, they sold them to some media people. You’re, erm, trending on Twitter. I wanted to tell you before you saw for yourselves, some of the reporting is… unflattering.”

Yeah. Thor could already picture it. Being fat and in the public eye was just a magnet for the worst kind of people.

“If they’ve worked out who Y/N is, it’s not been published yet, but it’s only a matter of time,” Brunnhilde continued.

“Ah, balls,” you said, finally joining the conversation.

“Indeed. A few months back, I asked some friends to do some digging on you. Don’t be alarmed, I just wanted to be prepared for the time when it eventually emerged that you and Thor were together. I didn’t find anything to be worried about in what they found on you, but I understand that there may be things that you’d prefer to stay private. The silence of those involved can be arranged, if you wish.”

There were certainly things in your past that you weren’t exactly proud of. You probably should’ve realised that you couldn’t stay under the radar forever.

“No, it’s ok. Don’t waste your resources, or those of your friends. I’ve been alive long enough to know that if the tabloid press thinks there’s a story, they’ll dig it up somehow. Or just make one up. I’ve done what I’ve done, and that’s the end of that. Anyone commenting on my life probably has stuff they’d rather keep secret,” you answered with a sigh.

“Very well. Do you want to read the dossier?”

“No, no. I’m sure it’s very thorough and accurate. Thor, do you want to read it?”

“Anything you wish to tell me about your past, you can tell me about yourself,” he answered, running his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you have done, it’s of no consequence. You’re here now, that’s all that matters. Some youthful follies could not reverse my love for you.”

You nuzzled your face into his chest hair to hide the tears you could feel beginning to sting your eyes.

“Is that all, Brunnhilde? May we return to bed?” Thor said.

“Yes, of course. Apologies once again for disturbing you. I just wanted you to hear it from a friend before you heard it elsewhere.”

You were fast asleep again by the time Thor gently laid you back on the bed. You must’ve been warm in his hoodie, the early rays of sunshine beginning to seep into the bedroom, but he didn’t want to disturb you. His mind was all over the place, so he decided to check the news on your tablet while you were tucked into his side.

Thor’s Hammered!

King of Ass-gard

Pizza Gut - Avenger destroys pizza buffet

Thor quickly put the tablet back down. It stung to read the words they wrote about him, but even worse was what they wrote about you. They didn’t know you, why did they get to judge you, speculate about who you were and why you were with him? You were just another name on the long list of loved ones he wasn’t able to protect.

Gingerly removing himself from your side, relieved when he didn’t wake you, Thor decided to sit back on the settee, letting Loki slither over him. The snake wasn’t as helpful as his brother, but he found it calming anyway.

15 minutes later, the sound of a message being received made him jump. Unlocking his old phone, he saw it was a message from Brunnhilde.

I know you said you didn’t want to know about Y/N’s past, but I think you might find this interesting…

There were several links at the bottom of the message. Thor didn’t want to pry, he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to what was that important that Brunnhilde had felt the need to send him a link.

Moving as quietly as he could, he returned to the bedroom to grab the tablet, before settling back down to see what had been sent.

Typing the address was a torturous process, his fingers weren’t quite dexterous enough to easily manipulate Midgardian devices, although he was becoming more careful with them. Still, he nearly dropped the tablet when he saw where the link took him to.

It was a gallery of pictures. Pictures of you, to be exact. You weren’t naked but it was obvious that these weren’t the kind of pictures you shared with friends or family. He’d heard about these kinds of sites, adult sites they were called. The model had a different name, but it was definitely you. No doubt about it.

Pictures of you in corsets that pushed up your breasts and cinched in your waist. Pictures of you with chokers around your throat. Some pictures where you wore clothing made of a strange material that seemed to fit you like a second skin. Some more where you wore beautiful lingerie in vibrant colours, brilliant blues and vivid violets.

The pictures on the next link were a little different. Leather gloves, ball gags, handcuffs. Fishnet stockings and knee-high leather boots. Why had he never seen any of these outfits? Carefully gripping the tablet with one hand, he moved the other inside the waistband of his pants, rubbing at the head of his excited cock.

For a split second, he considered what Brunnhilde had thought of these pictures. Had she shown them to Sif? What if they’d both enjoyed them?

His cock grew harder at the thought.

And he knew he should feel a little ashamed. You hadn’t mentioned these pictures, so it probably wasn’t something you were proud of, but he couldn’t help but look, hope that others had looked, and seen just how sexy you were.

He didn’t really understand the third link. That seemed to be a niche site. You were barely visible, clad in rain gear, and wrapped in heavy duty tape to secure you to a post.

But, Brunnhilde really had saved the best until last.

Bound, gagged, blindfolded. Eyes wide in another as you looked at the woman stroking your hair as you sat tied to the chair. If he had to be king, he’d insist on having a throne, just so he could recreate that image with you. Only, in his version, you’d be wearing a lot less clothes, his face between your thighs, eating you out until the only thing keeping you upright were the ropes that held you in your place.

It was funny. He’d not really enjoyed being in chains, in a cage, when he’d encountered Surtur. But the thought of you being bound, held captive while he pleasured you in all the different ways he knew how. Now, that was something he liked the idea of.

Freeing his cock, he began to stroke in earnest, the images he’d just seen and images of what he’d like to do to you fuelling his desire. The harder he thought of them, the harder he got, and the harder he pumped his fist.

His orgasm was explosive, and Loki hissed at him angrily. Geri and Freki perked up their ears to see what the fuss was about. He knew he should move and clean himself but he was comfy, he was relaxed, he could rest here for a moment or two.

***

Evidently it was more than a moment or two when he awoke to the sound of pans clanging around in the kitchen. There’s no way you couldn’t have seen him, and there’s no way he could pretend it was anything else. He’d fallen asleep with his cock out, the evidence crusted onto his tummy.

Tucking himself back into his pants, he approached the kitchen with caution.

“Good morning, my love,” he tried.

“Good afternoon,” you corrected. “Dare I ask?” you said, looking at his gut pointedly.

Nothing good would come of lying, so he tried his best to explain the truth.

“Ah, well, what happened was, you see, Brunnhilde sent me an electronic letter with some links on my phone. So I looked at them on the tablet,” he explained.

“Brunnhilde sent you porn?”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean maybe? The links were to pictures of you.”

“Ah,” you said, understanding. “Brunnhilde’s friends found those.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed them. I enjoyed doing them.”

Thor doesn’t ask for an explanation, doesn’t press you, doesn’t tell you about his fantasies. You’ll tell him when you want to, if you want to. He’ll tell you when you’re not trying to cook avocado eggs Benedict.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he mumbles before walking off to the bathroom. He’s glad that you’re not angry or upset, but he’s still embarrassed that you caught him in that position.

The shower is cold, but not cold enough to cool him down from his thoughts. Thoughts of those photos, thoughts of last night, and thoughts of what he’d like to do with you in the future. He could probably roll around on Jötunheimr and still feel too hot.

He’s quiet during brunch, but you don’t press him. You just hold his hand, silently telling him that everything will be alright.

You’d briefly checked your phone before Thor had woken up. There were so many notifications, you were afraid it might crash, and you’d put it back down again. Today was an historic day for New Asgard, you didn’t want to overshadow it by worrying about what Twitter trolls had to say about you. It keeps buzzing on the table next to you, and you continue ignoring it.

“Are you going to check that?” Thor asked. “It might be something important.”

“I don’t really want to, I’m afraid of what I might see,” you said.

“I understand, but the longer you leave it, the worse it will be. Maybe just check if there is anything from your family. You don’t want it playing on your mind throughout the day.”

Thor’s right, and so with a resigned sigh, you picked up your phone and looked at your notifications, dismissing anything that wasn’t important.

A message from Sam on Skype that read I knew you had a thing for older men, didn’t realise you liked them THAT old ;-) now I know where you are, let me know when I can visit. Ignore the haters, they’re just jealous.

There was also an entire chain of emails from your mum, without a subject. She’d never quite gotten the hang of email.

Is this you/??>????? And then a link to a news website.

It is, isn’t it.

WHy didn’t you tell us. Where you were????

Your father is looking at flights.

He’s found some cheap ones with Ryanair, we’re coming over in a fortnight. Flying to Oslo. Charlie is coming too.

He can’t find anywhere to stay in New Asgard, are there no hotels????

Answer me.

“Ah, fuck,” you said, staring at down at your phone.

“What’s the matter?” Thor asked, worried that you’d seen something critical of you.

“My family knows where I am now, they’re coming to visit,” you mumbled. “In two weeks.”

“That’s wonderful news, I can’t wait to meet them,” Thor said, kissing your hand.

“Yeah,” you said doubtfully. You loved your family, but they could be tricky at times. They were hurt, of course, by your vagueness on the subject of your whereabouts. You already knew they were going to make some unintentionally hurtful comments, either about Thor, or about Alex, or both. They were also likely to do the same about you.

“Two weeks,” Thor mused, still enthusiastic about the prospect of meeting your family. “I think that gives me sufficient time to build a place for them to stay.”

It was lovely that he was excited by the prospect, but you groaned internally. Something told you that Thor was not going to have time for much if the vote went the way you thought it would.

“I’ll tell them we can accommodate them somewhere,” you said, firing off a quick email. “Now, let’s forget about this and focus on the task at hand. Brunnhilde wanted us there no later than two, that only gives us an hour.”

***

At 2:10 you arrived at the mead hall, Thor in his full regalia, you in the dress he’d gifted you for the May Day feast. Geri and Freki loping along behind you. You went to add the one remaining cake to the long table of food, while Brunnhilde intercepted Thor.

“Is everything alright, after this morning?” she asked him.

“Yes, I think so. Y/N is strong, although her family have elected to visit. That seems to have shaken her,” Thor sighed.

“It must be hard to face someone you thought was dead, even if you love them, once you’ve been through the grieving process,” Brunnhilde noted.

“It is.” Thor knows it’s hard, he went through it enough times with Loki, but he’d do anything to have his brother back. Or his mother, father.

There are flowers everywhere. Bouquets on tables, bunting hanging from the rafters, and people everywhere with flower crowns on their heads. Thor’s pleased with how well they’ve turned out. He makes a note to thank everyone involved, as well as to the plants for blooming so abundantly for him. There was something very satisfying about growing things and tending to them, becoming one with nature.

He’s not surprised when you return with a flower crown, plus one each around the dog’s necks. He doesn’t think they’ll last long, which is why he’d made sure to cultivate flowers that wouldn’t make the dogs sick when they inevitably tried to eat them. Thor particularly likes how you look with your flower crown. He’s seen you wear one before, of course, but they really do suit you. He hopes that if he has to be king, then perhaps one day you’ll wear a different kind of crown.

“Hello, Brunnhilde. Apologies for our lateness. I didn’t grab a crown for you but if Thor doesn’t want this one, I’m sure you can have it,” you offered, holding out the wreath.

“That’s quite alright, I’m not really one for crowns,” Valkyrie answered with a small shake of her head. “I’ll leave you two to mingle, just don’t be late for the vote announcement.”

“We won’t,” Thor assured her, knowing full well that they won’t start without him. “I fear this may not be the only crown I accept today,” he continues, taking the flowers from you and placing them on his head.

“I’m sorry,” you said, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll support you, no matter the outcome.”

Thor knows this, and he’s glad of it. He’s still not comfortable with being in charge, quite content with his life, building things, tending to the plants, and playing with his animals. But at least he doesn’t have to do it alone. After Loki died, he was so very alone. Korg and Miek were great, but there was something missing in his life, a much closer form of companionship that he’d finally found again.

“Let us mingle, I’m sure there are many children who will be glad to pet the dogs,” Thor said, looping his arm with yours at the elbow.

*** By the time it gets to the hour of the announcement, Geri and Freki have had their bellies rubbed by seemingly every child in New Asgard, much to their delight.

A little boy had brought you a small posy of flowers, and was extra pleased when Thor held him in his strong arms and let the child place the flowers in Thor’s beard. It’s very haphazard, and a little one-sided but Thor’s pleased with the end result, when you show him in your pocket mirror.

It makes him ache desperately to have a child - well, children - of his own. He thinks about what kind of uncle Loki would’ve been.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have stabbed them.

It’s too hot in the mead hall. Thor’s been trying to drink slowly, aware that he’s drinking out of nerves more than anything.

Dutch courage, you’d called it. Allegedly, Dutch soldiers had drunk jenever before going into battle. Thor considered that a little risky. Drinking was best done after battle, being clumsy while handling a weapon didn’t strike him as the best strategy. Then again, it seemed to work fine for Brunnhilde. It didn’t really happen to him, but supposed many people got nervous before a fight.

Thor knew you had a Dutch friend, a teacher. He wondered if they might bring jenever with them if they ever came to visit?

Bruce came over, crowds of Asgardians parting easily for his bulky frame.

“Hey buddy,” he said, hugging Thor. “Are you ready?”

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” Thor answered. A few years ago, he’d thought he was ready. Had almost been crowned king.

He never thanked Loki for royally screwing that up. It was only now, with hindsight, that he could appreciate the favour his brother had inadvertently done him.

“It’s time,” Bruce told Thor, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Thor looks back at you, but you shake your head. This is an Asgardian matter. Your place is at the back with Geri and Freki, not onstage with Asgard’s elite.

“Do you know?” Thor asked Bruce, desperately.

“No Thor. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you,” Bruce noted. “Whatever happens, you have people that care about you. It won’t be like it was before.”

Thor joins Valkyrie, Sif and several others onstage. Bruce waves his hands, dampening down the crowd that buzzes like a hornet’s nest. Despite all the assurances, this is still a volatile situation and Bruce says a silent prayer that everything works out for the best.

“Thank you all,” Bruce addressed the crowd. “Thank you for trusting in the process and for allowing us, as outside observers, to count all of your votes. No system will be perfect, but we hope that you will all respect the outcome, whatever it may be. It took three rounds of voting for an option to gain over 50% of the vote. I’ll now hand over to Captain America, who has the results.”

Bruce steps down, stands to the right hand side of the stage as Sam steps forward. Anticipation builds around the room, like static during a storm. Sif holds hands with both Thor and Valkyrie, holding in a breath as she waits to see which of the people she cares about most will draw the short straw of heading Asgard.

She fervently hopes that the people will have chosen another option, but she doubts it. Most Asgardians fell on one side of the divide or the other - traditionalists who wanted to continue the existing royal family, and those who felt that Brunnhilde was the best leader amongst those left.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Sam said, grateful that someone the Asgardians were familiar with had addressed them first. “The result is very close, but let me assure you, it is accurate. We counted every single ballot ten times, just to ensure there was no discrepancy. With 50.8% of the vote, the people of Asgard have chosen the option of an octarchy.”

The room erupted with people cheering, complaining, or otherwise chatting with people about what it all meant. Sam waited for the commotion to die down before continuing.”

“Furthermore, the proposed solution, as outlined within the election materials is that Thor, son of Odin.” Sam paused, Thor’s full title sounding odd coming out of his mouth, but that was what the piece of paper he was holding said. “Thor, son of Odin, shall rule as king, and head of state.”

Thor paled visibly and your heart went out to him, glad that Sif was holding his hand.

“Succession will be a matter of blood, as it has always been, unless Thor shall have no issue. In that event, the people of Asgard will once again convene to decide how they wish to be governed. Brunnhilde, of the Valkyrior, shall serve as his second in command. She will rule in his absence or if he is incapacitated, if Thor does not have an heir of legal age.”

Sam shook his head. He shouldn’t have let Bucky write the speech, he should’ve known his metal-armed partner would try to stitch him up with flowery Asgardian language. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky smirking, standing next to Bruce. Sam makes a mental note to put on his suit later, pick Bucky up, and drop him in the North Sea.

“The other six members of the council will be chosen as follows. Thor, son of Odin, and Brunnhilde, of the Valkyrior, shall each choose one. Two more shall be elected by the people of Asgard. The final two shall be selected at random in a lottery of all citizens who have come of age. These positions shall be reviewed every ten years, unless circumstances, or the will of the people dictate otherwise.”

The place descends into chaos, even the dogs start barking at all the noise, and it only stops when the valkyrie gets to the front of the stage and lets out an ear-piercing screech. Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at her, wincing.

“Settle down everyone, settle down,” she shouted. “I respect this result, just as I said I would, and I pledge to serve both Asgard and its king to the best of my ability, as long as I am able to do so. I would like to thank you for your trust and patience during the time in which I served as Asgard’s caretaker. I know that not all of you were happy with the situation, but I hope I served you well. There is one among us, who I would like to nominate for inclusion on the council. However, I am aware that some of you may feel it is a conflict of interests. As many of you are aware, the Lady Sif and I are in love. She is my nomination if you will accept her.”

Raucous applause erupts. Sif is well liked, and most people are pleased to have her helping to steer Asgard’s course, even if she’s a little too eager to head into battle at times.

“Very well, I thank you all for your trust,” the valkyrie continued. “While I have the floor, there is one more thing I wish to do. I was going to do it later, but I think now is best, to declare my love in front of all those I serve.”

This time it’s Sif’s turn to go pale, as the Valkyrie sinks to her knees, turning back to Sif.

“Lady Sif,” Brunnhilde began. “I have lived long and travelled far, and there is no beauty that can compare to yours. Your love shines brighter than any star, and I am a better person for you sharing it with me. I have no title or riches to give you. This is but a small trinket, for I have already given you the greatest gift I have to give, which is my heart. I would be honoured if you would accept this ring as a token of my love, as is the custom on much of Midgard, and agree to be my wife.”

Sif is openly sobbing, and Thor’s not sure he’s ever seen her cry before. Scores more around the room wipe away tears as Sif slowly moves forward, allowing the Valkyrie to slip the ring onto her finger. Once it’s in place, Sif takes Brunnhilde’s hands and pulls her up, embracing her tightly and kissing her fiercely to a chorus of cheers.

It’s a wonderful sight, and you’re glad that there’s something for Asgard to celebrate, even if the vote didn’t go everyone’s way. Your throat goes dry as Thor nervously makes his way to the front of the stage to speak.

“Hello everyone. Apologies if I seem nervous, it has been many years since I last addressed so many,” he said, fiddling with the hem of his cloak. It’s far too hot to be wearing it, but he’d insisted that this was an important occasion and that he should dress accordingly.

“My congratulations to the Lady Sif and the Lady Brunnhilde. Theirs is an excellent union, and I wish them an eternity of happiness together.”

Thor waits until the cheering dies down before continuing.

“I, too, respect and honour the results of this vote. No man can outrun his destiny, and it seems mine will always be to rule Asgard as its king, even though I feel ill-equipped to do so. Fate apparently wills it so. I have not led Asgard well these last few years, and I apologise for that from the bottom of my heart. I have been remiss in my duties. I know that some of you do not trust that I have changed, but I give you my solemn word that I have. That I will act for the good of Asgard, and the other eight realms, as long as there is life in my breast.”

The entire room draws a collective gasp as Thor sinks to one knee. Panic sets in. This can’t be happening. Surely he’s not about to propose as well?

“I kneel before you, as your humble servant,” Thor continued, and you sighed in relief. “Too long, the people of Asgard have knelt before the throne. No more. I kneel before you all, and ask for your forgiveness. I am not the man I was, but I hope with time, that I will become someone better, someone worthy of the position that I find myself in.

“Asgard is not a place, it is a people. My father told me that, and I see now how true it is. I thank each and every one of you for trusting and believing in Asgard, in each other, when I did not trust or believe in myself. Together, you have created something strong and beautiful. I thank you for sharing it with me. You have rebuilt, you have shown incredible strength and fortitude.

“I am sorry for abandoning you. It is the most dishonourable and cowardly thing I have ever done. I asked the Valkyrie to rule in my stead, because I felt she was the best person for the job. I am truly sorry for abandoning Asgard in her hour of need. Thank you, all of you. Thank you for preserving our traditions and stories. Thank you for building a new home for us all. Thank you to everyone who has helped today. Baking delicacies, creating flower crowns, playing music. All that you do, on this day and every day, to ensure that we survive, that our culture survives, is appreciated by me.

“I hope to be able to thank you all individually, but please understand, it may take me some time. I kneel before you, as your king, humbled by the faith you still place in me. I shall work to rule as a king of the people, not above them. The throne should not be an untouchable pedestal on which I am put.

“Although I do not have a crown, I kneel before you, ready to serve Asgard, completely and unreservedly.”

“About your crown,” a voice called from the stunned crowd, as all eyes turned to look at Lorelei. She walked slowly through them, people parting for her, before she stopped in front of the stage, directly in front of Thor.

“When Hela attacked, many of us realised that Asgard was in peril. As we fled the city, some of us gathered up important artefacts. I apologise for keeping this from you, your majesty, but there never seemed to be an opportune moment…” she trailed off, reaching into a leather satchel, slung low against her hip.

Several people fainted, as with trembling hands, she pulled a crown from it.

“My-my father’s crown,” Thor mumbled, stunned.

“Yes, your majesty,” Lorelei explained. “I apologise again for keeping it secret, but you had already lost so much, I did not wish to remind you of your father. I have kept it safe, all these years. I believed that one day, you would be restored to the throne. I believed that day would be today.”

With trembling fingers, she reaches out the crown as Thor lowered his head. Tears were running down his face, into his beard, for everyone to see as he sat back up, slowly rising to his feet.

A collective sense of shock reverberated around the room, and you anxiously stroked your two dogs, who sat flanked you on either side.

“Thank you, good Lady Lorelei. This truly is an extraordinary gift. I thought I would never see this again, let alone wear it. I do wonder, now, what else was saved from Asgard, but that is a matter for another time,” Thor advised. “I have but one more matter to discuss, before it is time to feast. There is much to celebrate this day, and I hope it is one that will long be remembered.”

Thor paused, taking a moment to look around the hall. His friends, his people looking up at him. It filled him with a tiny spark of confidence that everything would work out fine this time, unlike when he had told Loki it would, all those years ago, after Asgard was destroyed.

“Like the Lady Brunnhilde, I too have someone I wish to nominate to the council. Like her, this person is one who is very dear to me,” he noted, looking across the heads of everyone to look you in the eye.

Thousands of heads turned to face you as you froze, wishing the ground would swallow you up.

“I wish to nominate the Lady Y/N. She has done so much for Asgard, though her time with us has been short so far,” Thor admitted. “As an outsider, I believe she has much knowledge and wisdom to offer us about Midgard, its people, and their customs. Her counsel is invaluable to me, and I would like to offer her a place at this table, if there are no objections.”

Deathly silence descends, everyone waiting for someone to say something.

“A wise appointment, your majesty,” Leifr spoke up, and a chorus of cheers echoed around the room.

“It is settled then,” Thor exclaimed happily. “The other four positions shall be determined in due time, but now I say it is time to eat, drink, and dance our fill. There is much to celebrate as we enter into a proud new chapter in Asgard’s history.”

Everything was a blur for several hours as you try to process exactly what’s happened. Thor being king again was something you expected, and he seems to be taking it well. His speech was genuinely moving and you could see many Asgardians visibly softening to him as he spoke.

But appointing you to be one of Asgard’s eight rulers?

No. No no no. This could not be happening. You didn’t belong here, didn’t want that kind of responsibility.

Judging by the way people keep congratulating you, it definitely is happening. You barely have an appetite, pushing your food around, eating small amounts whenever Thor prompts you to try this dish or that.

It had been a productive few hours for the other three newly instated rulers. Between them, they’d managed to hash out a plan for getting the other council members appointed. They’d even found time to draft a press release with Pepper, covering the events of the day. The world media would be taken aback. New Asgard had never released any information before. Along with the details of the election, Pepper had made sure to note that the new rulers would be willing to engage with journalists going forward to ensure transparency about what the kingdom was doing, but that they would not interact with any outlet that did not respect Asgardian privacy or engaged in hurtful gossip about them.

Apparently, the prince of another country, and his wife, had done something similar a few years prior.

You sit completely zoned out, a zombie. Utterly alone while surrounded by people. Geri and Freki lie protectively at your feet, aware that something is wrong.

Even Thor can sense that something is amiss. You’re paying no attention to him eating increasingly absurd portions. He even mentioned that he was getting full and you just nodded politely, a slightly vacant smile plastered to your face. You didn’t even try to touch his stomach, where it sat pressed up against the table.

Eventually, Sam manages to make his way over, whispering in Thor’s ear. You’re dimly aware that they’re talking about you, by the way Thor keeps glancing nervously in your direction.

“Let us go for a walk,” he said, standing up and tugging at your elbow. “Young Sam said that you look like you could do with some fresh air.”

Moving on autopilot you follow him, Geri and Freki loping along behind you. He leads you down to the beach, the sun setting in the distance as Thor gently maneuvers you into sitting down on a driftwood log.

“Are you quite alright?” Thor asked, running his fingers up your bare arms as he crouched awkwardly in front of you. “You seem distant, distracted.”

“This is all just very overwhelming,” you said, looking at your hands where they rested in your lap.

“I agree, much has happened today. We can return home, if you wish?”

“Why did you appoint me to the council?” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know if I’ll still be here in ten years. What if we split up? I don’t belong here, I’m not Asgardian. I don’t want this responsibility, I’m not qualified, I don’t want to do this.”

Thor’s heart sank and he let out a sad sigh, finally sitting on the soft sand, his hefty stomach making it hard to keep his balance while he crouched. He’d done it again. He’d thought only of what he wanted and hadn’t consulted you. He’d upset you, ruining your evening.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tipping your chin up to make you look at him. “That was thoughtless and selfish of me, I should have consulted you before announcing my plan. Today has been trying for you, and you were already anxious and upset. I’m truly sorry for burdening you further.”

“I know you didn’t mean to Thor, but I’m so scared and sad.”

“Oh my love, no. I really am such an oaf,” Thor said sadly, pulling you into the small amount of lap he had left. If he kept on like this, he was going to really struggle to hold you like this soon.

He wants to kiss your lips, to kiss away all the hurt and worry he sees in your eyes, to kiss it better like his mother used to kiss his and Loki's scrapes and grazes. But he lets you bury your face in his shoulder. All he can do is cuddle you while you cry, chest heaving against his, while he rubs little circles onto your back, mumbling apologies all the while.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant to upset you, to make you scared or anxious. I can see that I was mistaken, even though I only meant it as a good thing, as a compliment to your character and your intelligence. I truly know of no other in the whole of Asgard more capable than you, not even Brunnhilde,” Thor explained. “You are wise for one so young, and far more learned than any of us when it comes to this land we find ourselves in. Please, allow me to apologise unreservedly for the hurt I’ve caused. Allow me to make it right, allow me to pick another to serve in your place.”

You're so silent, shaking in his arms. It hurts Thor in a way he’s not felt since his father banished him. What if he's finally gone too far? What if this is the thing that pushes you away from him?

It scares him more than the thought of Thanos returning once more.

“A trial,” you said softly, as you raise your head.

“Pardon?” Thor asked.

“Until the end of the year, I will serve for a trial period. But if at the end of that time, I still don’t want to do it, then you must replace me, without any reservations.”

“Of course, of course. Are you absolutely sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I am willing to try. I trust you. I trust you not to force me into anything I can’t handle. I’m humbled that you and your people have accepted me, and are prepared to give me this chance. I know it’s a great honour. So I will try to repay that trust that you have, I will try to serve Asgard, even if it doesn’t come easily to me.”

“No one who seeks power or has it come easily to them should ever be allowed to wield it,” Thor noted, rubbing his nose against yours. “Thank you, my love for agreeing to try this. I will honour your request should you change your mind at any point. I admit, I was scared that I had lost you, that my foolishness had driven you away.”

“You’ll have to do more than that to get rid of me,” you laughed wetly, wiping your face on the back of your hand.

“That’s good news, although I hope never to test that theory,” Thor told you, relieved. “Do you wish to return to the hall? I’m sure you could persuade me to have some more wine and sweet treats. As you can see, I am not quite at capacity,” Thor teased, moving your hands under his tunic to touch his taut tummy.

“I think I would like to head home. I’m emotionally exhausted and I just want to faceplant into your tummy and go to sleep.”

“Also an excellent plan,” Thor admitted, standing up with your still in his arms.

“I’m not too tired to walk,” you tried to insist, looking down at your bemused dogs as they trailed alongside the gentle giant carrying you.

“I know that, I just wanted to hold onto you some more.”

Thor’s going to be extra affectionate for the next little while, still reeling from the feeling of almost losing you. Now he finally has something to lose again, he’s resolutely determined not to let it happen.

@innerpaperexpertcloud @morganhoran1671

#Dark 'n' Stormy #endgame thor #thor #Thor Odinson #THOR SON OF ODIN #thor smut #thicc thor #fat thor #squishy Thor #Soft Thor #chubby thor #chonkythor #reader insert #Female reader #x reader #avengers x reader #reader x thor #female reader x thor #The Avengers

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goldenjellyfish12 · 4 years

Text

Helen Blackthorn versus the sexist pancake mix.

Author's note: this is the first fanfiction I've ever posted (actually the first fanfiction I've ever finished) and I wrote it on notes in my phone so sorry if there are any typos or punctuation errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters all characters belong to @cassandraclare

When Helen Blackthorn was little she used to love helping her mom in the kitchen. Helping her mom make breakfast and dinner for her little brothers and sisters is one of her favorite things to do,she knows exactly how to prepare their food and their little quirks so that they'll eat or her and her mom have worked so hard to make. Except on Saturdays when she gets to sleep in just a little bit and when she wakes up and head to the kitchen of The Institute there are a stack of warm delicious pancakes waiting for her. Pancake Saturdays are her siblings favorite day and to be fair it was Helen's favorite too at least it was until her mom got sick. When Eleanor Blackthorn (Helen's adoptive mother technically stepmom but Eleanor has always treated Helen and Mark like they were her own flesh and blood. She sang them to sleep every night growing up, put Band-Aids on their boo boos kiss them and told them everything was going to be alright when they fell down or when they woke up with nightmares in the middle of the night.)

First got sick only a few people knew Andrew Helen's father, Mark and the Silent Brothers. So the first Saturday after her mom and dad sat her and Mark down to tell him that their mom had cancer Helen woke up super early tiptoeing carefully into her parents bedroom to turn off their alarm to let them sleep in knowing that they needed the rest because baby Tavvy had to be fed every 3 hours and had he's last bottle was at 5 a.m. so they would have to be up until 8:00. After successfully turning off their alarm and not waking them or Tavvy in his bassinet next to their bed she made her way into the kitchen and got the Bisquick box from the cabinet and started following the instructions on the back of the Bisquick box very carefully. When the first batch of pancakes we're done and they were all burnt she wasn't that worried she heard about the first Pancake phenomenon she knew that the first batch of Pancakes were supposed to be burnt but after the next three batches turned out to be burnt and black on the outside and raw and gooey in the inside she was about to have a meltdown. She knew how to cook, her mom taught her how to cook! She was good no great at cooking! She just wanted to do something nice for her Mom. Eleanor had given her everything and had always been there for her. And Helen just want to do this one thing and she couldn't even do that! That's when Mark walked in yawning and barefoot his light blonde hair askew and shining in the Morning light still in his blue and turquoise plaid pajama pants and a gray tank top. He made a face of disgust."Smells like you're trying to burn down the Institute" he said in a sleepy voice looking over at sister. Helen was on the brink of Tears. She saw Mark's eyes widen taking in the scene, Helen standing over the stove spatula in hand, red face trying to hold back tears, a stack of burnt but gooey Pancakes on a plate to her right, Helen's messy bun falling in ringlets around her face, Helen's oversized t-shirt that works as a nightgown splattered with raw batter. Helen tried to look up at her brother but she couldn't, she couldn't take the look in his eyes the look of pity. Then his arms were around her in a big bear hug. Yep, Helen was definitely crying she could feel the hot ,salty liquid running down her face. She hated crying in front of anyone especially in front of her younger siblings. She wanted her brothers and sisters to see her as strong and capable not fragile and the type of girl that would cry over freaking pancakes! That's when she registered Mark's voice in her ear saying"What's wrong, Hels? Did you get burnt? Are you okay? Hey it's okay. Helen it's going to be okay whatever it is it's going to be okay" Helen felt herself smile just a little bit. How kind, caring, and patient her brother is with her if only he could be a little bit more patient with Julian she thinks to herself as she unwraps herself from her brother. "I'm fine" she says in a voice that she wishes wasn't so shaky "Obviously you're not fine. You're crying" said Mark. So Helen tells Mark how she wanted to do something special for their parents especially their mom and how it all went horrible because the stupid pancakes all turned out to be burnt and raw. "Seriously how can something be burned and raw at the same time? It makes no sense!"she said at the end of her small rant of how her morning had begun. He gave her a small chuckle and smiled at that last part "Okay" he said "We can still fix this!"

"How?" Said Helen

"Well first we have to throw those awful pancakes away their stinking up the whole entire room. Second we need to open a window and get a candle. 3rd there looks like there is just enough pancake mix for one more batch which will not be enough for our family so while I'm cooking the pancakes you can make some more pancake mix." Helen didn't think it was that bad but she could have just become numb to smell and then her and Mark got to work. Mark going to look for a candle and throwing the pancake away and Helen opening a window and starting on new pancake batter. Mark walked in with a candle and a lighter he's at the candle on The middle of the island Helen watch Mark carefully as he lit the candle making sure that he didn't burn himself with it. It didn't matter that Mark was almost 14 and that they were Shadowhunters and did dangerous things all the time he was her little brother and it was her job make sure that he was safe and didn't do stupid things like burn himself with lighters. Mark successfully lit the candle and went over to the stove to start cooking the leftover pancakes mix and Helen started on making new pancake mix for Mark to cook. While mixing the pancake mix. Helen kept glancing over to Mark making sure that he didn't burn himself on the stove or pan. When she was done making up the pancake mix she picked up the bowl and bought it over by the stove next to Mark. "Perfect timing" he said "I just got done with the first batch of not burnt Pancakes" Helen hand him the bowl of pancake mix and then looked over to the cook pancakes and noticed that they we're not burnt on the outside and gooey and Raw on the inside like hers but a perfect toasty golden color and no goo in sight. She was more than slightly annoyed by this and mumbled under her breath "sexist pancake mix." While Mark finishes cooking the pancakes Helen decides to clean up and set the table occasionally glancing over to make sure that Mark hasn't burnt himself. What can you say a big sisters job is never done. When Mark is done cooking the pancakes Helen takes the stack of pancakes off the counter next to the stove and places them on the middle of the island where the candle was but has since been blown out and moved. Just as Helen put the pancakes on the island the door of the kitchen opens and Andrew and Eleanor Blackthorn walk in a fussy baby Tavvy on Eleanor's hip. Helen look at the clock on the stove it reads 8:06. Helen and Mark share look as if to say right on time. as Andrew and Eleanor walk-in Andrew is cut off saying something like "I can't believe we slept through our alarm the kids are going to be up any minute and we haven't even started on breakfas-" the room goes silent except for Tavvy lite fussing. Andrew and Eleanor take in the room the table set, kitchen clean,stack of pancakes on the island, milk, apple and orange juice sitting on the island next to the pancakes with a couple of glasses, cups with lids and reusable straws for the young ones ,and a sippy cup for Dru layout ready for them to choose what they want to drink. "Surprise" Mark says "What? How? Said Eleanor and disbelief. "It was all Helens idea she did everything" said Mark

"Everything except make the pancakes." Helen scoffs "all of my pancakes turned out burnt on the outside and raw on the inside"

"I hate making pancakes mine end up the same way" said Eleanor as she started fixing tavvy formula.

"What but you make pancakes every Saturday morning?" Helen said with a hint of confusion in her voice

"No, I make pancakes on Saturday mornings" Andrew said proudly

"Sexist pancakes" Eleanor and Helen Grumble at the same time.

Helen smiles and thinks to herself of what an awesome badass feminist Shadowhunter her mom is and how lucky she is to have her.

The end

@purple-haired-faerie

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soberqueerinthewild · 4 years

Text

So you guys all know that @jumbled-nonsense is the best! I just realized it was her birthday today, and had to do something to celebrate! Maura and I first started talking because she posted on discord that she was starting Red, White, and Royal Blue, so I busted into her DMs demanding that she flail at me while she read it. She did and it was the best, and we’ve been flailing about things to each other ever since! So in honor of her birthday, here is a brief Red, White, and Royal Blue fic I wrote in about two hours this morning (which, if you know me is astounding because usually it takes me like a month to write anything). It has not been beta’d or you know, edited or anything. It’s Liam’s POV of the phone call Alex makes to him as he’s going through his bisexual awakening. Hope you enjoy and don’t get too distracted by typos and grammatical errors!

***

“Babe, staring at the kitchen door isn’t gonna make your food come any faster. We ordered like five minutes ago. You’re gonna have to have at least a modicum or patience. You will not, in fact, starve to death.”

Liam groans in agreement and frustration, forced to acknowledge the objective truth of his boyfriend’s statement. The downside to his favorite brunch spot in Austin is that it is annoyingly popular. To avoid the line you had to show up early. He and Spencer had gotten, well, rather enjoyably distracted this morning, meaning that by the time they got there, the line was halfway up the block, and by the time they were seated it was very firmly in the range of lunch time, rather than brunch and Liam is fucking starving.

To distract himself, he pulls his gaze back to Spencer’s handsome face. It’s no hardship really. It’s been a year, but it still amazes him sometimes that he gets to have this. Not just a hot boyfriend, but one who will grab his hand across the table and press a kiss to his palm. Who gazes at him with open adoration, even when he’s being fidgety and annoying because he’s two seconds away from gnawing off his own hand if they don’t get food soon. He smiles back at Spencer, squeezing his hand across the table.

There had been a time, in the not so distant past, where he thought he might be facing a grim future of furtive handjobs with “no-homo” disclaimers tossed off as soon as the orgasm glow faded. Fear of his parents’ disapproval had kept him closeted far too long, and he’d found out and proud guys were unlikely to want to step in there with him for long, so he’d played it safe through the first two years of college with guys like him, who were fiercely clinging to denial.

Of course, denial had been kind of futile for Liam. It was tough to convince himself he was straight when the catalyst for his gay awakening popped up not infrequently on the news and seemed to grace the cover of half the tabloids in the supermarket.

Though he’d deny it if ever confronted, Liam bought nearly every one he saw during President Claremont’s first year in office. He tried to convince himself it was idle curiosity. His high school best friend was the first son of the United States! It was weird! He just wanted to know what he was up to. Of course, he could’ve answered Alex’s calls instead or responded to his oblivious texts with more than one word if that was what he actually wanted. But nope, embarrassingly enough, he knew he was really searching for any hint, or even the most subtle suggestion of a gay rumor. It was frankly shocking that he hadn’t found one. He’d seen stories intimating drug use, orgies, unexpected pregnancies with movie stars Liam’s fairly certain Alex had never even met, but not even a single tabloid story questioning the first son’s sexuality.

Liam wasn’t sure why it felt important to him to have some confirmation, however flimsy, that Alex wasn’t entirely straight. Liam knew that there existed mostly straight guys who’d accept a “helping hand” if they were horny enough. Maybe it truly had been experimentation for Alex, quickly cast aside in favor of Nora Halleron’s curves. But Alex hadn’t kissed him like a guy experimenting. A handjob could be explained away, but making out with another guy for an hour? That wasn’t straight guy behavior, no matter what Liam had himself insisted at the time. It just didn’t make sense.

Liam supposes Alex could be bisexual but closeted. Liam hadn’t come out until roughly two years ago, even though he’d known he was gay for much longer than that. With being in the spotlight and the political ramifications, it was the most obvious explanation for Alex’s behavior, but Alex just didn’t strike him as the closeted type. He was all chaotic energy and fierce moral certitude, a combination that would have made staying closeted for three years all but impossible. Alex was politically savvy no doubt, and would’ve likely created a 25 point plan for managing any political fallout, if his recklessness hadn’t forced the issue first, but Liam can’t imagine him letting fear keep him quiet for that long, especially as Liam is sure his mom would’ve supported him in coming out if he’d really wanted to. It was a conundrum.

Liam’s not sure why Alex is on his mind today. He had decided long ago that attempting to maintain a friendship with Alex was not conducive to his sanity or from moving forward in a healthy relationship. He hasn’t spoken to him in over a year. Alex seemingly got the hint that Liam didn’t want to maintain contact and hadn’t even reached out via text in nearly that long. When they’d become serious, he’d told Spencer pieces of the story. The emotionally important parts anyways: that Liam and Alex has been best friends and Liam had crushed hard. He hadn’t told the rest until recently, when he’d been sure he could count on his absolute discretion. He certainly doesn’t want to be part of a tabloid story either. Spencer had been sympathetic, “crushing on your likely straight best friend” is practically a right of passage for queer people, but he’d also been kind of hilariously star struck, due to his fierce love of both President Claremont’s policies and her impeccable style. Spencer had commented on both when they had seen a re-election ad last night on TV. Maybe it was that ad that had put Alex back in his thoughts.

Or, maybe it was some kind of premonition, he thinks as he watches his phone buzzing on the table, frozen in shock as he stares down at the caller ID wondering if he’s actually in some weird fucked up dream.

“Babe, your phone is ringing.” Spencer’s voice breaks through his reverie convincing Liam that this is in fact happening.

Normally Liam wouldn’t be so rude as to answer his phone at the table, but he has no idea why Alex would be calling him after all this time. Liam is not hung up on him anymore. He loves Spencer, but there is still a weird pull to Alex that he wishes had disappeared completely.

“I’m gonna grab this real quick, sorry. It’ll just be a minute...it’s just...I’ll explain later.”

“Go for it.” Spencer replies, unbothered. He’s laid back about most things, and he isn’t like partners Liam’s had in the past who would leap to jealousy if they saw a call or text from another guy on his phone. It’s nice not to have to worry about that with Spencer. He is a little annoyed now that Alex is interrupting their date, but not enough not to answer the phone. For some reason he has to know why he’s calling.

“Hello?” Liam drawls into the phone, doing his best not to sound too interested.

Alex clears his throat on the other end of the phone before stuttering, more hesitantly than Liam has ever heard him. “Uh, hey, Liam. It’s Alex.”

Liam’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. “I know.”

“How, um, how have you been?”

Jesus Christ. They are not doing this. He does fiercely want to know why Alex is calling, but he does not have time for him to make awkward small talk for 20 minutes first. His food will get here at some point and he’s definitely not rude enough to stay long on the phone at a restaurant while on a date. Alex better cut to the damn chase or he’s hanging up the phone.

“You wanna tell me why you’re really calling, Alex?” Liam catches Spencer’s eyes widen as he utters Alex’s name, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“Oh.” Alex stutters again, and the nervousness is so out of character for him that Liam can’t imagine what’s got him twisted up like this. “This might sound weird. But, um. Back in high school, did we have, like, a thing? Did I miss that?”

Liam has the overwhelming urge to bang his head on the table repeatedly, but settles for just dropping it on the table once. Are they actually going to rehash this now? Four years later?

It’s weird, he considered Alex might be closeted but he hadn’t considered full obliviousness. On the one hand it feels ridiculous, for a guy who talks LGBT policies frequently, who had an ex-girlfriend who identifies as “not straight”, who made out and got a hand job from his ex-best friend in high school, to just, not realize for four years that he wasn’t straight? Liam might’ve denied that there was anything gay about the fooling around they did in high school but he had ate least known he was full of shit. But on the other hand, it makes a weird kind of sense. Sometimes when Alex was really focused on something, it was like he had blinders on, and everything else disappeared. He wonders what the hell happened to break through the denial. It shouldn’t, but it kind of bothers Liam that he hadn’t managed to be the catalyst for whatever revelation is happening now.

His slight annoyance at that seeps through in his tone as he bites out, “Are you seriously calling me right now to talk about this? I’m at lunch with my boyfriend.” He doesn’t know if Alex has heard through the grapevine that he came out or not. Liam’s not really on social media and he can’t think of who Alex hung out with from their high school that he’d have kept up with who would have told him. Oh well, he knows now.

Alex’s contrite apology softens him a little. Enough to continue the conversation at least. Spencer’s done a remarkable job of not interrupting with the thousand questions he must have, and Liam takes pity on him and covers the phone with one hand to explain. “It’s Alex.”

“Like Alex, Alex?” Spencer whispers, eyes burning with curiosity. “Your famous ex?”

Liam rolls his eyes, he’d hardly call him an ex, but Spencer does like to tease him about it sometimes. “Yeah, him.”

“Oh my god. I thought you hadn’t talked to him in forever? What does he want?” Liam’s grateful that Spencer is keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know, babe.”

Spencer gestures for him to get back to his phone call. “Well find out! I’m dying of curiosity over here!”

Half of Liam is too, but the other half isn’t sure he wants to wade back into Alex’s dramatics when he worked so hard to escape them. But part of what had frustrated him and made it impossible for them to maintain a friendship was what he saw as Alex’s steadfast commitment to ignoring that they’d ever been more than friends, so maybe this is the conversation they need to have. But he’s gonna make Alex work for it a little.

“What exactly are you asking me?”

“I mean, like, we messed around, but did it, like, mean something?”

Liam again considers the merits of repeatedly banging his head on the table but settles for raking his fingers through the stubble under his jaw. It’s not like he’s never had a conversation like this. He volunteers at the LGBTQ community center that’s nearby his college and has talked a few questioning teenagers through their feelings, but Alex is an adult and Liam doesn’t have the emotional distance to be quite as patient as he usually is. He gives it a shot anyways, though. “I don’t think I can answer that question for you.”

“Right,” Alex responds, sounding defeated. “You’re right.”

Liam takes pity on him. He’s obviously going through something and probably has few people he can talk to. Alex is dynamic and people gravitate towards him, but Liam noticed in high school that he rarely let anyone close. He never hears (or reads articles) about any enduring friendships outside of June and Nora, and, apparently long term friendship no one knew about until recently with the Prince of England. Liam is pretty that’s just PR stunt though, after that whole cake debacle, so he’s probably not confiding in Prince Henry either.

Liam might be his only real option outside his sister and ex/best friend, so he’s willing to give Alex a few more minutes. Besides, maybe if he humors Alex a bit now, he’ll get back some of the karma points he lost when he nearly fell down laughing at the pictures of Alex lying on the floor amidst the ruined cake at the Royal Wedding. But it’s gonna have to be quick since he thinks he sees their food finally coming out and he’s not delaying his meal or being any rider on his date than he’s already been. Alex has always responded best to bluntness anyways and if Alex really has been oblivious for all these years, a dose of reality is just what he needs.

“Look, man. I don’t know what kind of sexual crisis you’re having right now, like, four years after it would have been useful, but well. I’m not saying what we did in high school makes you gay or bi or whatever, but I can tell you I’m gay, and that even though I acted like what we were doing wasn’t gay back then, it super was.”

Liam sighs. He hadn’t necessarily meant for his slight annoyance at not being the catalyst for Alex’s bi awakening slip in, but oh well. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for Alex to understand a little bit about the frustrations Liam went through in high school and the years afterwards when Alex’s random texts would send his head spinning for days. Thankfully the food and drinks have arrived giving him a good reason to wrap up this conversation.

“Does that help, Alex? My Bloody Mary is here and I need to talk to it about this phone call.”

“Um, yeah,” Alex says. “I think so. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Liam sighs, relieved in some ways that they’ve brought a few things out in the open, but also that this conversation is over. He prepares to hang up the phone but before he can he hears Alex begin to speak again.

“And, um. I’m sorry?”

Liam can practically see the look on Alex’s face. It’s the one he always used to make when Liam was frustrated and annoyed with him and Alex wasn’t quite sure why. The look always made Liam cave just when he’d resolved to create some emotional distance between them in high school for his own sanity. Thank god they’ve had years of physical distance that actually let him move on. Still, the reminder of those days and those feelings of frustration bubble to the surface and he needs to be done with this call. He groans out an exasperated “Jesus Christ” and hangs up the phone before Alex can get another word in.

Spencer, predictably, but wonderfully, looks both sympathetic and amused. Though it’s clear he’s dying to know about the other half of the conversation, he seems to know Liam needs a minute, so he just wordlessly pushes his Bloody Mary across the table, content to wait until Liam’s ready to share. Liam smiles at him, grateful for Spencer’s laid back energy and caring nature. He’s struck again by how lucky he feels to have come out the other side, to have made it through the confusion and angst of the coming out process, to be confident in who he is, and to have a healthy relationship like this one. He reaches out and covers Spencer’s hand with his own. “I love you, you know.”

Spencer smiles indulgently. “I know. Now finish your Bloody Mary so you can tell me all about that deliciously dramatic phone call.” Liam squeezes Spencer’s hand, and does just that.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #liam pov #for maura #not sure what this is #so sorry that i didn't really edit this

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years

Text

To Keep You Safe

Title: We wear red so they don’t see us bleed

Chapter: 5/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (later on)

Notes: Friendly reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed during revisions.

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Blood, language, and violence

After our talk, to his credit, Loki did give me a wide berth. For the next several weeks of life on the Compound, I trained and practiced with Natasha and Wanda, hung out with Thor and Sam, and watched TV with Steve without a single confrontation–let alone sighting. The Trickster God had to have been using whatever abilities he normally employed to keep tabs on everyone to steer clear of me. And that was one hundred percent peachy-keen in my book.

Tony and Bruce finally finished their extensive testing on all things me. It was decided that the only powers the mystery box gave me were geokinesis and an increased healing rate. When I asked for a reason why this happened, I was given some medical mumbo jumbo that instantly turned my brain to mush. Long story short, they didn’t know what the box had been, only what it had done to me, and it wasn’t going away. This was my new normal.

The knowledge that this wasn’t going away was one hell of a motivator to get a better handle on everything. And because of that, my grasp on my powers improved. I could control more than one object at a time, and it didn’t drain me physically nearly as much as it did in the beginning. Nor did it require such an emotional toll. I could draw on them without bringing forth the full scope of emotional upheaval as before, although that did seem to help. There was still so much work to do, but I was getting there. Slowly but surely.

As for my physical abilities, those lessons were kicking my ass just as much as I had anticipated. I wasn’t super strong like Steve or Thor, so I had to be more thoughtful and strategic when fighting. Brute force wasn’t going to work when I was only five and a half feet tall and preferred cookies to carrots. Natasha worked on teaching me various martial art techniques that relied more on striking effectively than hammering away at my opponent with my fists. It made sense but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell. I limped away from our training sessions covered in bruises and nursing strained muscles more often than not. Thank goodness for accelerated healing. I needed it to keep up with the grueling sparring sessions.

~~~

Flashing red lights and F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoing throughout the entire Compound jerked me out of my exhaustion-induced sleep. “All Avengers report to the Quinjet immediately. All Avengers, gather your gear and report to the Quinjet immediately.”

I lurched out of bed and ran to my closet, throwing on a pair of dark jeans and a thick long-sleeved t-shirt. I didn’t have a custom suit like everyone else, but this seemed like it would do for whatever I would tackle. I shoved a sturdy pair of boots on my feet and I was barreling out the door.

Natasha was just leaving her room, already fully dressed and ready to kick ass. We both sprinted down the stairs and through the building, crossing the lawn into the hangar. Thor, Bruce, and Captain were all running inside the jet, followed by Natasha. Tony was poised at the edge of the ramp to get inside, looking anxious as he waved people in. When I tried to rush passed him he put his arm across my chest, barring my entrance.

“No can do, Poison Ivy. You’re not ready,” he stated, leaving no room for argument.

Not that I wouldn’t try.

“But what if I-?

“Nope. You stay here with Rock of Ages. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will keep you updated. You’d be a liability. We can’t risk it.” The visor over his face retracted into the suit, allowing him to level me with a hard stare. He didn’t even glance at Vision flying into the jet while holding Wanda securely in his arms.

“Get back. You’ll get burned,” he said more softly, a paternal concern twisting his lips into a frown. He pushed me away from the ramp and jogged inside, closing it behind him.

I had no choice but to back away out of the hangar, watching uselessly as the Quinjet started up and flew through an invisible opening in the force field surrounding the Compound. Once it was gone I pulled out my phone, checking the time. At only four in the morning, it was going to be a long day if all I did was sit around and wait for them to come back.

After heading back into my room and changing from jeans and boots into athletic shorts and tennis shoes, I headed to the gym. If I wasn’t ready for this mission I was going to be ready for the next one. Even if I had to spend hours taking out my frustration and anxiety on a punching dummy until my knuckles bled.

During a break around noon, I chugged water and wiped the sweat from my brow. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., any news?” I panted.

“Sorry, Jen. All I can say is that they made it to their destination and everyone is still alive,” she responded, somehow managing to sound remorseful even as a computer program.

I snarled in frustration and threw down the now empty water bottle, punishing the practice dummy in front of me an elbow to the face. Several hours of doing my best to beat the living daylights out of the dummy and it was no worse for the wear, while the soreness and exhaustion in my limbs weighed them down considerably. But it was this or stare at the TV or wall in the living room distractedly as my mind raced with all the things that could go wrong for them on this sudden mission, and this at least wore me out enough so that I might be able to sleep later.

“Perimeter breach. Perimeter breach. One helicopter on the main lawn,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang out through the compound and my phone in my pocket as red lights flashed throughout the Compound.

Just as I did that morning, I dropped what I was doing and sprang into action--despite my protesting muscles.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” I cursed, stopping short just outside the building. A sleek black helicopter was hovering over the middle of the Compound with four men dressed in black protective gear descending from the sides on ropes. As I watched in shock, two more helicopters came into view and began depositing their payloads of terrifying men as well.

As soon as their feet hit the ground, they raised impressive-looking guns into their sightlines and ran toward the main building. Right at me.

Ah hell.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., I could use some backup,” I grunted, crouching down behind a bush and looking around to see what I had nearby I could use as weapons. Some trees, basketball sized rocks and a giant decorative boulder were all I could see. Awesome.

“The team is still off-base, Jen,” she replied, her voice muffled from my phone in my back pocket. Super awesome.

It was a long shot, but I had to ask her anyway. “What about Loki?”

“He is handling the intruders on the West side of the Compound, Jen. Several groups have come in on foot.”

Loki was helping? What in the world was that about? Maybe it was just a chance to do something, wreak some havoc, as he had to be bored as hell cooped up here without an outlet. If his boredom and need for mayhem was keeping more men off of my back, I’d take it.

But, that still left the group in front of me for me to handle on my own. I’d never fought anyone, not really. Sparring with Nat and training with Wanda did not live up to this experience at all in terms of preparedness. I was the end of the line, though, so I had to try my best. Gritting my teeth, I focused on the ground, lifting my arms and pulling up as much dirt and debris from the grass as I could. The men slowed their advance at the peculiar sight, but only just enough to look at one another briefly before continuing. With a shout I sent the debris flying at them, hoping to blind them temporarily while I figured out what the heck I was supposed to do next. My weak plan wasn’t the most effective. I was disheartened as they crept on even as they blinked dirt from their eyes.

Plan B. I curled my fingers inward and ripped several thin branches from the tree nearest to myself. Aiming the sharp, broken ends at the men, I flicked my fingers outward and sent them flying with as much oomph as I could muster. Only one went through the neck of a man and sent him bleeding and thrashing to the ground. The rest hit their helmets or thick kevlar vests like they were nothing.

“I’m so screwed,” I muttered. My aim still wasn’t the best with multiple projectiles, and that was without having spent the morning taking out my frustrations in the gym. The adrenaline rushing through me could only do so much to compensate, and that wasn’t going to last forever.

The closest to me grabbed something off of his belt and threw it at the building behind me. I whipped my head around, tracking the beeping with my eyes to get a better look at what had been thrown. Having never seen one in real life, my brain stuttered over what it was for half a second. They had grenades?!

My feet carried me away from the building before I had made the conscious decision to move, propelling me as fast as possible from the explosive. It just wasn’t quite fast enough. The shockwave battered against me, followed by tiny pricks of pain all over the back of my body as white-hot glass embedded itself in my unprotected skin. The cry that tore through my lips was almost silent to my ringing ears, but it was enough to draw the attention of the men, who rained bullets down on me.

No time to think or run, I brought a large, decorative stone in front of me like a shield. I saw dust particles and chunks of rock fall to the ground and I struggled to keep it between me and the men. My teeth ground together and all the muscles in my body strained as I directed all of the energy that constantly coursed through me at holding up the massive weight while also slowly backing away from them. I just needed to get inside the building. I could take them out one at a time if I could get more cover. Maybe.

As soon as I was close enough to the now blown-out glass wall, I shoved my hands and, consequently, the boulder at two of the men and dashed inside, slamming my back into a concrete wall for cover and ignoring the wave of pain it brought to the new wounds I had just gotten. Thank goodness for modern minimalist architecture and adrenaline.

I took a few deep breaths and got to my knees, turning around to poke my head out to see who was left. Two pairs of legs were still beneath the human-sized boulder I had thrown, so that just left nine baddies for me to deal with. Going for broke and hoping that this was something I could do, I reached out towards a tree near the back of the group. I could feel the glowing life-force of it, from the tips of the branches to the roots.

“Here goes nothing,” I growled, directing my energy to the roots, willing them to grow. I reached out and pulled hard, and for my efforts, I saw the thick dark roots burst from the ground and race toward one of the men. They tangled around his ankles as I twisted my fingers in a circle, pulling him down and wrapping around his body. He panicked and fired his weapon wildly, trying to shoot the roots off of him, but only succeeded in hitting the stomach of one of his buddies. I urged the roots to wrap around his chest and neck, and the shooting stopped abruptly.

In the distraction of flexing my newfound powers, I failed to notice the man coming up around the wall until just before he shot. I ducked my head and the bullet lodged itself into the concrete inches from my ear, sending grit flying into my eyes. I wildly turned, flailing desperately and pulling another stone from outside to slam into the back of his unprotected neck.

As the man fell, I saw the muzzle of his gun flash before white-hot agony exploded in my shoulder.

In the movies, when someone gets stabbed or shot, usually they'll fly back dramatically and scream. They have a few seconds to mutter some last words and then it's over. Turns out getting shot isn't like the movies. I didn't fly back several feet, soaring through the air to sprawl ungainly onto the floor. I sank to sit on my heels, blinking harshly as my brain attempted to process the worst pain I'd ever experienced as it radiated from my shoulder. My hand shot up to cover the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood as it pulsed out of my body in time with my staccato heartbeat. It took several tries to take a deep breath, the action seemingly doing more harm than good as the movement tugged on my shoulder.

Gotta focus. I had to get my head in the game. The remaining seven bad guys were still coming, and fast. It didn’t matter that I was injured to them. They weren’t going to stop to give me a time out to get patched up, so I just had to keep going. My best bet on stopping them relied on my being able to see them which unfortunately meant sticking my head out of cover. I clenched my teeth as I got to my feet and let out a guttural battle cry as I turned around to face them.

I was most definitely going to die today, but when my friends returned and watched the footage, I didn’t want them to see me cowering in fear until one of them put a bullet in my brain. That wasn’t what being an Avenger was about. It was about fighting until the last breath, and taking down as many of these bastards as I could along the way. Sorry, guys. Sorry, Tony.

Heads turned in my direction, guns following suit. With one hand busy gripping my bullet wound, the other curled into a fist as I focused on bringing every single stone on the Compound lawn levitating in the air.

“Get down!” Loki shouted, running from the opposite side of the building toward me, looking the battle-hardened warrior in his leather armor. An invisible force knocked me to the ground with such force that the back of my head bounced against the tile floor.

And then everything became a blur.

Loki screaming in rage.

Deafening tearing and ripping sounds.

Bullets flying and smashing into the wall.

Warm blood matting my hair and pooling in the hollows of my neck.

Blood-curdling screams cutting off suddenly.

A pale, unfocused face.

Excruciating pain as I was jostled into strong arms.

Is this what dying feels like?

The scent of iron and sweat and leather and spice.

“I am not allowing you to die, damn it!”

And then darkness swallowed me whole.

~~~

A flurry of voices pulled me from the blissful, painless darkness.

“It’s been three days.”

“I know that. Her vitals are stable. You gotta give her time.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“What else can we do?”

I took stock of my body with my eyes closed. My limbs were heavy on the soft surface that I rested on, probably a bed. Besides the voices, a steady beeping that matched the painful drumbeat in my head. Probably a heart monitor, which meant that I was in some sort of a hospital. Itching fire burned on my shoulder, and I blamed that for the real reason why I had woken up. It was impossible to ignore, just like the loud voices echoing around the room.

“You can stop shouting in my room, for starters,” I croaked, my voice dry and scratchy from disuse. God, I sounded weak.

I peeled my eyes open only to immediately close them against the bright lights above me. Trying again, I opened them just enough to squint at my surroundings. I’d landed myself in the infirmary of the Compound once again. Not a hospital, but I had been close enough. A frazzled Tony, Natasha, and Thor appeared to be the culprits for the shouting match I’d just heard.

“If you’re going to shout, at least give me some more pain meds so I can sleep through it,” I grumbled, hoping that the bad attempt at humor would ease some of the anxiety from their faces as I tried to sit up in the bed, only to fall back down with a gasp as soon as I put weight on my shoulder. The shock of pain was enough to tell me that that was a very bad idea right now.

All three rushed over to me at once. Thor took my right hand carefully, mindful of the IV connected to the back of it, and Natasha took the left. Tony moved behind my bed only to reappear with a syringe full of unknown liquid that he injected into the IV line. Within moments a weight smothered the pain and pulled a sigh of relief from deep within me. Ahh, pain meds.

“Milady, I am so glad to see you awake,” Thor said softly, his thumb lightly stroking the backs of my fingers as he smiled down at me.

“We gotta work on your observation skills,” Nat teased, gesturing to my shoulder and giving me a thin smile.

“Pebbles, I thought I told you not to scare me like this,” Tony chided me, standing at my feet. His hands rested on my blanket-covered ankles, clutching them like I was going to run out of the room and get shot up again. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Once was enough for me.

“What happened?” I directed my quiet question at Tony, knowing he would have the most forthright answer of the bunch.

“We have been searching for these six rocks, called Infinity Stones. That’s what Vision has in his head, the Mind Stone. This guy called Thanos is trying to get all of them together. Reindeer Games says that he wants to rule the world with it, wipe out half of everything in existence. So, we’ve been trying to track them down,” he said, brow furrowed. “We’ve already destroyed one, well, Wanda did. The Mind Stone. Thor stole it from some nut job on another planet months ago. The Space Stone was in the Tesseract, which Loki had. When he and Thor escaped Ragnarok, Loki brought it back as a peace offering. So that’s one’s gone, too. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is programmed to look for certain… anomalies that might be one of the remaining stones being used. She’s found one in New York City, but the wizard that is currently using it won’t give it up. That’s a work in progress. Something sketchy was happening in New York City, and that was the alert that she gave us. It was Thanos, with the Soul Stone, trying to get the other stone from the wizard. We managed to get it from him. Took a few licks, Steve broke an arm and Wanda a leg, but it’s destroyed now. We’re still looking for the Power Stone and the Reality Stone,” he rambled, exhaustion lining his face as he recalled the events he had rattled off.

“That’s, um, a lot to take in,” I replied, my thoughts muddled by the glorious meds I had been given. That was a lot to unpack, and I wasn’t in any state to even try to do that. It could wait for another day.

“Yeah, so, anyway, we were off fighting Grimace when those assholes from Hydra attacked here. We didn’t even know about it until we got back onto the jet and F.R.I.D.A.Y. let us know. We booked it as fast as we could, but it had been almost a whole day since…” he trailed off, swallowing thickly and gripping my ankles just a little tighter as he shifted his gaze to my blanket-covered knees.

Natasha chimed in, “Tony was able to stream a live feed from F.R.I.D.A.Y.��s cameras. We saw everything.”

“You fought valiantly against the attackers. Loki took up the battle after you had fallen, finishing it in your stead,” Thor added, his voice clear and proud. Whether it was for me or his brother, that was to be determined. I was too exhausted to worry too much.

Tony nodded to Thor and Natasha in silent thanks. “Standing up like some action hero was a dumbass move, by the way,” he paused, staring me down until I felt thoroughly chewed out.

Only after I looked appropriately shamed for my actions did he continue, “Him knocking you on your ass gave you that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. He took out the rest of the Hydra men before getting you up here. I’m not sure what voodoo he did, but he got the bullet out of your shoulder and slowed the bleeding until the doctors I called could get here,” he finished, taking a deep breath.

“By the time we arrived, you were sound asleep and all patched up. Loki hadn’t left your side the whole time,” Nat added, her brow raised.

A yawn escaped from my mouth without warning and I nodded through it, pulling my hand away from her to at least cover my gaping maw. “Loki saved me?” I asked on the tail-end of the huge yawn.

“If it weren’t for Loki, you would be through the gates of Valhalla by now, Milady,” Thor whispered, his eyes grave as they met mine.

Tony let go of me and walked to my side, nudging Nat out of the way so he could rest the back of his hand on my forehead. “You feeling okay?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

The change of subject was not unwelcome. The pain meds seemed to spread like molasses throughout my brain, muddling my already scattered and confused thoughts. There were magical stones that some dude named Thanos wanted to use to destroy half of everything? And the Avengers had been going after them all of this time without my knowledge? How long had these missions been going on where I thought one thing was happening and it was something entirely different? And there was no way in Hell would Loki ever save my life. I was a thorn in his side that made his time stuck in this compound a thousand times worse. No one would’ve blamed him if he’d ‘forgotten’ in the heat of battle to push me into cover, letting Hydra riddle me with bullets.

“Uh, yeah, totally. I could go dancing I feel so great,” I muttered sarcastically, pulling myself out of my thoughts and into the room filled with my friends who watched me with concern.

“It’s on, Jen,” Nat said, winking at me from the edge of my bed.

“Let’s give her some space to rest up, guys,” Tony said, flipping his hand around on my forehead and rubbing it lightly with his thumb before stepping away.

Natasha and Thor both nodded to me with a smile before they left the room, the door whirring shut behind them. Tony gave me a final once-over and then left, calling out before the door closed, “The team left some flowers for you on the bedside table. Don’t kill anyone with them!”

After smiling at the expensive-looking glass vase of roses, I snuggled further into the soft sheets and fell into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

~~~

A cool hand on the side of my head woke me suddenly. My eyes tore open and my left hand shot out, grabbing the attacker before they could do me any harm.

“Loki,” I whispered, startled to see the Asgardian Prince at my bedside. What was he doing here?

“If you’d release my hand, I can resume checking your head wound,” he said flatly.

It was hard to grasp, the annoyed god at my bedside in casual black slacks and a white button-down shirt, waiting for me to let him go when he could easily remove himself from my grip. “Oh.” I sheepishly let go of him, my hand falling to rest at my side.

He maintained eye contact with me for a moment, his brow furrowed as he searched my eyes before looking back at the back of my head. His long fingers moved to my jaw, tugging it away from him so he could get a better look at the injury. I felt them move to probe it gently, pausing whenever I let out a hiss of pain.

“I need to change the bandage again.” His voice was firm but gentle. His tone alone threw me for a loop. It was so odd to hear him speaking cordially to me when I was used to him hissing like a snake or shouting up a storm.

As I busied himself behind me, I searched for the remote that typically accompanies a hospital bed. Finally finding it tucked beneath my leg, I used it to slowly move the automatic bed so I was sitting up. By the time I was finished Loki had come to the other side of the bed with a syringe filled with clear liquid. His piercing green eyes met mine once again as he hesitated only briefly before injecting it into my IV. Had he been waiting for me to stop him? The familiar weight of pain medication flooded my body, revealing what he had done moments before without my prompting.

He put down the syringe onto the table beside my flowers. Only now, instead of the single vase waiting for me, there was another. A single sunflower sat in a tall elegant black and gold vase. I looked back to Loki with a furrowed brow, watching him place bandages, gauze, and alcohol next to the new gift.

Finally, unable to hold back my confusion any longer, I blurted out, “Why are you helping me, Loki?”

“Because you are injured. I’ve taken over this aspect of your care since you arrived.” He said it so matter of factly it was almost an insult. As if there was no question that he wouldn’t be doing such a selfless act and he was offended that I would think he’d act differently.

“One of the others could handle this. Why are you helping me,” I pressed.

He sighed heavily and refused to reply, instead reaching out and placing his fingertips on either side of my face to tilt my head forwards off of the pillow. He moved out of my line of sight for a brief moment and I heard water running before he returned to lean over me, his chest inches from my face. This close, I was able to smell the strong spicy and masculine scent that I was quickly beginning to recognize as distinctly him. A warm, damp compress was pressed to the back of my head.

“Some blood soaked through the bandage into your hair. I need to cleanse it before I can remove the bandage.” He smoothed the damp cloth over my head again and again, the pain meds he had given me doing their job to take away the pain and leave only pressure in its wake.

The bloody rag was tossed unceremoniously into a hamper across the room, and then he grabbed the alcohol and gauze next. Some part of my mind screamed that I shouldn’t be letting him do this, that he was going to turn around any second and wrap those long fingers around my throat to finish me off, but a more rational part of me shut that down. If he was going to kill me, there would be no sense in saving my life in the first place.

And there wasn’t any hatred or malice in his gaze as I strained my eyes to look up to him without moving my head. To be completely honest, I couldn’t glean any emotion from his impassive face as he worked over me. Whatever he had to be feeling was currently locked away behind stony eyes and a firmly-set mouth.

“I’ve been watching you, Jennifer. As you train with the Witch and the Widow. Both will throw you to the ground repeatedly, besting you, and you stand right up and try again. You never give up. You clean up after the others when they forget without expecting gratitude or repayment. You set out the protein powder for the Widow and Captain each night. You explain the flavors of the food you’re eating to Vision. When they left you behind three days ago, instead of pouting like a child, you took to bettering yourself.” As he spoke he tended to the large gash on the back of my head, his soothing cool touch at odds with the confusion that littered his own words. As if I were some puzzle that he couldn’t piece together with just my odd actions as a guide.

How long had he been watching me to notice these things? And when had he noticed them? I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him in weeks. He may as well have disappeared off the planet for all that I had encountered him. And had he taken the time to notice these behaviors, or had they simply been a byproduct of his observant nature? Was I a puzzle to him that he must observe to find out, or did he watch everybody that carefully? And how the hell had I not noticed him noticing this?

“And, I need to make amends,” he added, voice so low that I almost didn’t hear it through my scattered thoughts.

His deft fingers left my skin and he placed the remnants of the medical supplies on the table. I took it as a sign that I could move my head and search his face more comfortably, trying to figure out where all of this was coming from. This was not the Loki that I knew. The Loki that I knew would be mocking me for my injuries, possibly prodding my wound to watch me squirm, if he was even here at all. Was this him trying to make things right, to 'make amends' as he had called it? Surely I, the puny mortal, wasn't worth the effort. His actions said otherwise.

He clenched his jaw, meeting my curious gaze with his own. “You knew that you were no match for those men, but you fought them anyway. Why?” Another piece of the puzzle that he couldn’t find a place for.

I swallowed thickly, flashes of the encounters playing through my mind. I killed those men. My heart sped up and tears burned in my eyes despite my clenching them shut. My lungs were unable to hold onto the air from my quick, shallow breaths as their deaths flashed through my mind. Sending an improvised spear through a man’s neck. Crushing a man to death with tree roots. Doing the same to two more with the decorative boulder. Hitting the one who shot me with a rock at the base of his skull. I hadn’t seen him die, but it had hit too hard for him to survive that.

I killed them. I killed them. I’m a murderer.

“Breathe, little one. Breathe, " Loki soothed, his voice velvet as it washed over me.

The bed pitched as he perched himself on it by my hip, and I heard his fingers snapping to get my attention. But it wasn’t loud enough, wasn’t enough to get me to open my eyes and stop the flood of images that refused to leave my mind’s eye.

“If you hadn’t have done what you were forced to do, you would be dead,” he assured me, his voice steady and sure as he tried to pull me out of my ever-increasing panic attack.

I would’ve died either way, so was killing them something I should’ve done? I lowered my chin to my chest, feeling lightheaded as I struggled to take in enough air. My whole body trembled and I pulled my knees to my chest beneath the blankets, wrapping my good arm around them to hold them to me. The onslaught of death paraded through my mind unbidden and unrelenting.

“Look at me,” he commanded. His cool hand cupped my chin, lifting my face so that he could see me more clearly. His thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away the tears that I hadn't even realized had escaped. But it was as if I lost the ability to open my eyes, his attempts be damned. I couldn’t do it even though I so desperately wanted to.

His other hand reached out and settled onto my knee, and it was so startling that I ripped open my eyes and looked at him. Concern softened his features, at odds the harshness of his tone. “They forced your hand. You are not a murderer."

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so I chose silence as I focused on him. He was breathing more forcefully than normal, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and I copied him. We stayed that way for several moments, him showing me how to breathe through my panic and me following his lead. Slowly, the lightheadedness lessened enough so that I could focus. The terrible visions in my head were replaced with the piercing green eyes that held me captive.

Satisfied that I was calming down, he asked again, “Now, answer me this: Why did you fight those men when you knew you were going to lose?”

I looked away to his hand on my knee, the long fingers completely covering it even beneath the thickness of several blankets. It was easier to gather my thoughts without having to watch his reaction to them.

What had I been thinking?

“I… I knew I was the last line of defense. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said I was on my own. Was I supposed to just let them do whatever shitty thing they came to do? Guys busting through Tony’s forcefield in battle gear and assault rifles aren’t showing up to ask for a cup of sugar. If I hadn’t have done anything, they would have found me and killed me anyway. I was dead either way, but maybe I could stop enough of them that you could take the rest out if you came to help.” I ran my hand over my face, dislodging his grip from my chin in the process. “I-I didn’t mean to kill them, but I did mean to stop them. And then after that asshole shot me, I was one hundred percent dead anyway. I was bleeding out. So I might as well take as many out as I could before I go,” I shrugged, wincing at the discomfort the movement brought to my shoulder, even with the haze of medication.

“That reeks of the same self-sacrificing hero act that my brother and his troupe of morons put on. That was foolish and unnecessary,” he scolded.

I offered him nothing more than another shrug, but only of my uninjured shoulder, for his reprimand. It probably was, in his mind, but that didn't mean that I agreed.

“Did you not think I would come to your aid?” Loki asked, the smallest expression of hurt registering on his face as he brought attention to its cause.

“The last time we talked you held a knife to my throat, and then I did the same to you. Kinda. It was a tree branch, but it still counts. Why would you help me? If they had finished the job then you’d have a much easier life here. You wouldn’t have to avoid me and constantly worry about Thor breaking your face whenever I throw a fit. You could skulk around at night or on the roof without running into me. I’m just in your way.”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw ticked at my words, but he didn’t say anything he as considered them. The silence was almost more painful than the hole in my shoulder. I idly reached up to scratch at the bandage and his hand reached up and slapped it away.

He frowned at me. “I need to redress that as well. Leave it be.”

The silence stretched on as he organized the supplies he’d need in front of him and then tugged the hem of my large hospital gown down my arm to expose my shoulder and better access the bullet wound. His spindly fingers were quick and efficient in their work of removing the bandage, cleansing the wound, and then replacing the dressings with clean ones. His steady touch coming and going from my bare skin sent my heart skittering in my chest. I didn’t allow myself to wonder why it was invoking that reaction in me, but I did allow for the luxury of watching him unnoticed.

I'd never taken the time to actually see the man tending to my wounds. Taking the time to really inspect him, I was surprised to find that he was very easy to look at. His skin was unblemished and smooth, no hint of age showing on it except for the wrinkles that appeared as he furrowed his brow or squinted his eyes to get a better look at his task. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and I trailed my eyes downward to the small amount of pale chest that his unbuttoned collar revealed, not a single hair to be seen. His shirt didn't hide the lean muscles that rippled beneath his skin as he worked, and some strange part of me wondered what they would feel like if I reached out and closed the distance between us. For lack of a better, more eloquent word, he was beautiful. As if sculpted by the very gods that he proclaimed himself to be. His beauty was more delicate compared to the rugged masculinity of the men of the Avengers that I was used to associating with, but that didn't make it any less lovely to behold. Just different.

I pulled my wandering eyes back up to his, a blush betraying me and heating up my skin when I found that he had been watching me look at him. The intensity of his gaze knocked me back to my senses, and I quickly looked down at my hands as they twisted around themselves. He didn't say anything, however, keeping up the silence until he was finished and throwing away the soiled bandages in the trash across the room. With his overwhelming presence gone and his large hands off my skin, I felt the tension I had unknowingly been holding in my clenched muscles ease away and my mind clear a little more. Loki paused in front of the door with his back to me, one hand resting on the windowsill beside the door.

“One thing I’ve only recently learned from my brother is to never leave a warrior behind. Especially not one of such caliber.” He took a deep breath, his shoulders heaving with the movement. “And I’m not willing to lose anyone else.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind my favorite blood-stained rock on the windowsill.

#to keep you safe #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #loki/ofc #blood tw #violence tw #language tw

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b4kuch1n · 5 years

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23° off-kilter on the carpet

Here’s the ported version of the Sleep Deprivation Fic (actually most of my fics are sleep deprivation fics because of who I am as a person, but that’s beside the point) just to follow the principle that all of my stuff should have a post on this blog. As of this moment, only mildly proofread because I spotted errors and typos while refreshing the AO3 page repeatedly for an extended period of time.

In which Todd walks in on Dirk laying on the office’s floor, and things go mild from there.

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Read on AO3

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Dirk was on the floor when Todd arrived at the office.

Okay, it was less frightening than it sounded. All three of the office’s employees end up on the floor semi-frequently because things just happen to them now apparently, and Todd can count on one hand the amount of times it was anything actually serious. More bad things happen to them while they’re just out walking than when they lay down on the office’s floor, if he’s counting correctly and not just blacking out the terrible parts. It’s refreshing that there’s one thing in their life now that’s not lethal.

Well, that’s not really fair; their life isn’t that bad. It’s just weird. Todd doesn’t mind weird, he’s just deeply branded with being a normal asshole, and now being a weird helper feels… weird.

Anyway: yes, coming into the office to find one of your partners and friends on the floor would be alarming, if this weren’t Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, and the person on the floor weren’t Dirk, or he were in a more curled up position if it were still him. Dirk’s reactions to bad stimuli and pain, like his sense of style and his bounciness and anything good about him really, are hard-earned and curated, so he’s entitled to letting them run their course, so if he’s in physical pain Todd will get to know. They’ve had that worked out pretty early into their professional dealings. Dirk likes to have conversations, unless he doesn’t.

Todd has always thought Dirk is a straightforward person once one knows him. People never share his opinion on this, which is weirder than weird, because c’mon: it’s gonna take a lot of actual trying to outdo Todd when it comes to being terrible at people.

Anyway ; Dirk laying on the floor: not weird. Has happened before, in fact.

Todd checked the ceiling with a glance just to make sure nothing was tacked on there again (the ceiling was the usual blank cream), and then went to throw his laptop bag onto the couch. “We haven’t swept the floor in, uh, a week,” he said, just to throw it out there.

Dirk caught it. “Jackets can be dry cleaned.”

That was more curt than Todd’s used to.

He came to stand next to Dirk’s arm on the floor. “Sure, you do whatever with your clothes, but we should sweep the floor at least. It’s the,” he checked his phone, “17th.”

Dirk looked up at him with bleary eyes.

Todd sighed. “Look, I’m not— I couldn’t care less about dusty carpet, I’m not gonna lie to you, but I don’t wanna disappoint Farah. She’s gonna be tired when she comes back, and if we wanna make our celebration seems genuine we’re gonna have to take care of the minute details too.”

“Like dusty carpets,” Dirk mumbled.

“Yeah,” Todd confirmed, crossing his arms in a valiant effort to mimic even a corner of Farah’s authority.

They stared at each other for a moment, before Dirk looked away and muttered, “Day’s still long.”

Todd sat down on the floor. He made a face as he lifted the hand he used to support himself on the way down. “Wow— okay, it’s dustier than I thought. It’s like— did we even sweep up after the Buzzer? We didn’t. Of course we forgot. Yeah, so… that’s not just seven days of normal dust—”

“Please just… give me a minute,” Dirk cut him off, with a noticeable effort to be louder this time, and Todd took a deep breath and looked at him, carefully. His limbs were spread out and stiff, like a straw figure’s. His jacket was slightly damp, and his tie seemed to have flopped into its current, crumpled position when he laid down. He didn’t even move his head when he talked to Todd just then.

Todd laid down next to Dirk.

They stayed like that for a minute, then Dirk asked, “Why are you on the floor?”

“I’m giving you a minute,” Todd mumbled. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Feels like the right amount of impact on my senses,” Dirk replied. “Last time this happened I also laid on the floor, and afterwards the stupid thoughts went away, so I elected to repeat the conditions this time around. Science.”

That didn’t sound entirely right, but Todd dropped out of college to play guitar for an alt band, so. “What’s the thoughts?”

“Alright, on review, calling them ‘thoughts’ isn’t very correct, or useful to the conversation. They’re more… feelings. Multiple, numerous, of unidentified frequency, and not lending well to words and sentences.”

“Okay,” Todd said, “that’s definitely a not-truth at some level.”

Dirk blew a frustrated breath. “Can’t we let it be? I’m laying on the floor staring at the ceiling. This solution has no hole. The thoughts will go away in a few minutes.”

Todd let the silence drop for a few seconds there, and then said, as calmly as he could ever be, “But they came back though.”

They laid there on the ground for another minute as the silence covered them; Todd glued his eyes to the cream ceiling, resolute to not look at Dirk. He could feel Dirk move his arm, and the deep breaths Dirk took. He focused on regulating his own breathing as well; he tends to forget to inhale around Dirk.

“I don’t feel like a man today,” Dirk said, after the silence was thick enough they could float up to its surface.

Todd didn’t expect that; he whipped his head over to look at Dirk. Dirk had an arm over his eyes, but the rest of him was maybe even more still than before he spoke. He was expecting a reaction of some kind to his statement, which— okay, that’s how conversations happen, you say something and the other person reacts and you react to that. ‘Twas just that Dirk seemed to be gearing himself up to something negative, which Todd… didn’t know where to land himself with. He wasn’t sure if Dirk knew either.

One of the conversations Dirk wasn’t thrilled about, then.

Todd decided to start slow. “Okay, is that a… gender statement, a mood statement, or…?”

“Mostly gender,” Dirk said immediately, as if he feared Todd would retract the buoy if he didn’t latch onto it fast enough. “I just… sometimes I will feel intensely not like a man. Not in the way that means I’m inadequate to be one, just that I’m not one? It is usually less intense than that, I can just ignore it, but every once in a while it will morph into almost an urge to… rewrite myself. To reshape everyone’s perception of me. Even if it means…”

Todd cleared his throat when Dirk trailed off and didn’t seem to know how to pick the thread up again. “What’s it mean?”

“I... “ Dirk swallowed. “Even if it means I’m not human.”

Todd took a few seconds to process that. Once it was halfway swallowed and he had about two fingers of his brain under his control again, he pushed himself up into a sitting position to stare at Dirk.

“Okay, that’s— I’m not--” He gestured like a halfway stringed marionette, and then dropped his arm uselessly down to his side when that didn’t clear anything up. “Can you— just. Walk me through it.”

Dirk removed the arm he had on his eyes to squint at him.

Todd brought both of his hands up again. “Dirk, you— that’s the least weird thing about you. Or anything. I can say that because this past year has been weird as all fuck, and I can say that because the thirty-two years before it were the exact opposite. Literally after all the shit that happened to us, that’s nothing. Well it’s not, it’s— it’s important to you, so it’s important to me too, and knowing it will change things, I’m sorry I said it’s nothing, it’s that it’s— not weird. ‘S just not.”

“I’m a tiny bit hurt, thank you, apology accepted,” Dirk said, and his eyes were tracking Todd’s motions now, okay, “and that’s not. Well, it is a part of the point, but also I’m… not normal, am I.”

“Uh,” Todd said.

“On many levels. Most people don’t experience the things I do, and really, I haven’t met another person of my same profession. Which is because it is a unique position required by the Universe so as It could move Its pieces around, which I am fine with, I could get used to the excitement, but something… Maybe.” Dirk swallowed. “Can it be too much?”

“I don’t— I don’t get it.”

“I’m tailored to a purpose,” Dirk said, and once again he was staring at the ceiling. “A lot of the things I feel are already pumped into me by that. At some point it will dictate whether something about me is necessary or not, and I just… I’m not sure where that point is.”

Todd could only do more staring while Dirk barreled on with his thoughts to where they were supposed to end up.

“Maybe it’s already crossed that point,” Dirk said. “Maybe I’m just a tool to be used.”

“That’s the Blackwing speaking,” Todd said, a bit too hastily, but he felt he needed to. Dirk just exhaled wearily.

“I know. But they haven’t been wrong about everything…”

“Dirk,” Todd said, more firmly this time. Dirk looked at him. “They don’t even understand how your thing works. They’re terrible at what they do. You don’t— you’ve lived that firsthand, I don’t even have to tell you all this.”

It was his turn to take a deep breath now, as he looked at Dirk and Dirk looked back.

“You showed me weird,” he continued. “The world is fucking weird. Time travel is real, soul is extractable, there’s an eighty-year-old child making whole dimensions with a wave of his hand, my sister’s a witch travelling with energy vampires, I’m sitting here on this dusty as fuck floor talking to you. A year ago I couldn’t even imagine doing that for anyone other than Amanda. We became friends, Dirk. All of that happened.”

He grabbed Dirk’s hand.

“You’re human. You’re both human and not-a-man, that’s about par-for-the-course with how weird this shit all is. Honestly, even a bit subpar.”

“I cannot be spectacularly explosive and entertaining in all areas,” Dirk said. There was a wobbly smile on his lips. Todd let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “There has to be some specialization happening somewhere.”

He sat up, a bit shaky, and Todd tugged on his hand. He initiated the hug. Todd couldn’t say he didn’t lean into it; things had been tense for a moment.

“Thanks for coming out to me, by the way,” he said, just to not be an asshole. “It’s really good to know.”

“It’s about time for it to happen,” Dirk shrugged into the hug. “It’s been one year already.”

Todd smiled. “Happy one year of doing this, huh.”

“Happy one year of doing this.”

“We should sweep the floor”.

#Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency #dghda #dirk gently #todd brotzman #fanfiction #hey its the nonbinary dirk fic I posted the AO3 post for yesterday #gen. again because of who I am as a person.#I could write romance but judging by how that' went in the past Ive elected to spare the boys #trust me. read blossom hills.#anyways coming out; communication; sitting on the floor; all the stuff I hold near and dear to me #its loving your friend hour everyone #now I have to do french homework for the brother #have a good one stay tuned for other things coming in a day or two

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mylifeislivedinthepagesofastoryb · 5 years

Text

Last Name Please! Pt 1

What if when James Phelps was a younger lad he had fallen in love and gotten married? Seeing as many a young marriage does not succeed he is now his 33 year old single self. Not much of a care in the world, that is until one late night call changes everything. Becoming a father over night isn’t the easiest thing in world, then again, going from not having a dad to having one isn’t any easier. Read to find out how this all works out.

(I’m posting this before editing it, as I’m on my phone right now. So, please ignore typos and grammatical errors for the time being)

I do not own the Phelps twins. Lol

It was 3 am in London, James Phelps laid sleeping soundly being lulled by the soft pattern of the rain falling outside. It was all comforting. His cell phone started ringing from his bedside table, sleepily he reached over sliencing the call he turned pulling the blankets up to his chin. It rung again not a minute later, grabbing it he silenced the call again this time setting his phone to vibrate. Whom ever it was could certainly wait until the sun had come out! Then it started vibrating against the wood of the table, making a small annoying little tapping noise. Letting out a frustrated sigh he harshly grabbed it “I swear if this is you Oliver—“ “This isn’t Oliver” a females voice cut him off. “What? Oh. I’m sorry, but do you know what time it is?” “Yes I do, Mr Phelps and I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t important.” “ Do I know you?” James asked, sitting up and rubbing some sleep from his eye. “No, you don’t... I am or I mean, I was, a lawyer for your ex wife Marcy Donners.” “Yes?” He asked getting suospios now. “I’m afraid that I’m calling with some bad news... There was a car accident tonight, there’s no way to sugar coat it so I might as well just tell you, Marcy was killed.” James flopped on the light, running a hand through his hair he got to his feet. “She’s—she’s dead?” “I’m afraid so.” “Oh my gosh.” He breath, bracing his hand on his knees, trying to stop the room from spinning. “That isn’t the only reason I was calling you, air.” “What other reason could there be?” He asked, after the way things had ended between them there was little chance he was mentioned in any sort of Will. And the devoirce had been settled so long ago that he really shouldn’t have any ties now. “When was the last time you saw her?” The lady asked. “It’s been years, I don’t know” “would you say it could have been, say 14 years ago?” “I....I suppose. I’m sorry where is this going?” The woman sighed on the other end of the line “This isn’t easy. Did she ever tell you she was pregnant?” “Pregnant? Nonono, we split long before that ever came into play. .... We barely made it a year.” He hadn’t thought about that in so long he didn’t realize it still hurt to think about. “She was sir. Look, you have a daughter. I’m sorry to be frank but over the phone formality is difficult.” “That’s impossible “ “It really is possible sir. The thing is is that now, without Ms Donners having any other realized or a will that puts Ella into someone else’s care, you’re responsible for her. “ “Ella? This has to be a mistake. There’s no way I have a daughter, we-we never had a baby!” He exclaimed pacing the floor. “We don’t make mistakes when it comes to this. Ella is here at the hospital, she was in the car when the accident happened. She’s unconscious right now, they think she may have a concussion. I would suggest you come as soon as you can to sort this out. “ she said hanging up on him. None of this made any sense to him, he looked at the time before muttering “swerves it” and ringing up Oliver. “Hello?” Came his twins sleepy voice. “I need you to come over to my place” “Can’t it wait? You just woke me up” “No, it can’t wait! This is important, now come on!” James snapped. “Fine. But if I find out you’re woke me because you’re having girl problems I will personally cut your thing off.” Oliver replied.

When he finally did with two bottles of beer (he knew his twin) he found James dish elves and pacing the entire length of his apartment and back again. “What happened? He asked, tossing his on the Island, coming round to throw himself on the couch. “I’ll tell you what happened, Marcy was in a car accident.” James said a good deal harsher than he intended. “Is she alright?” Oliver asked, his gut already telling him that knew the answer to that question. James pauses mid step, “No, no, she isn’t. She’s gone mate.” He said taking a large swing of the beer. “Oh... I’m sorry, James. Really I am.” Oliver said, finding words here was difficult. What do you say about someone losing their ex wife? How do they feel about it? The name Marcy hadn’t been spoken in so long Oliver found himself at a loss as to what to say about it. “how did you find out?” He finally asked after gettting tired of watching James circle the house. “Her later called me.” He pushed again, rubbing the back of his neck he took a seat. “She also said that....” he stopped himself, unable to make himself spit it out. “What?” Oliver asked leaning forward . “She told me that Marcy had a daughter, my daughter, and that she was in the car at the time of the accident. But that she was alright and that I needed to be there for her.” Saying it Alain’ made t all the more real and terrifying. He looked up to see Oliver sitting back, eyes wide, grip on his bottle so tight his knuckles were paper white. “James, did you just tell me you have a child, that you know nothing about?” “Yes! But that’s the thing, this isn’t possible! I would know if I had a kid.” Oliver sat back, biting his lower lip and mulling it over. After about five minutes, he spoke “Let’s think about this logically, is there even the slightest possibility that you could have a kid?” “No!” “Think back to when you were together “ “We always used precautions” “Every time?” “Why are you so set on this actually being my kid?” “Of a lawyer has called you about it then you should take it seriously. Now, think hard.” James sighed, sitting down, head in his hands he thought back. Even if they had messed up would he be able to remember it after all this time? A good ten minutes went by before he suddenly sat upright, a grave expression on his face. “There might have been one time, after we signed the papers....” “Go on” “She just came by to grab something, I don’t even remember what it was, but when we went to say goodbye, she, that is, we—“ “Okay, you can stop now! I don’t need the details” “Right” “So there is a very good chance that this girl could, in fact, be yours?” “There’s like a million to one chance!” James protested standing up again. “She would have told! She couldn’t just keep something like that away from me. That isn’t even legal.” “It might not be legal, but it is something that happens from time to time. I mean, from her stand point she could easily hid it from you. You go back and forth from London to LA. She was based in New York last I heard. You’re fairly well known, not as famous as me but still—“ he was cut off by James tossing a pillow at his lame attempt at humor. “And she was a lesser known makeup artist.” “She wouldn’t have been lesser known if she had just let me help her!” James snapped reopening old wounds. “Now It isn’t really the time to debate that” Oliver interjected steering him back to the topic at hand. “What are you going to do?” “I don’t know. They wanted me to come to New York.” “To meet her?” “Not just to meet her, Oliver. Marcy had no other family, which means that I’m responsible for my daughter now.” Calling this girl he had never even heard of before his daughter felt weird, it made his stomach do flips and not in a good way. “Then pack your bags, we’ll grab a red eye and get going.” Oliver said downing the last of his drink, “I’ll just grab whatever I left in your gusted room last time I was here no since I’m driving home when the airport is close by” “You want to go now?” “They say there’s no time like the present”

#JamesPhelps #OliverPhelps #Harrypotter #FredWeasley #Dad #Father #Daughter #Weasleytwins

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milkandhoneyoongi · 6 years

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something different (hoseok scenario)

request: Hello! I recently read the drabble your wrote about taehyung and his s/o not speaking the same language, and i loved it 💗💗💗😭if you are taking requests, do you think you could do a similar version but with Hoseok? Thank you!!

a/n: some changes between this and the original found in translation? one, it’s hobi and not taehyung. two, reader does not speak korean...or a lot of english. figured it would be interesting if neither of them were comfortable in the only language they shared. adds a bit of spice. much different vibe to this one.

and ya’al when i say i got carried away...i got carried away

ALSO i hope people aren’t annoyed by the way i lowkey diss paris in the beginning but like… i’m french so please let me live. like the reason reader speaks french is because i’m literally fluent in french i swear.

you can always send me a request here (please please do so i am almost done with any requests i have at the moment) and view my old imagines here

genre: angst/fluff

word count: 1,903 words

warnings: none?

There was something about Paris that drew people in. You understood why. If one spends so much time in a modern world, a city that sticks to its traditional roots can have an allure, but you had grown tired of the old architecture, tired of the effortlessly beautiful vibe that applied both to Parisian style and most aspects of the city. The stone walls and that ugly tower, you were over it all. And maybe that was because of the connections you had made to those aspects, but you needed something new.

You needed sleek buildings and a clean metro. You needed air that didn’t smell like rust, because no, it’s not rustic, it’s just gross. Nothing chic about an intolerance to change.

You, always having been spontaneous and free-spirited, made a rash decision and just… Got a job in Korea. Seoul specifically. You had gotten lucky, finding some job to talk to French business associates of this company that you could not care less about, but it was different, and for a while that’s what you needed. Just something different.

You thought you were just going to be talking to French business associates and occasionally exploring, but then you got a text from an unknown number. There were three messages, one after the other, all in full Korean Hangul. You’d probably eventually need to learn the language if you planned on sticking around, but as a kid you had told yourself the same thing during your English lessons and look where that got you. You learned nothing.

For the time being you plugged the texts into Google Translate, hoping to get some manageable translation to which you could respond.

From unknown: Thank you for last night. It was nice talking to you. This is Hoseok, by the way.

Hoseok, you thought, Poor Hoseok. His date gave him the wrong number.

You thought back a nice way to respond, plugging a simple “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number,” and copying and pasting the characters to send to this Hoseok.

Within minutes the poor boy had responded again with a simple: are you sure?

You grinned. Why wouldn’t you be sure?

To hoseok: Pretty sure.

And then he was calling your phone. Odd. You couldn’t answer… No, you couldn’t speak Korean, but you felt bad for the boy. He was probably heartbroken.

I’m really sorry. This is not the one from last night. You seem sweet, and you deserve someone better anyway.

Sure, Hoseok noticed the silly mistakes in the mystery person’s Korean, but he didn’t think much of it. Plenty of people made typos or grammatical errors.

From hoseok: Someone like you?

His heart was broken; He was feeling bold.

You held back a gasp, looking at your translator app with wide eyes. Someone like me? You shrugged. This was something different.

To hoseok: Yeah. I guess someone like me.

You and Hoseok actually got on quite well over your little text conversations, communicating almost every day. You’d been quite flirty but he was cute and he was interested. You were the rebound, you knew as much, but you had been before and it wasn’t too bad. Things in your life had a way of working out.

Until he asked to meet you in person.

Yikes, you thought. The jig was up. How do you tell someone you really like that you’ll likely never be able to communicate in person? You certainly didn’t know.

Maybe you should have mentioned, Oh by the way I don’t speak Korean and I’ve been using Google this entire time. But you didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and you didn’t know if he’d be weird about that. In a way, you had been lying to him, but you never explicitly mentioned that you were fluent in Korean so, lying by omission.

You had never talked about the details of your personal life. He knew you had moved to Seoul for a change of scenery and a change of pace, but you hadn’t mentioned where you moved from. You mentioned the company you worked for, saying you worked in communications, all true. You could tell funny stories from work that day without mentioning they happened entirely in French. The fact that I don’t speak Korean just hadn’t come up, you thought to yourself, Nothing dishonest about that.

From hoseok: Hello?

You looked back down to your screen, where Hoseok had asked if you if you wanted to meet in person. Who’s gonna tell him? You shrugged.

To hoseok: Hoseok I haven’t been entirely honest with you…

He frowned reading the text? What had you lied about? Your age? Your location? Your job?

I don’t speak Korean.

He read the text that said, in perfect Korean, that you didn’t speak Korean. He hadn’t expected that, certainly not from someone who had been texting him in Korean for a few weeks, anyway.

From hoseok: Oh.

To hoseok: I’m sorry.

From hoseok: I’m a K-Pop star, so.

To hoseok: Oh?

From hoseok: Everybody hides the scary stuff.

To hoseok: I guess so.

From hoseok: Is you not speaking Korean why you hesitate to hang out with me?

To hoseok: Definitely.

From hoseok: Then let’s have a date.

You grinned. Of course he didn’t mind. You two made fast plans to meet after you got out of work, both eager to finally see one another.

You had locked eyes with him outside the small market, smiling widely at his multicolored outfit and happy expression. “Y/N?” You nodded, shocked by how comfortable he was just pulling you into his arms as soon you did so. He was so friendly.

“You know any English?” He asked, and you found yourself flushed as you shook your head.

“Not a lot.” He loved your accent as it rolled over the words, the syllables falling from your unfamiliar tongue. He found himself in awe of your appearance, your features everything they thought they would be. You looked perfect. Not that that mattered, but the lighting graced you in a way he hadn’t expected and he found himself just as enamoured with your appearance as he was with your words, with your wit, with your wonder. “I speak,” you hesitated, “French.” Funnily enough the word was hard to say with your accent, but he got it.

“French,” he said back, “Fancy.” He giggled as your brows came together, “Oh! Fancy… avant garde.” You grinned at how he pronounced the word with a strong American “r”. There was something about the way he spoke, about the way he made an active effort to make you comfortable that made your heart flutter in an unfamiliar way. “Let us go?”

You had spent the time in the market, Hoseok pointing at different things and teaching you the Korean word for it. You had learned all sorts of thing from girl to cabbage, the last causing you to crack a wide smile. Maybe one day you’d figure out how to tell him about the pet name in your own culture but you couldn’t find the words in that moment.

Despite it being a day of learning, you had more fun than you had in a long time, loving the child-like giddiness that crept up your throat when he reached down and grasped your hand, swinging your hands back and forth between each other.

You said very little overall but you left him that day eager to see him again, even if just to learn more seemingly useless words.

There was a day he texted you in French. You felt like a teenager again at the gesture, your limbs feeling soft like putty as you realized how far deep you really had fallen.

Over the course of several months your Korean had advanced to that of a ten year old boy. That’s what Hoseok said anyway. He felt overwhelming pride when your tongue formed the words correctly, or even when you tried. You’d meet up at cafes or libraries and write down notes in a small book. Vocab, Hangul, everything. You were determined.

You were determined because you and Hoseok couldn’t talk much around each other but being in his presence allowed you to feel a distinct happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You couldn’t explain why, it just was that way, and he felt the same.

You were so cute and so willing to talk even if you didn’t know the words. You’d risk it, and you’d put yourself out there, bounce back from failures and press on. You were so admirable in your work ethic and he couldn’t help but feel electric when he was around you. You had gotten comfortable around him and in that process given him a number of sweet French nicknames. You told him he wouldn’t get the meaning anyway, but that it was a cultural thing thing to give people sweet pet names.

One time he called you jagiya by mistake. It just slipped out. He told you that you wouldn’t get the meaning, but that it was a cultural thing. You didn’t ask about the flush that painted his cheeks.

Within a week of calling you that by accident he asked you to officially date and it was then that he told you jagiya was reserved for significant others. You laughed and made a move, pulling his lips to your own in an act of sweet passion.

Hoseok had told his members about you by the fifth month of dating or so. He wanted to keep you away from his idol life for as long as possible, loving your very personal and intimate times together. But when you became more comfortable with him when in person, he noticed little things you did that he thought would make his members laugh, things they would love about you as much as he did. Oh, he nearly choked on his drink, love.

At first they didn’t approve. They didn’t like the idea of him getting hurt by finding out they actually had nothing in common once they could talk to each other comfortably in real life.

But then they met you, and they saw the way both of your faces lit up at the sight of one another.

“Hobi!” You had cried, bounding toward him. “Mon petit chouchou,” you chirped, nuzzling yourself into his arms. You pulled away, bringing his lips to your own as you smiled. He asked how you were in French and your eyes lit up, starlight twinkling in your irises at his attempts to connect with you.

The boys watched as you attempted to explain your day in Korean, mostly successful. He’d softly correct you sometimes and you’d scrunch up your nose like a rabbit. The chemistry between you two was tangible.

The members introduced themselves to you one by one in their best Korean so you’d understand and you grinned.

After that day you often hung around the other members with Hoseok, often with his arm slung around your shoulders, head thrown back in laughter. Sometimes you’d teach them little things in French, and you found yourself turning Seoul into a home. You had friends, learning Korean had gotten you a raise at work and they even offered to subsidize your study of the language, and you actually had stories to tell your mother when she called.

You had never been happier than you were in Hoseok’s arms, and you didn’t need to know the words to explain how that felt. You had found your something different and it was different in all the best ways.

#bts #bts scenario #bts reaction #hoseok #hoseok scenario

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captainkirkk · 6 years

Note

ok so. so so so. this will be a long message, because frick on a stick there is so much i want to tell you and thank you for. so brace yoself: i read history has its eyes on you only yesterday, but i've been desparately rereading it ever since, almost non-stop, because holy macaroni if this fic ain't one of the most perfect stories these tired eyes have ever seen. i love SO MANY THINGS i'm not sure where to even start, gosh. okay. okay. let's start at the beginning. (1/?)

WEEPS. You sent me A DOZEN messages, bless you? And thank you!!!

This ask and my response got long, so I’m putting it under the cut. There’s a bunch of headcanons about the ‘see it all in bloom’ universe in here, so if you’re interested, keep reading.

your headcanons regarding class 3-a’s rise to fame/the july attacks/deku’s leap in the limelight as future number one, i adore it all. it makes sense, it’s exciting even if we don’t get to see it on the page word-for-word/in real time, and it’s inspiring too! but most of all, it fits them all so well – they deserve to be written as great heroes and i’m beyond happy you gave that to them in your story – to ALL of them, including shinsou. cookies for you. (2/?)

secondly, the rankings you picked for them – deku as no.1 of course, and katsuki ACTUALLY BEING CONTENT WITH SECOND PLACE, EFF YEAH! and shouto at no.4, holding neither all might’s nor his father’s former ranks, i appreciate the heck out of this. just… all the kids becoming awesome heroes and having wonderful, fulfilling careers just like they’ve always wanted, i’m here for this and i’m here to STAY. (3/?)

thirdly, katsuki’s character. i will be the first person in this fandom to admit my intense dislike of him, but you’ve written him in exactly the way i’ve always wanted him to turn out – significantly less jaded, noticeably more humble (and sane…), actively working to correct the mistakes of his past by becoming an advocate for quirkless kids and participating in anti-bullying campaigns (as an ex bully-victim, reading this made me want to kiss you) with deku, that felt sweet on the soul (4/?)

and also being married to kirishima, of course. DUH. speaking of which, the ships! THE SHIPS! ALL. MY. FAVOURITE. SHIPS. they were all there, they all got attention, and i love you all the more for it. tododeku especially. i just love how tenderly yet comfortably they were written. in my mind, they’ve always felt like the couple that will get the happily-ever-after kind of romance, like two souls mated in a fairy tale come to life. and they, above all others, deserve that everlasting joy (5/?)

and the parts with toshinoti, how he’s dealing with his new(-ish?) lifestyle and the world is spinning on without him, but also taking care of him, because he’s more than earned it – how all his former friends and students have become family to him and are so eager to remain an active part of his life, how he helps bakugou with teaching (for dummies ;P) and is so painfully proud of deku, it was all so deeply touching and heartwarming, i loved every single one of his scenes to bits! (6/?)

the writing was wonderful forma purely technical point as well: there were some typos but nothing serious, and it all flowed quickly yet smoothly – you stylde felt simple and dynamic, but also somehow profound, perhaps precisely because of its simplicity. i still can’t put my finger on it. i just know i loved it. your ocs were a great addition too! their personalities felt distinct and they left good impressions without overstaying their welcome in a class 3-a-centred story, top job! (7/?)

the whole domestic feel of the fic was wonderful as well! it felt like a true slice-of-life piece, even though the lives in question are filled with action and danger. you captured the nature of the balance between working your (adventurous and stardom-speckled) dream job and living your private life/spending quality off-time with friends very accurately. the final excerpt (the description of the photo) left a sweetly nostalgic sense buzzing in my chest. just… thank you for this story. (8/?)

and now that i’m done singing your praises, time for the payback! i adore this verse, and therefore i naturally have questions. first and most importantly, the tododeku relationship development. could you tell me when and how they got together in this verse, how that whole tidbit with suing endeavour went, and when and how exactly they got engaged? i assume it’s in the 5 months leading up to the reunion, but details please? future wedding details too? give me ALL THE DETAILS. (9/?)

then, ranking details! we know deku’s no.1, bakugou’s no.2, and shouto’s no.4, but the fic mentions the class currently has 6 members in the top 10. who are the rest, and who’s the number 3 hero? please tell me it’s momo. PLEASE. also, have their ranks changed since the time they graduated, or have they remained the same for the last 7 years (i.e. deku’s always been no.1 ever since he entered the ranklist, shouto’s always been no.4, etc.)? and what’s shinsou’s rank? (10/?)

what about teaching details? where’s nedzu if aizawa’s principle? is shinsou a part-time teacher or a guest lecturer? does bakugou now do teaching full time, or does he only do homeroom for one class and keeps hero-ing in the meantime? will he even remain in the ranklist if he stops fighting villains? will he even care? and on a less-related note, are bakushima the only married couple? and when did they get married? was deku best man? my shameless curiosity demands to know everything (11/?)

finally, in case i haven’t tormented you enough, i wanted to ask, how do you envision our heroes’ futures? we know they’re only 25 in the story, and tododeku are about to soon get married. and bakushima are married already, bakugou’s switching careers, yada yada. but if you had to plot a course for the rest of class 3-a’s lives, what would it look like? all might mentioned grandchildren, but would tododeku want that? and where even was/is kouda in this entire fic? xDDD thank you!!! (12/12)

Again: thanks for the comments! I’m so glad you enjoyed this.

The next ‘in bloom’ instalment will focus on Bakugou becoming involved in anti-bullying campaigns. I’m with you, Bakugou makes me very uncomfortable in canon, but occasionally we get these glimpses of character development (esp in the manga), and I just needed to bring that out and expand on it.

And there will always be typos in my work, unfortunately. I don’t have a beta, and I’m a dumb-ass who always misses my errors. I do my best, but I am only human.

I won’t give you all the details (partly because I don’t have this universe entirely mapped out yet), but you can have some answers:

TodoDeku have a long engagement. They were engaged before we see them in ‘history…’ actually. They’re in no rush, and are very busy with their work lives, and are enjoying the blissfully engaged lifestyle. They’ve been engaged for about a year, and they have some vague plans, but nothing concrete. At the moment, they’re debating the merits of getting married somewhere private in the city vs. getting married on Toshinori’s estate. I’m not sure which one will win out.

Their rankings have changed A LOT! When he officially entered the rankings when he was 19, Deku only ended up no. 20, because it had been over a year since the July Attacks, and he hasn’t actually done much since then, being busy with exams/graduating/entering a hero agency. A lot of people were upset by this, but it didn’t bother Deku. He was ecstatic to scrap into the Top 20 as it was.

Sorry, no. 3 belongs to Inasa (from the manga). The top 10 has changed a lot, too. There’s actually seven 1a heroes in the top 10 - Uravity was No. 11 but got a jump in popularity recently. In order: Deku, Detonation, Gale (Inasa), Polarise, unnamed number 5, Creati, Red Riot, Ingenium, an unnamed number 9, and Uravity.

Shinsou is rankless. He’s an underground hero, and I headcanon that those types of heroes are not typically assigned ranks.

Shinsou has his own role at UA. He does a bunch of stuff: watches the entrance exams, works with some of the Gen. Ed kids, oversees possible transfers between courses, and does guest lectures. Aizawa gives him a lot of independent power.

Bakugou co-teaches Class 1-B. He occasionally guest lecturers other classes (like how Thirteen worked one-off with 1-A during the USJ attack). He has enough time to do hero work too, but he has a less intense work-load now that he’s also teaching.

Kirishima and Bakugou are the only married couple at the moment. They got married when they were 23, before TodoDeku had gotten engaged. They were the first couple to start dating in high school, too. They just … clicked, and never looked back.

Do you mean Kouda or Kouta? Kouda is probably off running a rescue animal shelter while doing minor hero work, too. Kouta is doing amateur film work and arguing with classmates when they don’t believe that he knows pro heroes irl.

I almost wrote Jirou and Momo announcing their engagement at the reunion, but at that point, I had been writing the fic for months, and I needed to upload it before I combusted. So. Yeah. They get engaged around the end of the fic.

I haven’t thought too hard about kids but … I can’t get the image of Kiri/Baku adopting an orphaned girl when they’re in their 30s, and Bakugou ringing up Midoriya to ask him to be the godfather, and Midoriya CRYING FOR HOURS. HOURS. He catches the train over at like 11pm, still in his pjs, still crying, and all over twitter there’s pics of Deku crying into a phone, sparking all kinds of terrible rumours, until he uploads a photo of him cradling his goddaughter in his arms a few hours later.

I also have more headcanons in my history verse tag, if you’re curious. Thanks again!

#history verse #ask #curiousbluepencil

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