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nyoru · 9 days ago

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I SAW I SAW pleeease write for yushi or riku next ❤️‍🩹 it doesn't even have to be a full fledged fic, i'd just love to hear what your thoughts are on how they'd be during the newlywed stage :> and any thoughts you may have on yushi's libido

━━━ 𝗧𝗢𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗢 𝗬𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜 & 𝗠𝗔𝗘𝗗𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗨 𝗡𝗘𝗪𝗟𝗬𝗪𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗖𝗦

ㅤsypnosis ⁝ㅤㅤyushi and riku as newlyweds · nsfw & sfwㅤㅤ〝 cw.ㅤㅤconsensual teehee, light bondage, blindfold, fluff, aftercareㅤㅤ﹪ㅤㅤ𝗍𝗈𝗄𝗎𝗇𝗈 𝗒𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋ㅤ𝗆𝖺𝖾𝖽𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝗄𝗎 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⋆ 𝗬𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜

soft but passionate, a little wild in private — yushi might come across as pure and gentle, but when it’s just the two of you, he lets his desires flourish. his grip on your hips, the way he leaves purple love bites along your collarbone, or how he slowly traces his fingertips down your stomach, he’s not afraid to show you just how much he wants you.

he loves positions where he can see your face, watch your expressions, and gauge your pleasure — missionary, spooning, or you straddling his lap. he especially adores adding a few kisses to your most sensitive spots, he’s a generous lover who aims to make you feel worshipped.

he’s a big believer in consent and communication — a whispered “is this okay..?” or “baby, should I go faster?” is a constant thread during your most intimate moments. his confidence grows alongside your growing trust, making every new experience a shared adventure.

he loves the feeling of skin-on-skin — after a passionate moment, you’re often left resting against him, your breaths syncing, hearts slowing together. he finds pure happiness in simply feeling you close, a kind of vulnerable, raw connection that leaves both of you feeling complete.

he’s a generous pleaser — for yushi, there’s something profoundly intimate about making you feel good. he’d press kisses down your stomach, linger at your thighs, and slowly learn the most sensitive, vulnerable spots that make you tremble. his libido might be high, especially during the newlywed phase, but he’s always careful to make sure you’re comfortable and completely at ease.

he loves initiation from you, too — when you tug him back into bed with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes or boldly straddle him after a shower, it drives him wild. his grip tightens, a shaky breath leaves his lips, and a rush of pure need crosses his face, he’s completely yours in those moments.

he’s a big cuddler afterwards — HE JS LOVES THE FEELING OF SKIN-ON-SKIN, limbs intertwined, he traces circles along your back and plays with your hair. his heart feels so full, he can’t help but whisper “I love you” against your skin. sometimes, he falls asleep with his face resting against your stomach or your sternum, safely anchored by you.

yushi LOVES kissing your forehead first thing in the morning — just a gentle peck to say, “I’m here, you’re safe, you’re mine.” and then he lingers there for a moment, closing his eyes and smiling against your skin. sometimes, he’ll press another small kiss to your nose, then your lips, until you’re both smiling and reluctantly forced to wake up.

he leaves small notes all over your home — a “thought of you today”, “can't wait to see you after work”, or a simple “I love love love you” alongside a doodle of a heart or your initials intertwined. sometimes you find them slipped into your wallet, your shoe, or even your book, turning every corner of your routines into a romantic surprise.

he prefers slow-dancing with you in the kitchen while you cook together — the two of you humming quietly to whatever song is on, resting his chin on your shoulder, letting the moment sink in while you fold batter or chop veggies side by side. it's pure happiness, a calm refuge from the chaos outside :)

he insists you carry matching keychains or rings, a symbol that you’re connected no matter the distance or time — a small, shimmering thread tying your hearts together across space and routines.

he plans surprise date nights — a rooftop dinner under the purple sunset, a spa bath for two filled with rose petals and essential oils, a midnight walk hand in hand with the city’s pulse all around you, just to make sure you feel valued, cared for, and celebrated.

he loves resting his head against your stomach or your lap while you’re reading or listening to your favorite song — closing his eyes and syncing his breaths with yours, feeling completely at peace in your warmth.

⋆ 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗨

dream-like romance with a side of temptation — riku might be gentle, but he certainly isn’t timid in the bedroom. he loves turning up the warmth, kissing you slowly down your stomach, tugging at the waistband of your panties, making you tremble in nervous, eager anticipation.

he’s passionate but patient — riku lets you set the pace, adding small, deliberate touches that slowly bring you toward a passionate release. he prefers positions where he can feel close to you, doggy style with a romantic twist, reverse spooning, or straddling him while he guides your movements. he loves to grip your thighs or your hips, adding pressure at just the right moment.

he finds greatest happiness in making you feel desirable and wanted — riku’s kisses are deep and passionate, his words a mixture of affirmation and temptation, whispering in your ear just how much he craves you. he might say, “you’re so beautiful.. so perfect.. I want to make you feel everything…”, turning your senses up a notch until there’s only you, him, and pure passion.

he’s a passionate explorer — riku loves trying new things with you, from adding a small silky blindfold for a bit of mystery, to tying your hands with a ribbon ( with your consent, of course ), adding a gentle flavor of domination. his main objective is making sure you feel desirable, cared for, and completely unpressured.

he’s a master of afterplay — after making you come, riku doesn’t rush away; instead, he kisses up your thighs, traces patterns with his fingertips, and murmurs affectionate words until you’re fully back down from your high.

he again finds pure happiness in your trust — for riku, there’s something profoundly intimate about you trusting him with your vulnerabilities. so he strives to make each moment together feel comforting, passionate, and healing — a refuge for both of you.

he melts every time you call him “husband” — his cheeks grow rosy, his pulse races, and he cannot hide his happiness. it’s a word that resonates deep within him, a symbol of loyalty, unity, and eternal connection.

he draws you a warm bath after a tiring day — adding flower petals, a few drops of essential oil, lighting a small group of scented candles, creating a restful sanctuary just for you. then he quietly stands by, towel in hand, ready to wrap you up in softness afterwards.

he loveslovesloves resting his head on your lap while you watch a movie or read together — it's his safest, most vulnerable spot, where worries fade away and the world feels distant. sometimes, he falls asleep there, his breaths growing heavy and deep against you, a pure expression of trust.

he brings you breakfast in bed frequently — pancakes, strawberries, a small note with a sweet confession of his growing affection. sometimes he traces a small heart on the plate with syrup or arranges the food to form a heart-shaped meal, just to make you smile first thing in the morning :b

he quietly collects photos and mementos — turning them into a scrapbook filled with stories, moments, and promises for your future together. each page is a testament to your growing bond — a love that deepens with each passing day.

he finds magic in the small routines you share — washing dishes side by side, folding laundry together, or simply sitting quietly in each other’s company, not needing words to feel connected c':

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: while some of these fluffier moments are especially sweet during the newlywed phase, they’re really not limited to just that ! 🩶 these gestures ( big or small ) can happen at ANY point in your relationship, whether you’re just dating, engaged, or years into your marriage. yushi and riku’s love evolves, but it’s the kindness, patience, and affection that keep it alive, no matter the stage.

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mawrmyy · 1 year ago

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lucky

Joel Miller x f!reader

warnings:

18+ !!! minors dni !!!

smut, unprotected piv (wrap it up y'all!!), pet names (darling, baby, angel, etc), infidelity but not really (it'll make sense if you read it i promise) oral f! and m!receiving, driving over speed limits, alcohol consumption, dirty bathroom floors. lmk if i missed anything :)

It’s late, nearly midnight. You could be at home now, resting after a long day at work. The weekend welcomes you with open arms, and it smells like laundry detergent and fresh-brewed coffee.

The floor of the bar is sticky. You’re sure every drink that’s been spilled on the linoleum floor has a story of its own, sticking to the soles of your shoes, begging you to listen.

You ignore it, making your way towards the counter, calculating how to get as much alcohol in your system as fast as possible. Whiskey, please, you tell the bartender, and he obliges.

Now, with a cold glass cup in your hand, you finally sit down on a bar stool and allow your eyes to lazily scan your surroundings. A group of four, seemingly in their early twenties, sit at a table to your left, talking and laughing loudly. In front of you sits an overweight man with a long white beard, downing what you assume is at least his seventh glass of beer. He notices you looking and gives you a glance that practically yells fuck you looking at? You take that as your sign to look away, and your eyes continue scanning the room.

That’s when you see him, across the bar. He’s already looking at you, eyes dark and hooded. He’s handsome, probably around his late 40s, with graying hair and a short scruffy beard. You feel your cheeks heat up from the intensity of his gaze, and you look back down to the glass cup between your warm palms.

When you look back to meet his eyes once again, you see he’s taking a swig of his drink before getting up. For a split second your heart drops, assuming he’s leaving, but instead, he starts making his way across the sticky floors, directly towards you. You swallow your anxiety, as well as another sip of whiskey, before setting the cup down with a soft thud. You watch him walk, your heartbeat quickening with every step he takes. Before you know it, he’s sitting on the stool beside you, and your heart is just about to leap out of your chest. He’s looking at you, studying your face carefully, gauging your reaction before he speaks.

“Hi,” He says sheepishly, and you can tell he’s suddenly nervous. “I’m Joel.” He reaches out a hand for you to shake, and you take it, chuckling quietly at the awkwardness of it all.

“Hi Joel,” You say, keeping eye contact and smiling at him warmly. You tell him your name, and he smiles back, a hearty lopsided grin that you can’t help but want to kiss.

“Saw you from across the bar,” Joel tells you. “‘S a nice dress. Suits you,” He says, signaling to the tight little black dress you decided to wear this evening. You blush at his words.

The two of you make conversation, talking for over an hour about how uncharacteristically warm it’s been this winter, and Quentin Tarantino’s filmography, and why the hell are there so many shots of feet?!

He asks you if you have a boyfriend, and his eyes follow yours as you look to the thin golden ring sitting pretty on your finger. Joel swallows, but doesn’t mention it again.

It’s nearly 1 am when you ask him do you dance, Joel? His large hand is in yours as you lead him to the makeshift dance floor near the billiard table. There are two other couples there, swaying to a song you can't quite make out the words to.

You wrap your arms around Joel, threading your fingers and resting them at the nape of his neck. He’s looking down at you, the palm of his left hand running down from your rib to your hip, where it stays. He places his right hand on your other hip and pulls you closer, still never breaking eye contact. The two of you stay like that for a while, hips rocking slowly to the music blasting out of the cheap bar speakers.

It’s maybe two songs in before Joel’s hands start getting impatient, grazing the small of your back and palming at your ass. Normally, you’d be embarrassed letting a stranger feel you up in public, but you know nobody’s looking, each and every person at the bar stuck in their own little world. You look up at Joel through your lashes, taking in his sharp, crooked nose and rugged features. It ignites a fire in your lower belly, the way he looks at you. Pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. He’s breathing heavily, you can feel his shoulders rising and falling beneath your forearms. It’s so intense, you’re sure that if he isn't inside you within the next minute you might explode.

You let out a soft whimper of his name, and he groans.

“Darlin’,” He says in a pained voice. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” You smirk at that, placing your hands on his chest, tugging at the collar of his flannel. You stand on your toes and lean in so that your lips are mere millimeters away from his, and you whisper a soft–

“Want you, Joel,” before turning away from him and walking towards the bar bathroom. You’re reaching for the door handle when you hear his heavy footsteps following close behind you, and you smirk to yourself. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

Joel’s behind you in an instant, pushing you into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. His mouth meets yours, and it's all teeth and tongue and whiskey and mint. His hands, so big and warm wrapped around your ribs, guide you backwards until your back hits the stiff wooden door.

He’s desperate, hungry. His tongue licks into you, greedily swallowing every moan and sigh you’re willing to give him.

Suddenly Joel is sinking to his knees, paying no mind to the dirty bathroom floor or to the way his bones crack loudly as he crouches. He looks up at you with wide eyes, hands running up your thighs, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress, pulling it up slightly. Your cheeks flush crimson, knowing full well how wet you are for him. Joel knows it too, smirking as he sees the damp spot on your lacy white panties. His fingers graze your clothed folds softly, teasing you. He leans in to press a feather-light kiss on your inner thigh, and you let out a soft whimper.

“Please, Joel,” You say, looking him dead in the eyes. “Need you so bad. Been wanting you all night,” you add, and that seems to do it. He groans and pulls your panties down to your ankles, licking a long stripe up your glistening cunt. The two of you moan in unison, Joel’s hand holding up your thigh to get a better angle.

“Fuck darlin’,” He groans into you, words slurring. “Such a pretty pussy. You this wet jus’ f’r me?”

“Fu-yes, Joel, just for you,” You tell him honestly.

He’s ruthless, tongue sliding from your pussy to your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. Your head falls back against the door, the flickering lights above you blurring into stars as you feel your orgasm getting close.

“Joel, m’gon- oh,” you tell him. He keeps up his pace, eyes never leaving your face, the curve of your jaw, the rise and fall of your chest.

“I know, angel,” He tells you. “Let go f’me, baby. You can do it.”

You’re a wreck. It's only been a couple of minutes, and you’re already close to coming undone on Joel’s tongue. His thick fingers prod at your pussy, slipping in easily. You can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about how wet you are for him or how close you are to coming when he’s hitting all the right spots. He hasn't stopped looking at you, not since he approached you at the bar a few hours ago. His eyes are glossy, as if drunk on the taste of you. He’s so handsome.

You come like that, the only word on the tip of your tongue is Joel, Joel, Joel. You chant his name like a prayer as you come down from your high, his tongue still on you, working you through your orgasm.

You stay like that for a minute, Joel still on his knees in front of you as you catch your breath. You pull him up by the collar of his shirt and kiss him, tasting the tangy taste of yourself lingering on his lips. You’re both smiling into the kiss, and you only break apart to whisper to him–

“Fuck me, Joel.”

He lets out an animalistic groan, and you reach down to palm the bulge in his jeans. You let out a soft gasp as he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Not yet, baby,” He tells you. “Wanna do this properly. Take you home and fuck you in my bed, treat you real good.” You can’t help but moan at his sweet filthy words.

Joel unlocks the bathroom door and leads you out of the bar with his hand on the small of your back. He guides you to his car and opens the car door for you, acting like a real gentleman as if he didn’t just make you come all over his face in a public restroom.

His hand is on your thigh before he even starts the engine, and you can feel yourself getting needy again. He says it’s a twenty minute drive to his house, but you get impatient halfway through. You’re at a red light when your hand wanders to find the outline of his cock, still half-hard beneath rough denim. His head snaps to look at you, eyes immediately going dark. You look at him with faux innocence as your fingers slowly unbutton and unzip his jeans. You cup the bulge over his maroon boxers, and he lets out a soft groan.

“Let me make you feel good, Joel,” You say, your hand still massaging his cock as it grows harder beneath your palm.

“Baby–” The car behind you honks as the light turns green, and Joel steps on the gas pedal. “Fuck, okay angel. Make me feel good.” And you oblige, pulling the elastic of his boxers down, freeing his dick. You feel your mouth watering as you hold it in your hand, long and thick and so fucking hard. You run your hand up and down the shaft a few times, testing the waters. Joel moans, and you sink down to lick him, base to tip, tasting his salty precum on the tip of your tongue. Joel places his hand on the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair as he lets out soft noises from the back of his throat. You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, savoring the warm heavy weight of him on your tongue.

Joel’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel, his grip tightening around it as your head bobs up and down on his length. He’s grumbling and groaning, incoherent words leaving his lips as he drives over the speed limit, needing to be inside of you, desperate to fuck you into the sheets of his bed.

The two of you spend a few more minutes like that, your tongue swirling around the head of his dick, him muttering about your perfect fuckin’ throat, so tight for him, tugging tightly at the roots of your hair. Then he’s pulling into a driveway, shifting gears and parking as you slowly release his cock from between your plush lips. You look up at him with wide doe eyes, your thumb wiping your spit from the corner of your mouth, never breaking eye contact. Joel lets out a guttural grunt before getting out of the truck. He walks around to your side, opening the door for you and taking your hand in his as you walk towards the door of his house.

Joel pushes you against the door and kisses you. It’s gentle, a sharp contrast to the feeling of his fingers tugging at your hair mere moments ago. He reaches around you, unlocking the door and leading you inside.

It’s warm inside the house. Joel walks into the kitchen, and you hear the opening and closing of cupboards and the sound of glass on marble. He walks out a minute later, holding a glass of water in each hand. You accept it gratefully.

You take a small sip and place the cup on the table near you. Joel’s eyes never leave yours as he shakes his head and swallows his own water.

“Drink up, baby,” He tells you, handing you your cup once again. “Gotta stay hydrated, yeah?” You roll your eyes playfully but oblige, downing the rest of the water, feeling it wetting your throat. You only set it down again once the glass is completely empty, before taking a small step forward and wrapping your arms around Joel, kissing him deeply. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your head, thumb resting on your cheek as he deepens the kiss, pulling your chest to his so you’re standing impossibly close to each other, heart to heart. You moan into his mouth and he swallows the sweet sound.

“Joel,” You mumble. “Need you to fuck me. Now,” He hums at your words, lips moving from your lips to place messy kisses down your throat.

“Fuck, I will angel,” He tells you. “G’na fuck you in my bed, fuck you till y’r so full of me. Gonna ruin that little husband of yours for ya’. Be the only one to make you feel this good.” You throw your head back and moan, and Joel takes the opportunity to kiss and bite every pulse point and every vein.

You let out a sound between a gasp and a squeal as you feel your feet being lifted from the ground, Joel’s hands cupping your ass as he carries you to his room and sets you in the middle of the bed. The soft chuckle you let out quickly turns into a moan as he pulls the collar of your dress down, mouth latching on to your bare nipples, licking and sucking at the skin. Your hands find his hair and you tug lightly at the roots, needing more, more, more. The sounds he lets out vibrate against your skin, sending tingles up the length of your spine. Joel’s mouth goes lower, kissing down the valley of your breasts and at the soft skin of your tummy, hands pulling your panties down for the second time tonight. He pulls back to luck at your cunt, glistening under the yellow lights of his room, and he lets out a pained grunt.

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy,” He says, fingertips tracing your outer thighs gently. You blush, suddenly embarrassed to be so bare for him. He stands up, peeling off his shirt to reveal his broad chest. He moves to unbutton his pants, but you sit up on the edge of the bed to stop him.

“Wanna do it,” The words slur out of your mouth, and you can feel Joel’s breathing getting heavier. His hand moves to your face, thumb caressing your cheek as your fingers work the button through the hole and pull the zipper down. The denim pools around his thighs, and he steps out of it, kicking it back to a distant corner of the room. He’s left only in his boxers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter at the sight of the outline of his dick against the fabric. You pull his boxers down, and this time really look. You’ve already felt him in your hand and your mouth, but in the darkness of the car you weren't able to really see him. He’s huge, thick with a slight curve to the left and neatly trimmed. God, this man. You feel more slick pooling between your thighs as you stroke him slowly. Joel groans and leans down to kiss you, pushing you backwards to lay on the bed as he climbs on top of you. He’s on his knees above you, one hand holding his cock while the other spreads your thighs open. His fingers move to your cunt, drawing small circles on your clit while you writhe beneath him at the feeling. He stops suddenly, bringing his hand to his lips to taste you. His eyes are on you as he licks the sweet taste of you off his thick fingers. You moan at the sight, and he hums at the flavor.

“Want you inside me Joel, please,” You tell him, brain too foggy to filter any words. Joel smirks slightly, and you admire the soft rise of the corner of his mouth, the almost invisible crinkle in his nose. Joel moves to slide the head of his cock up and down your pussy, the two of you moaning in unison at the sudden stimulation.

“So fuckin’ wet,” He says. “‘S this all for me, baby?” You nod your head furiously at the question, and Joel chuckles. “Or are you thinkin’ ‘bout that husband of yours? Wish he was fucking you instead ‘f me?” You shake your head from side to side, needing to feel him inside you. But Joel doesn't let up. “Say it,” He says. “Who makes you feel this good, angel?” You could cry out of frustration.

“You, Joel,” You nearly scream. “Only you. No one else. M’yours,” A satisfied grin spreads on his lips.

He mutters a soft Damn right before pushing into you. Your head falls deeper into the pillow at the painfully sweet stretch, your velvety walls adjusting to his length as he bottoms out. Your ears buzz, drowning out your obscene moans. Your brain is mush, the only coherent thought being Joel, Joel, Joel.

He’s moving now, deep thrusts in and out of you, mumbling about your perfect cunt and how you feel so good around him, such a pretty girl, God you’re so fucking tight . He leans down, taking your lips in his and kissing you hungrily. Moans fall from your tongue onto his, mixing into a pretty melody, a song only the two of you know how to sing.

“Gonna come,” You tell him. Joel’s pace becomes sloppier but his thrusts never cease, hitting spots inside you that make you see stars behind closed eyes. His lips are on your neck again, leaving marks as if they’re promises that you’re his. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass, needing him impossibly deeper.

“Wanna come with you, Joel,” You whimper, and he groans, his forehead falling against yours. He’s close, his thrusts becoming quicker and more shallow, and he’s so close to you, his hot skin against yours, you wish you could stay this way forever.

“Fuck, baby,” He says, voice broken. “Where d’ya want me?”

“Inside,” You reply breathlessly. “Want you to come inside me.” A strangled grunt leaves his throat at your filthy words.

“Shit, Okay, angel. Come for me, wanna feel you,” You oblige, letting yourself fall into bliss, liquid gold and white heat flashing behind your eyelids as you come undone on his cock. Joel lets out a few more animalistic sounds before spilling inside your cunt, and you savor the feeling of his warmth somewhere deep inside of you.

You relish in your post-orgasm haze, body going limp as your eyes begin to flutter shut. You feel Joel slowly pulling out of you, and you groan in protest.

“Gotta clean you up, baby,” He says, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, but you wrap your arms around him before he can move any further.

“Jus– just wanna stay like this for a little,” You tell him. “Please,” You add, and he gives in, his strong arms circling your waist and pulling you closer to him as the two of you doze off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

__ __ __

Golden sunlight pools from the window as you wake up in your husband’s arms. He’s still sleeping, glowing under the late morning sun. You kiss his lips softly, and he stirs a little, eyes fluttering open and squinting at the harsh light.

“Morning, handsome,” You say with a kiss to his cheek. Joel groans and buries his head into the crook of your neck, pulling your body closer to his. You giggle, fingers brushing through his graying hair.

“Last night was fun,” You say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, and he hums in agreement. “The roleplaying was a good idea, we should do it more often.” You add. “Though you really didn't have to sit on that nasty bathroom floor.” Joel pulls his head away from your warm body, looking you dead in the eye.

“Darlin’, I woulda’ licked that goddamn floor for you.” You laugh, and he kisses your neck briefly. “M’serious. You better know that,” He tells you. You’re smiling widely, rays of sun bouncing off of your skin as Joel wonders to himself how he got so goddamn lucky.

He briefly brought up roleplay a while ago after you ranted to him about your long day at work while he gave you a foot rub on the couch. He wasn't sure if you’d take him up on the offer, but you agreed that pretending to be someone else for a while could be a nice little escape from reality.

That’s how you found yourself at a local bar, ordering drinks while your husband sits in front of you as you pretend not to know him. All the while, Joel wondering how on earth he got fortunate enough to find you, let alone be the lucky man to marry you. And you looked so fucking gorgeous in that dress. He’s sure every other man in the bar noticed the way it hugged your curves. But he was the one who got to have you. He was the one who drove you to your shared house and fucked you until you couldn’t think straight. He was yours, yours to do whatever you pleased with.

Joel’s train of thought is cut off as he hears the bedsheets rustle beneath you as you move to get out of bed. You’re sitting on the edge of the mattress, your back facing him as you put your hair up into a lazy ponytail. You turn your head back to look at him, eyes twinkling.

“I’m making coffee,” You say. “Y’want some?”

“Coffee sounds great, angel, thank you,” He responds, and you smile as you get up.

“Okay, baby. Be right back,” You tell him, leaning down to kiss him one last time before making your way to the kitchen. Joel still tastes you on his lips as he watches the way your back sways with every step, leaving the room as you hum the tune of the song that was playing at the bar last night.Yeah, he thinks to himself. Joel Miller is the luckiest motherfucker alive.

a\n: zoo wee mama this took me way too long to write!! i pray this doesn't flop, but either way i enjoyed writing it. thank you for reading this far!! criticism is much appreciated <3

picture 1: King Lear by Edwin Austin Abbey

picture 2: @/ Anime♡Star on Pinterest

picture 3: @/ VSPINK on Pinterest

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jkthiighs · 1 month ago

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I fell into LotR - chapter 3 || [x reader]

❀lord of the rings/fellowship men x reader (eventually) ➔classic 'girl fell into middle earth' plotline. self indulgent ❀ word count ; 4.7k

The Secret Council.

You didn’t remember going to bed that night. Only that the sheets were softer than an angel's feathers, and sleep took you like a tide. Morning came quietly, light filtering through the archway, soft and gold, painting the walls in a slow-moving warmth. It took a long while to will yourself awake, having rather just lie there for an eternity in a daze, but you knew there was work to be done. The anticipation of meeting the Fellowship roiling in your chest shoved away all thoughts of staying.

You sat up slowly, pushing your hair back and rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, taking a second to notice the gift at the foot of your bed: your new garments folded neatly, their arrival so silent it was like they appeared with the dawn itself. A smile spread to your face as you took them in.

The crimson robe was flawless, dyed exactly how you described, and stitched with such fine thread that it shimmered faintly like embers. The hakama was charcoal-dark, pleated with reverent symmetry, and with it, the obi belt lay coiled like a serpent beside them: slate gray, with delicate cord overlay in braided ivory. She had added her own final touch—a soft, navy shoulder wrap with an embroidered edge.

You pressed your palm against the fabric. It was real. All of it. It made all of last night’s regrets single-handedly disappear. For the moment, anyway. When you dragged yourself out of bed and got dressed, it was its own sort of ritual. A habit you’d learned in Jin’s life. You wrapped yourself slowly, each layer grounding, securing your belt tightly to hold it all together. A part of it was missing, though; your weapons. You remembered from the films that the other council members had been armed during the meeting, so why couldn’t you? First impressions were important, after all.

When you were finally ready to leave your quarters, you asked the guards stationed outside ever so nicely to take you to their lord so that you might join the council. Luckily, they obliged without protest and led you along silently. Daybreak was perhaps more exquisite than the evening, with the morning rays casting pillars of light through the trees, rivaled only by the sight of songbirds dancing through them. There was no questioning why Bilbo, or anyone for that matter, would want to live out the rest of their days here. Speaking of that hobbit, you should like to meet him if given the chance, if only to offer condolences for his fallen friends. Though you didn’t know if that would be odd coming from a random girl too young to know either of them.

When you arrived at Elrond’s chamber, he was by himself and looked to be in the middle of leaving. You noticed someone had moved your weapons to another table, having obviously inspected them, since their scabbards were off and the blades gleamed in the sunlight. The elf paid you little mind when you entered, only offering a glance in your direction. “Ah, Lady (Y/N). You’re just in time. The meeting is about to begin.” His voice carried all the fake courtesies of a Lord dealing with something, or rather someone, he’d preferably avoid. You thought perhaps you might’ve touched a nerve when you mentioned his daughter, Arwen.

“I came to offer my apologies.” Your voice was quiet in a way of trying to be unprovoking. That made him pause for a moment. “When I first arrived, I was disoriented, and I fear I may have been a bit…vague. And possibly a bit…disrespectful. I hope you might forgive me any transgressions, as I’m not practiced in the art of proper etiquette.”

Elrond turned your way, looking over your face as if trying to gauge your sincerity. Eventually, he nodded a slow acknowledgment. Perhaps a reluctant acceptance. “To be clear, it’s not your lack of manners I take issue with. It is the questionable circumstances in which you arrived, and the timing of it all.” The elf straightened a bit. His tone was curt, but his gaze was more…pitying. Not in the wounded animal sort of way, but in the ‘it’s not your fault’ kind. “However…Gandalf has since vouched for your presence, so from this moment forth, consider yourself an official guest here in Imladris.” He smiled then. A soft, tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It was appreciated all the same. You gave a grateful bow of your head.

You felt the need to explain why you couldn’t give any details or clarification on your being here, but if the wizard was protecting you, you saw no reason to spoil that. Plus, you literally couldn’t; your new master wouldn’t let you, and you hardly had any answers yourself. Instead, you offered a genuine ‘thanks’.

“Come, let us join the others. You may walk with me.” Elrond was damn near out the door already, simply expecting you to follow, however when he saw you hesitate, he faltered.

“Yes, do you mind if I—just,” You were considering between asking for approval or simply gathering your things, but you had learned over the years that it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission. “Just a moment, please.” Decided, you strode over to your array of weapons on the stone table. The guards exchanged nervous glances with each other before looking to their lord for guidance. He only stood there, watching. Unsure if your boldness impressed him or irritated him.

You were happy to finally see them in the daylight. The katana's curved blade, polished obsidian, reflected light on the faint wave pattern etched near the edge. Its scabbard was a deep black lacquer, interrupted by inlays of silver vines and ivory petals curling along the grain; crimson tassels burst from their bindings, frayed at the tips like feathers soaked in blood. Its companion blade mirrored the same build, smaller but just as sharp. You secured the katana first, sliding it into your obi on your left hip, the curve facing up. The wakizashi followed just behind it, crossing the same side but set at a slight downward angle for quick reach. You left your bows and other blades since you weren’t setting out on the journey on this day, though you were eager to get started. Once you read that the fellowship doesn’t set out for around two months after the council, which gives you plenty of time to train and perhaps get cozy with your soon-to-be companions.

Elrond raised an unimpressed brow at you. “Forsee to be needing those?” He asked, only half amused. Thankfully, he had no energy to stop you.

You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your cheeks. It was nice to at last have something that instilled confidence. “You know what they say: ‘dress to kill.’” The elf only offered a small hum in return, as if to say ‘do they say that?’, before turning on his heel and striding out the door in that graceful way that only leaders could. You followed quickly behind, forearm resting on the hilt of your blades. There were many things you wanted to ask the immortal, but as the two of you walked, the silence became so heavy that breaking it seemed impossible. Besides, one does not simply make small talk with someone so…legendary.

Finally, finally, you made it to the hidden stone grove where the meeting was to take place. The small platform had only a stone table in the middle with twenty or so seats, surrounded by Elvish statues and littered with fallen leaves. Secluded, yet serene. Most of those who were invited had already arrived, but your eyes searched for the ones you could recognize. Gandalf, with his staff, sitting next to the smaller-than-anticipated Frodo Baggins, struck you first. The hobbit looked anxious, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Next to them sat Legolas, hidden between similar-looking blond-haired elves and the dwarves past them were hard to miss, but seeing everyone put a smile on your face. Fire-haired Gimli looked the spitting image of his father, who was apparently in Rivendell, though you did not spot him here. Boromir sat lazily in his chair, and besides Aragorn, you didn’t recognize any of the other men that came. Perhaps they were important, but you weren’t here for them, so they didn’t matter.

When you had entered the space, Elrond took his place in front of the lead council chair and left you standing awkwardly by yourself with a star-struck look on your face. It was hard to contain your excitement with so many personable men in one place. In your defense, this was every fan’s dream, and here you were living it. You had a mission, sure. But man, you just wanted to enjoy the moment. You bit the inside of your cheek to remind yourself of your manners and quietly stood in the open space between Frodo and Elrond. Quite a few gave you curious glances, but you paid them no mind. Tried not to, at least. You could see from the way they looked at you, with furrowed brows and quiet murmurs to those who sat next to them, their unspoken questions were obvious: ‘Who is she?’ and ‘Why is she here?’ Still, no one dared give voice to it, seeing as you walked in with the Master of Rivendell himself.

Gandalf gave you a polite nod as a greeting, and you returned a kind smile. It was then that Elrond’s voice broke through the silence and commanded everyone’s attention. “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You’ve been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall.”

You may have only seen the movies in full twice at most, but there were some scenes you had memorised word for word, and this was one of them. You could hear what each of them would say before it even came from their mouths, and it took a tremendous amount of self-control to stop yourself from muttering the words alongside them. As Elrond continued, you wondered if your presence here would change any of the dialogue.

“Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

On cue, the hobbit rose from his seat and placed the Ring on the stone table for everyone to see. Boromir was immediately entranced, sitting upright in his chair the moment he laid eyes upon it. “So it is true,” you heard him mutter. Well, less heard and more predicted. Frodo took his chair again, quiet and uneasy. You knew the depiction of the ring as whispering, ever luring—seducing, but despite your best efforts to focus, you heard nothing. It sat there on the table, as still as any plain old ring would be. But it clearly affected Boromir. He stood, starting his little speech. You didn’t care to listen; you were busy observing the others. The way Legolas straightened in his chair, the nervous glances exchanged between Gandalf and Elrond, Aragorn’s hand twitching as it subtly grips the arm of his seat. Even Gimli seemed a bit hypnotized by the Ring with the way he was staring at it. When the false heir to Gondor reached out, the wizard and half-elf both jumped from their seats, but it was Gandalf’s voice that made the world spin. Black Speech.

As he chanted, the skies themselves darkened, disorientating every person present. It sent you stumbling backward, nauseous. You knew it was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer dread it instilled. Most seemed to share your sentiment. When Gandalf finished, the light returned, and that sickening feeling vanished as fast as it came.

“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris.” Elrond was quick to chastise the old man, which apparently was not uncommon. “I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond. For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil.” The wizard’s voice was so final in its tone that there was no room for argument. Of course, Boromir disagreed. Loudly. This started the exchange between Aragorn, Legolas and Boromir. It was captivating to watch, even more so than the Ring; the tension was so thick you could pluck it like string. However, you knew in your heart you should intervene and speak up. But how could you? When? What would you even say? ‘I know your futures, but don’t ask for proof. I can’t give it to you.’ or ‘This petty squabbling is what breaks the fellowship.’ but that would be a spoiler, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, someone else already made the choice for you.��

After the three took their seats, Gandalf spoke. “Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.” A part of you wondered why anyone would consider that in the first place, but it was most likely explained by temptation. Elrond’s voice cut through once again. “You have only one choice:” the half-elf continued. “The Ring must be destroyed. Luckily for you all, there is a clairvoyant among us who has already seen this path.” He gestured to you then, a slow, wide arc of his hand that turned all heads in your direction. Your stomach dropped. “She claims to have seen the fate of the One Ring, among…others. So please tell us, Lady (Y/N), how should we proceed?”

The sound of your heart thudding in your chest had to be so loud that you were sure everyone could hear it. It was one thing to make up a lie in front of two beings, but with an entire room full of people staring at you, it was a genuine test of your nerves. A nervous chuckle escaped you before you could stifle it, holding up your palms as if in surrender. “Aha, well…I uh, we—hmm.” You brought your hand to your mouth, shuffling uncomfortably as you reached for something, anything. “We…aren’t at that part yet,” was all you managed. Because you weren’t. If you were to reveal anything about future ‘scenes’, you planned to do so after the fellowship was formed.

Boromir let out a dry scoff, not so subtly rolling his eyes while others furrowed their brows. Gandalf looked at you, puzzled. “What do you mean, my lady?”

You tried to remain still, but your habit of fidgeting took up again, this time with the hilt of your blade. “There are…some choices that need to be made free of influence.” You avoided looking at anyone in particular, continuing. “Once a ring-bearer has been chosen, I may have more…input.” You had to choose your words extremely carefully. You were warned not to reveal any major events, but you could act as a guiding hand to steer them in a safer direction.

Gimi grumbled before standing. “What need have we for a witch? Let us be done with this!” He grabbed his axe, bringing down a heavy, overhand swing onto the Ring. The blade shattered like glass, throwing the dwarf backwards on his ass and making Frodo wince like he took the hit himself. You, as well as Gandalf, turned to the hobbit in concern. Elrond went on to explain how no weapon here could destroy the ring, and what they must do to be rid of it. You tuned in again when he said, “One of you must do this,” because that meant your favorite line was coming up.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” Boromir said with an exasperated look on his face. You whispered the words alongside him under your breath, a little smile tugging at your lips. He continued his monologue, which sparked Legolas to jump from his seat.

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed.” His eyes looked toward everyone present, but it was Gimli who responded first.

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it?”

This was no laughing matter to be sure, but you just couldn’t wipe the grin off your face. Dwarves really were all alike in their hatred of elves, but with Gimli, it seemed a bit more personal. You wouldn’t be surprised if Glóin told him about the Company’s treatment in Mirkwood, and that’s why he’s so quick to shout “never trust an elf!”. Of course, this sparked the near whole of the council into argument, all shouting at each other. Gandalf sighed before being drawn into the discussion, leaving Frodo by himself. In the dull roar of voices, you even heard your name being tossed around under scrutiny, some questioning your presence, your worth. It caused doubt to seep into your mind, because even you didn’t know what the plan was, or what you were doing. All you knew is that you wanted to improve the lives of everyone here and protect the fellowship, perhaps make their lives a little easier and save one altogether.

But there was no time to think, for this was the moment you were waiting for, and you simply stood back while you watched the young hobbit. After a few moments, he got up and said, “I will take it.”

No one seemed to hear him at first, so he repeated: “I will take the Ring to Mordor.” The entire room fell silent as everyone present turned to look at the one braver than them all. Gandalf seemed to have a look of pity when he gazed towards Frodo, but as realization set in, he looked to you and then to Elrond as if to confirm. What you had said before; ‘travel alongside the hobbit’ turned out to be true, but surely this was some fluke, right? The younger Baggins continued: “...though, I do not know the way.”

All nine companions rallied behind Frodo then, including the three other hobbits that had been hiding nearby. It was truly heartwarming to watch, and you were content simply to observe as if you were standing on the set of the film, but again you had to remind yourself that all this was real, and you had to speak up if you wanted to be included. ‘Nine companions,’ you knew Elrond to say, but you mean to make the tenth. You stuffed your hesitation, your fear of rejection as deep down as it could go, and finally spoke.

“A ring-bearer has been chosen, and so I’m sure you’re all wondering what input I might possibly have.” Your voice broke the silence and gathered the attention of everyone present. The nine turned to face you as well. You gave a soft smile to the hobbits, who were all looking up at you so inquisitively. Pippin leaned toward Merry, whispering with wide eyes, “Is she a warrior or a fancy bandit?”

Merry tilted his head. “She’s dressed like none I’ve ever seen… and what kind of sword curves like that?”

Sam, ever practical, squinted down at your feet. “Are those… straw shoes?”

You were used to negative inquires, but this was…so refreshing. Their quips made you smile, and as you gazed down at them, you found it hard not to answer. Maybe just because they looked so genuinely puzzled. “Waraji,” you murmured, trying not to let them distract you, though your resolve wavered.

Pippin blinked. “Bless you?” Frodo next to him said nothing—he just watched you quietly, his gaze a little too knowing for someone so small.

You bit your cheek to keep yourself from laughing and took a deep breath before finally continuing. “I cannot tell you the day you’ll die, or who will fall in battles to come. But I do know these things. I’ve seen the path—not in ink or riddles, but in fire and blood. When your courage fails, I will remind you why you carry this burden. When enemies swarm, I will be the shadow that fells them before you think to reach for your blade. And when doubt takes you—I won’t. My goal is simple: to ease the load, to make your lives easier. To ensure you still have a life when the Ring is destroyed. What need have you for a witch? None. I am a ghost—a guide. I ask that you might allow me to walk beside you on this journey to come.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Merry, tilting his head, muttered to Pippin just loud enough for others to hear, “Well, that’s not something you hear every day.” Pippin squinted up at you. “She doesn’t look like a ghost. Ghosts are usually see-through, aren’t they?”

“She’s got all her limbs,” Sam added, reasonably.

“And teeth,” Pippin chimed in. “Mostly.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, soft and stunned. They were ridiculous. Endearing. And completely unfazed. The rest of the council, though, weren’t as nearly light-hearted. Some might have missed it, but Elrond did not. You said ‘when’ the Ring is destroyed, not ‘if.’ The half-elf spoke, retaking the room's attention. “First, nine have come forward to guard the Ring-bearer, and now a tenth. War never has obeyed tidy numbers—so be it. Let her be counted among you, and be named ‘The Fellowship of the Ring.’”

You could damn near hear the music swell as relief washed over you. The others seemed pleased—or at the very least, curious. Merry and Frodo looked amused. Aragorn gave a small nod. And Pippin, of course, beamed. “Good,” he said brightly, practically bouncing in place. “So, where are we going?”

Your grin was stuck on your face, your heart lighter than it had been in the last day. From what you remembered, this was where the Council scene ended in the movies—but apparently, there was much more left to discuss. Elrond had everyone retake their seats again to address logistics, preparations, and scouting. You wished desperately that you'd read the books instead of only watching the films, because everyone else was listening attentively while you sat quietly, hardly retaining a single word.

The meeting finished in the evening, but several members took their leave hours before. At the end, only you and the ‘more capable leaders,’ as Pippin had cheerfully put it, remained: Elrond, Gandalf, Aragorn, and Boromir. The four of them staring at you put your heart in your throat, and you couldn't think straight under their scrutiny, let alone sit still. They asked you many questions; some you didn’t know the answers to and others you physically couldn’t say, but they didn’t seem vexed, for there were some questions you could answer.

It was the half-elf that began cautiously. “We believe that the Nine have fled the Ford, however, I plan to send my sons to confirm. If your foresight is as you say, then tell us: should we fear their return before you leave Imladris?”

Your first thought wasn’t an answer, but ‘how many kids does this guy have and who is his wife?’ The films had never touched on that. You furrowed your brows as you tried to focus. “They’ve withdrawn for now, but we’ll see them again, eventually. Your scouts will tell you the same after you send them.” He nodded slowly, satisfied for the moment, but Gandalf leaned forward, keen-eyed and thoughtful.

“But what of the mountain pass? Does the road through Caradhras remain clear enough to risk? Or will it deny us?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Is that the road the Company took after they left Rivendell? The one with the rock giants?” The words he mentioned were foreign, but you could picture the moment he’s talking about; fellowship half buried in snow, debating if they should press on or travel through Moria. Only two of the four knew what you were talking about, and as Elrond looked at you with confusion, Gandalf shook his head. “No child, that is the High Pass. We speak of Caradhras.” As if that helped clear things up. The wizard wondered why your mind was so focused on the dwarves, but also how you even knew that detail.

“Oh,” you said while shifting in your seat. “Then no, snow and storm await us there. I don’t think its wholly impassable—not immediately. Still, we should assume hardship.”

Boromir took that moment to voice his own concerns—concerns that had clearly plagued him deeply. “What of Gondor?” he asked urgently, eyes sharp with a bit of distrust mixed with anxiety. “Does the White City stand strong as we speak?”

In truth, you knew little about his story besides his death. He wasn’t one of the members you really paid attention to, but now, with him sitting in front of you, you felt only sadness. ‘Is he fated to die, or can I save him? How much would change if I step in front of the arrows?’ “Yes,” you replied softly, offering reassurance as best you could without breaking the rules. “Gondor is fine, for now.”

Boromir seemed to breathe a quiet sigh of relief, but he pressed further, almost hesitant. “And my father—does the Steward remain strong in mind and will?”

That one was more complicated. ‘Yeah but after you die he kinda goes off the rails and sends your brother on a suicide mission’ You took a deep breath before nodding, offering a small smile. “He is strong, but the strain of war will weigh heavily upon him. He’ll need your courage when you return.”

Your words seemed to soothe Boromir slightly, and Aragorn, quiet until now, spoke up thoughtfully: “The Gap of Rohan and Isengard—should we fear treachery there? Are those roads safe enough to consider?”

By gods, did you need a map to look at just to keep up. You knew the words and the visuals of these places, but it seemed like it was getting more complicated by the second. ‘This inquisition was a bad idea.’ Something deep down told you that was something you couldn’t reveal—not yet. “The roads are dangerous, and there is trouble ahead in those lands from places you wouldn’t expect. That’s all I can safely say.”

The four of them were considering your words with a lot more insight than what you spoke them with, though it made sense, you supposed. This was an important mission, and your meddling might make things better or worse if you weren’t careful. Despite your fatigue, the questions continued; weather and safe resting spots, provisioning, resupply, and threats. All things you could generally answer without risk. Simple things that would not alter critical decisions but would help them greatly in their immediate planning. Of course, if you revealed too much, time would simply pause and you’d have to start over. Eventually, your responses grew shorter, brain positively fried from trying to remember every detail of the films. Finally, Elrond held up a gentle hand.

“You have told us enough for now,” he said quietly. “Rest. We have asked much of you.”

“Oh, thank god.” You whispered under your breath, relieved beyond measure. Though you winced slightly as you realized he more than likely heard you. You murmured a grateful farewell before stepping away, quickly following the winding path back to Rivendell’s halls and to your room. There were no guards this time, and after you stepped into your chambers, you stood in the silence for a long moment, absorbing everything that had happened. A slow smile spread across your face, widening into something bright and genuine as it truly sank in. This was it—you were a member of the Fellowship. Every fan’s dream now your reality.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Sure, you had preferred the journey with Thorin’s Company, but this? This was something more. Something real, and infinitely more terrifying. You stepped toward the balcony, resting your hands on the smooth stone railing, gazing into the gentle twilight of Rivendell.

The thought of changing fate haunted you, spoiling your excitement like an unwanted shadow. Your intervention—however well-intentioned—could shatter the timeline and destroy Middle-earth. What if your attempts at protection led to ruin? What if, in your naivety, you saved the wrong life or changed the wrong detail? Your stomach twisted at the thought. Your fingertips traced the elegant hilt of your katana, the blade a comforting weight against your side. Jin Sakai’s memories lingered, steadying your heart even in doubt. “Just don’t mess it up,” you whispered to yourself softly, voice swallowed by the evening air. You straightened, breathing deeply. Fear and excitement warred within you, but for now, excitement won.

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#lord of the rings #the hobbit #the fellowship of the ring #lotr x reader #fellowship x reader

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lxshoxk · 1 month ago

Note

Do you have an OC or sona or fave character that I could gift you art of? You were one of my first moots and one of the first people I interacted with on here and I wanna give you something as a token of my appreciation as I've since hit 50 followers 👉🏻👈🏻

Oh! Stop this is so cute!?? And sweet!! I kinda have a sona--i have some seperate refs/drawings that i want to combine and finally make a more solid one.

BUT I'm gonna let it be up to you (honestly, i'd just draw it before answering this...i really want to but I reeeallyy need to wrangle some of my projects in right now...)! I'm more than happy to recieve some....lets go with Bartolomeo art? He doesn't have nearly enough.

Seriously this is such a cool thing to do, and you deserve every single follower. I love seeing you around my dash!!

(PS. That Tobiuo art? Holy SHIT! Breathtaking!!) EVERYBODY GO LOOK AT IT! → HERE ←

sona stuff below ↓

↑ These are the basic little guys I normally use! The hair on the left, or the grown out version below is what I'll use! It might alternate between all green/half green/grown out so it would be up to you!

↑ This will be their default outfit! The pants are like cargo pants, and normally they'll either be barefoot or with big clunky combat boots! I don't know if the shirt will have something on the front, but for now it's probaly just gonna be blank.

↑ They will probably have twisty horns. Probaly like this, but I'd need to sketch it out first!

↑ These are the vibes we're going for. Most likely we'll keep the stitched chest, and some of the vibes of the hair (like the tails will be longer like shown here. Theyll probably sport a similar jacket here and there but with some buttons. Ill probably also incorporate the swirly eyes, sharp teeth, and some face paint (probably clown adjacent but they might not alway shave it on). + piercings! they'll have decently sized gauges, snake bites, a medusa, and an eyebrow ring plus various earpeircings (most noteable there is a ring that threads through their gauge from the bottom of the ear). Honestly this was really fun to just share, so thank you! I've been wanting to do this for a while but kinda forgot about it and you just reminded me!

#lx: answers

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writeforfandoms · 2 years ago

Text

Waking Lions 11

Find the series masterlist

Ace continues to get into trouble. Flirting happens.

Warnings: Swearing, flirting, mention of injury, Price needs his own warning label, little bit of kidnapping.

Word count: 1.5k

Landing in Finland didn’t actually help the raging anxiety much. You let Laswell and Captain know to stand down, no further issues, and you’d update them soon.

And then you booked a hotel room and took a very long, very hot shower.

Your phone was ringing by the time you got out, and you grumbled to yourself. Captain. “Yes?”

“What’s your status?”

“Secure,” you said after a moment, frowning just a little. That was a new tone from him.

“And your delay?”

“A non-issue. Just a little miscommunication is all.”

Captain was silent for a few moments. “Send me coordinates for the drop point.” And then he hung up.

You stared at your phone. Was he… upset? With you? For what? You hadn’t done anything wrong.

But you did send him coordinates and a time. Tomorrow. Because there was no way you were going anywhere else tonight.

Some gentle prodding at your side showed you were still healing well. You’d probably have a scar from this, but better a scar than to be dead.

But you managed to sleep, at least. Which was honestly a relief.

You made it to the drop point early. As always. You settled on a bench, pretending to read a book and people-watch.

Even though you were expecting him, you still startled a little when a body dropped down next to you.

“Status?” Captain asked, voice low, a thread of concern in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, only a little snippy. “Here.” You held out the USB to him.

But he didn’t take it right away, frowning at you, gaze sweeping over you in a clear visual check. “What happened?”

You blinked at him. “Does it matter? I’m here, I’m fine, I’ve got stuff for you.”

He took the USB but his fingers closed over your hand, trapping the drive between you. “What happened?”

You stared at him, eyes wide. Your heart was beating far too fast for the situation. “Nothing really happened,” you said weakly, confused. “Captain… what are you worried about?” A sudden thought had your heart clenching in pain. “Thought you gave up on the accusations?”

“That’s not what this is about.” His frown deepened and he shifted closer to you, the line of his jaw tense. “You went silent for hours and rerouted your flight without explanation.”

You floundered, just a little. Because that? That was not an accusation. That was something worse. Concern. “I–Captain, I’m fine. Nothing happened. It was just…” You trailed off. You could lie, could come up with something convincing. Something that he wouldn’t be able to verify. Because your clients were none of his concern.

Except that this client might also be a lead into the ultranationalist group, and that seemed like the kind of information Captain might need to know. If you really wanted to try this whole playing nice thing.

So you breathed out slowly, bringing your free hand up to rub your eyes. You were tired. Moreso than you should be, really. You blamed the situation.

“It was a potential new client,” you answered, not looking at him, fingers still pressed into your eyes until stars burst against the dark of your eyelids. “Knew me from Sergio, but didn’t have my contact information. Either didn’t ask Sergio or didn’t want him to know. I’ll find out which.” Another slow breath in. “Normally I would not be telling you this, because my business is not yours, but. He paid me with a check that rerouted to a shell company, one of the ones that I noted.” You shrugged a little, finally lowering your hand, though you still refused to look at him. “I was going to get more solid information first, but you rather forced my hand.”

Captain was silent for several moments, keeping your hand captured. Then he sighed. “Ace.”

You glanced at him almost without meaning to, gauging his reaction. But his expression was carefully neutral.

“I’d prefer if you keep me in the loop on this one. Even if you don’t have solid intel.” He held your gaze easily, blue holding steady but no less intense.

“Understood.” You managed to crack a smile. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

He scoffed softly but finally released your hand, keeping the USB. “Password?”

“Reliant.” You smirked a little, still not quite normal but getting there.

He grunted once in acknowledgement. “Get some food, you look bloody awful.”

The laugh felt punched out of you, almost painful. “Flatterer,” you said without any malice. “You offering?”

He was silent and still next to you for just long enough that your heart tripped into high gear. Then he chuckled. “Maybe next time, Ace.”

It was a surprisingly gentle let down, and you left it at that. You stood first and turned away.

Only to stop when a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Thank you.”

You turned slowly to look at Captain, the two words far too sincere to ignore. You honestly had no idea what to do, just staring at him for a moment, before you nodded once.

You were quick to leave as soon as he released you, heart pounding, head reeling.

This… had not been the plan. This had not even been anywhere near the plan.

But he wasn’t wrong. You needed food. And sleep. You could figure out the rest after that.

Good food was easy to find in Finland, and your hotel was comfortable. You took the rest of the day to get your head on straight and rest up. And also to put out a few emails to some contacts, because you wanted White to give you more information. You doubted he’d be a good source, but maybe you could put a few things together. Maybe it would help.

Or maybe you’d finally get in too deep and end up where you always suspected you would - an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere.

Grimacing at the macabre turn of your own thoughts, you shook yourself and turned on the news for background noise.

Captain was becoming a distraction. And that was a problem. One you wouldn’t abide. You had too much going on to have him distracting you.

How to get Laswell to agree, though, was another problem entirely. One that you decided to sleep on.

Honestly, you meant to talk to Laswell. You did. But you got sidetracked with getting contact information to three of your contacts, and their information to White. Then you had a call from Valeria where you had to dance around an invitation. Then there was the call from a contact of yours who had gotten himself into trouble and asked you for help back out of it… You got busy.

You were going to deal with him. Eventually.

Just… Not right now.

The first text check in was easy to brush off. He’d just asked for status. You just said “busy”.

That got you two more days of denial and research. Tracking down shell corporations and tracing payments took time.

The second check in was harder to ignore.

Need an ETA.

You grimaced down at your phone, then at your laptop. You had information you could give him, sure, but not as much as you wanted. You had nothing new on White, no new major movements. In your eyes, it wasn’t worth the time to arrange a drop for this.

Few more days. Chasing down some leads.

That was… close enough. And gave you enough time to do more digging, put some pressure on some people.

At least, that was the plan.

That plan very much went to shit when you went out to get some food. You’d gotten half a dozen steps outside your hotel when two men fell in step with you, one on each side.

“Stay quiet and no one gets hurt,” one of them murmured, low and threatening. You could just see the flash of a pistol under his jacket, pointed at you.

“May I ask where we’re going?” But you made sure to keep your voice quiet and pleasant. You really didn’t want to get shot again. Laswell would never let you live it down.

“You can ask.” There was no humor in his voice, but he didn’t make any threatening moves, either. “This way.” He turned down a street, and you followed. He walked a few more blocks to a black van and pulled open the back door. You went in without prompting, shoulders tense.

This was very much not good.

The other one pulled a bag over your head, and you sat still and compliant. You had absolutely no desire to get thrown around over this. You needed your head clear to get out of whatever mess this was.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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metricthreadgauges · 1 year ago

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rheanyraaaa · 7 days ago

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Water Lilly Part 44

Robb Stark x Frey Reader (F)

Enemies To Lovers

summary: you finally get to bury him the way you wished all those years ago. And jealous Robb.

——————————————————————————

The letter arrived on a quiet morning, bound in black ribbon and sealed with an unfamiliar sigil.

You stood by the arched window in your solar, sunlight tracing lazy fingers across the stone floor as your eyes scanned the words in silence. The handwriting was formal, deliberate. The tone, gentle but clipped.

To Her Grace, Lady Stark,

We write to inform you that the remains of Ser Alec of Sunspear have been recovered after considerable searching. Though ravaged by time and the earth, they are now accounted for and en route to Winterfell. By request of the men who served with him, a formal funeral and ceremonial farewell will be held upon their arrival. He is to be buried beneath the godswood, as per Northern tradition, with the rites of his motherland honored in full.

It was said he died protecting you. It seems only right that his vigil end where his loyalty last lived.

The parchment trembled slightly in your hand.

It had been five years, five long years since Ser Alec’s blood soaked the snow while shielding you from a Lannister ambush. Since his last breath had whispered your name, not in plea or regret, but in unrelenting loyalty. Your childhood friend. Your sworn shield. Your shadow.

And now he was coming home.

⸻

Robb found you minutes later, still holding the letter, lips drawn into something unreadable.

“Alec,” you whispered. “They found him. There’ll be a burial. Full rites.”

You didn’t look up as you said it, but you could feel the heat shift behind you. Robb’s discomfort quickening, though he said nothing at first.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll want to attend.”

“I’ll be performing the rites.”

Silence.

You turned toward him slowly, gauging the tight line of his mouth, the subtle flinch in his jaw.

“As his… what?” he asked carefully.

“As his wife,” you said softly. “In symbol. For the sake of ceremony.”

He exhaled, the sound thick and half-choked. “He wasn’t your husband.”

“No,” you said. “But he died alone, and unloved by all but me. He deserves something more than cold earth and no words.”

He took a long step forward, then stopped. “And what am I meant to be? The man watching his wife mourn another man like he still sleeps in her bed?”

You closed your eyes briefly. “He’s not a threat to you, Robb. He’s dead. And this isn’t about you.”

“It never is,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But it still always touches me.”

⸻

The day of the ceremony dawned crisp, with frost still clinging to the boughs of the godswood trees.

Your gown shimmered like wildfire in the grey light.

It was a Dornish cut, bold, sharp, reverent. The bodice was embroidered with curling flames of copper and crimson thread, laced tight with brass rings up the back. The skirt split into layers of orange silk, rust velvet, and golden gauze, trailing behind like a sunset in motion. A belt of hammered bronze hugged your waist, and chains of fine Myrish gold draped from your neck and ears.

The veil, a sheer cascade of flame-coloured silk was pinned into your raven-black curls with golden combs, falling just behind your shoulders, not obscuring your face, but setting you apart from the mourners.

When you descended the stairs, the children stared, wide-eyed. Old Nan murmured something about “the sun come to walk the North,” and Rickard whispered to Ned that you looked like a queen from the old songs.

But it was Robb’s gaze that seared into you.

He said nothing, but his lips parted. His throat bobbed with a swallow.

“I look too much?” you asked, offering a faint smile.

“You look like fire,” he said. “Like something I could never touch and never want to lose.”

⸻

The ceremony was solemn. Quiet. The air carried the smell of pine and ash.

You stood alone before the shrouded remains, hands trembling only slightly as you dipped your fingers into the oil and anointed the brow of the fallen knight.

“In another life,” you said, voice steady, “I would’ve been your wife. And you would’ve had a hearth and a name carved into stone beside mine.”

You turned, tears glinting but unshed.

Robb stood far enough to honor the space, but close enough to witness everything. His hand was on Ned’s shoulder, guiding the boy’s rigid form toward the edge of the circle.

Later, when the flames rose and the chants quieted, Ned tugged at your sleeve.

“Was he… your lover?” the boy asked, eyes downcast.

You blinked.

“No,” you said truthfully. “He was someone I loved, yes. But not like I love your father.”

Ned didn’t speak again, but his little hand slipped into yours, holding it tightly as the fire cracked and roared.

⸻

That evening, once the children were tucked away, you stood before the mirror in your chambers, slowly undoing the layers of fabric and chains.

Robb stepped in, silent as the moonlight spilling across the rug. He came behind you and gently pulled the final clasp of your dress loose, letting it slide down your arms and onto the floor.

“I didn’t like today,” he murmured into your neck.

“I know.”

“But gods help me… you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You exhaled softly. “Then why were you scowling at me like I’d betrayed you?”

He shrugged. “Because I’m a jealous fool.”

You turned to face him.

“You let me have it, though.”

“I did.”

“And now?” you whispered, voice thinner now, as the weight of the day finally settled.

Robb pressed his lips to your temple.

“Now, I help you out of this damn jewelry and remind you exactly who you came home to.”

And he did, carefully, reverently, piece by piece, until nothing remained between you but quiet understanding.

——————————————————————————

Reader definitely had a childhood crush on Ser Alec (he’s literally dorneish so he’s automatically fit) but didn’t ever recongnise that love) Of course now reader has moved on and is devoted to Robb.

Reader & Alec - Storge (Love) - with Platonic love

Reader & Robb - Eros (Love)

next chapter is the finale.

——————————————————————————

tag list:

@samieree @maysileeewrites @nervouschaosgladiator @nommingonfood @prettydeeryess @amanojaku-the-cat @yeahnohoneybye @lilysflower1

#robb stark x reader #robb stark #robb stark imagines #robb stark x y/n #asoiaf #robb stark x frey reader #robb stark x oc

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toolssuppliersinuaedubaiuae · 10 months ago

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sevasey51 · 2 months ago

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What would be in the kit that Hannah and or Ava would bring for emergencies? Like the extra kit with the lab draws? Anything else kept in there besides the lab tubes?

The Kit They Bring

Summary: When you have chronic illness, your people learn to come prepared. Hannah and Ava have walked Connor’s wife through everything—flares, crashes, surprise reactions, sudden dips. And over time, they’ve built a kit that travels with them like armor. Not the hospital crash cart. Not the home med bin Connor keeps in the hall closet. But the extra kit—the one Ava in her office and Hannah stashes in her trunk. The kit that comes out only when they’re paged as friends first, clinicians second. And when they open it? Everything inside tells a story of who she is and how hard they’ve fought to keep her stable.

The first time Hannah built the kit, she did it after a string of rough crashes during a stretch of unpredictable POTS flares and endo bleeding.

Connor had her stabilized at home. Ava had texted every two hours. Will was pacing.

And Hannah had had enough of not being ready.

So she got a hard-sided black med case, a little smaller than a tackle box, and started filling it—not just as a doctor, but as someone who knew her patient like family.

Inside the Emergency Kit (Hannah & Ava’s Version):

1. Portable Lab Draw Supplies:

Because data saves lives—and timing matters.

• Butterfly needles (multiple gauges)

• Vacutainer adapter

• Lab tubes: CBC, CMP, PT/INR, troponin, ESR, CRP, lactate

• Pre-labeled specimen bags

• Alcohol pads, tourniquet, gauze, Coban wrap

“I’m not waiting for her to code before I get numbers,” Hannah had told Connor bluntly after the second time she crashed hard enough to warrant cardiac markers.

2. IV Emergency Access Supplies:

Just in case Connor hasn’t already accessed her port:

• Port access needles (different lengths for comfort)

• Sterile port dressing kits

• Chloraprep wipes

• Heparin flushes

• Normal saline flushes

• Extension tubing

• Tegaderm and securement clips

• Backup midline access gear (for when they’re really desperate)

Ava added those. “If we can’t get the port or she’s clotting, I’m not gambling. We’re threading something.”

3. Meds They Never Leave Out:

• IV Zofran

• IV Benadryl

• IV Toradol

• IM Ketorolac

• Epi pen (just in case)

• TXA (Tranexamic Acid) pre-filled syringe

• Hydromorphone syringe

• NS bolus bag

• Dextrose amp + Glucose gel

• Lidocaine (for port discomfort or surface numbing)

Some of it’s off-label. All of it’s tracked. Ava once said, “We’re not trying to treat her like she’s glass. We’re trying to keep her out of ICU.”

4. Monitoring Tools & Backup Gear:

• Digital BP cuff with multiple cuff sizes

• Pulse ox

• Glucometer and test strips

• Thermometer

• Small paper log notebook for hand-tracking vitals (in case the tablet goes offline)

And tucked in one corner—an emergency chart printout with her baseline labs, EDS/POTS/Endo care notes, medication allergies, emergency contacts, and port access protocol.

5. Comfort Add-Ins:

Because Hannah and Ava are friends first.

• Extra scrunchies

• A sensory stim ring

• A travel heating pad with rechargeable battery

• One of her favorite lip balms

• Single-serve peppermint tea bags

• And a granola bar with the note “Don’t pass out without eating.”

Bonus Pocket:

Ava once quietly added a laminated card labeled:

“When She Can’t Talk”

Inside:

• Flashcard prompts for pain scale, nausea, dizziness, pressure

• Pre-typed phrases she can point to

• Emergency meds checklist with red/yellow/green coding

Because they’d learned that sometimes, all she could do was point.

When Connor opens the door for them during one of those 911 nights, he barely has to speak.

They all know the drill.

And when they kneel next to her on the floor or the couch or the bath mat, kit open, gloves on—it’s not just about medicine.

It’s about trust.

And the unspoken promise that her village always shows up armed.

#fluff #connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #yn halstead #chicago med #connor rhodes x halstead reader #sevasey51

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ateohsixxxx · 3 months ago

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confession (?)

today was bad. like surreal, unexpectedly, awful. it's playing on repeat in my mind. i feel like i'm gonna end up doing something really stupid.

all i can think is i need to be high as fuck. or drugged. fucked out of my mind. have the shit beat out of me. literally anything to distract myself and pretend this day never happened.

and it seems you're the first person i always turn to when i need a distraction

Fuck….im sorry today was bad for you. I really wish I could help you and actually get you fucked up and fuck you but for now, here’s this:

A hit for you, a hit for me, and a shot for the confession

I would include a gif beating you too, but I’m too drunk to trust myself to pull the hit at the last second like usual.

I don’t wanna break my phone stand. My ring light is already fucked and holding on by threads of hot glue.

Im happy to be a distraction. I’ll shotgun you hits till your brain goes fuzzy and ask you how you want to be touched while I kiss you and worship you all over.

I wanna know, yeah, but also I’m using it to gauge how much more you need to smoke to green out.

Confessional closed

#in:tox

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thephoebeyates · 9 months ago

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para002

tw: emotional abusive relationships, graphic imagery of a near death experience, pregnancy/birth complications, self deprecating thoughts, anxiety, depression (this is a flashback thread with Lisa and Spencer, what else do you expect)

They're singing, "Happy Birthday" You just wanna lay down and cry

For all intents and purposes as Phoebe awoke that morning, it was just another Monday. Well, she had once again fallen victim to the peace and serenity sleep brought her, still hoping the last month had been some horrific nightmare, where she’d roll over and find Foster there and everything would be fine. But, aside from that, just another day.

She watched the sun flit through the cheap, thin curtains as she laid in bed until Misty’s mewling was impossible to ignore. She fed the cat, made herself some coffee, and watched as the first notifications of the day popped up.

One thing was certain in life. Jeanie Ramachandran was always going to be the first one to post a birthday story for Phoebe, no matter how many times the birthday girl in question had complained. There was a few years where the bartender hadn’t take into account the time difference of where she was traveling to Illinois, which left a lot of people confused on when Phoebe’s date of birth was exactly, and she couldn’t help but admit that the best birthday gifts were that of confused texts from friends and acquaintances apologizing for being a day too late or too early.

Still, she got the notification that Jeanie had added her to her Instagram story, but didn’t click on it, watching her phone curiously to see if two specific people would contact her today. Her mom was unpredictable in every sense of the word, and Foster…

She told him she’d reach out first. What was she supposed to do; text him ‘hey I’m ready to talk now. BTW its my birthday’? Phoebe would rather gouge her eyes out with a spoon.

Still, she opened up her text history with Lisa, the last few on Phoebe’s end going undelivered which meant her mom likely disconnected her number and was starting afresh somewhere new. It wasn’t like she’d forget Phoebe’s birthday: the worst day of Lisa Yates’ life. But whether she’d break no-contact with her daughter was anyone’s guess.

12 years ago. Phoebe’s 18th birthday.

“It’s upsetting me you’re not doing a party, Bee. You’re eighteen.” Lisa whined from her usual place on the couch. Douglas had just broken up with her, now his ex-wife was single again. True love never meant to be broken apart, Phoebe assumed. And Lisa just liked an excuse to wear her bathrobe at all hours of the day.

“Who’d come to my party, Mom? You, Linc, Seb, Jeanie —,” She paused, staring at her mother incredulously. “Not exactly a big birthday blowout.”

Lisa scoffed. “Oh, please. You have more friends than that. C’mon, I can get the invitations sent out today.”

“It’s Sunday, Mom. The post office isn’t exactly open.” She had finished packing her bag for the day, the dusty blue polo shirt of her Gulp ‘n’ Go uniform being her designated birthday outfit to ring in eighteen years. “Now I’m going to work, but I’ll be back later.” And she kissed Lisa on the forehead, prepared to have a normal day.

Upon returning home, the darkness setting over the small Weaver Ridge apartment with the exception of the neon lights of Gulp ‘n’Go guiding Phoebe jimmying the lock slightly before throwing her body weight into the door to get it open. She stumbled into the darkened living room, clutching the small store bought cake that she was sure was stale, but it was the only one the gas station had. Lisa was still sitting on the couch, just where Phoebe had left her, an empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table, a fresh one just being opened.

“Hey.” Phoebe murmured, keeping her distance, trying to gauge which drunk Lisa she was getting. It most likely wasn’t the happy-go lucky party girl most people associated with her, which meant…

“Here’s to the anniversary of when I almost died!” Lisa slurred, holding up her wine glass, red wine splashing carelessly from the rim.

“Mom..” It was a story she heard every year. Sometimes it was painted in a more forgiving light, and others like now, it was like Phoebe deliberately made her entrance to the world a difficult and painful one.

“Just sixteen, barely lived. And you, fucking hell. You had the cord wrapped around your neck, and a really weak heartbeat, and never mind I was gushing out blood like I had an unlimited supply of it.” She sneered at Phoebe, who just stood there numbly. “And I remember begging God to let me live, let us both live. And I’d provide you with a great life.” Lisa managed to stand, stumbling over to her daughter. Phoebe tried hard to blink back the tears.

“The worst day of my life, and you’re too selfish to even honor that with a fucking party.” The smell of wine on her hot breath made Phoebe’s stomach churn. “Happy birthday, Bee.” And with a shoulder check, stormed off to her bedroom.

Phoebe stood there numbly, taking a few deep breaths, before dumping the cake in the trash and just heading to bed, preparing for tomorrow to be a truly normal day.

Blinking out of her thoughts, Phoebe closed the text history with Lisa, deciding it was probably better to not hear from her mother, and after confirming to Jeanie she was definitely going to meet her later and not bail, showered and got dressed. The only good thing about Mondays was that it was Phoebe’s day off from the paper, and with her internship ending soon, she had no qualms about going in the remainder of the week either. She had a connection, had emailed her manuscript over to a potential agent who’d possibly take her on as a client. It was just the matter of finding something else to do with her day.

If her and Foster survived it, would he have done something? She had no doubt he’d have respected her wishes to keep things lowkey, but she couldn’t help but mourn the potential loss of the birthday of a woman in a happy relationship, rather than the single thirty year old who barely felt like she was out of her teens. At least, a small voice told her, it was better than any birthday she was forced to spend with Spencer…

7 years ago. Phoebe’s 23rd birthday.

They hadn’t been dating that long. Only meeting a few months ago when he came by chance to O’Shea’s, and Phoebe served him the wrong drink by accident. After that, Spencer came by every Friday night to ask her out. He was charming, good looking, but she had been hesitant. However, one night she agreed, and the rest was history.

The thing was, Spencer was maybe too nice. He never let Phoebe have a bad word to say about herself, any self-deprecating jokes regarding her writing or playing immediately shut down. “Y’know you shouldn’t say those things about yourself,” He had pointed out one day, “I don’t like it. You wouldn’t like it if I said those things about me, would you?” And she had to admit she wouldn’t. But maybe after two decades of her mom’s backhanded compliments and ability to fly off the handle at any given moment, Phoebe was finally waiting for Spencer, and should have just quelled her anxiety that the other shoe looming over her threateningly was going to drop.

Then she turned twenty-three. And the shoe dropped hard.

It had been her usual routine. She’d wake up, there’d be a post from Jeanie and other texts from her friends. Her mom would douse her in attention and bitch and moan that Phoebe wasn’t throwing a party, and that she wanted to shout from the rooftops that her baby girl was born twenty-three years today! But Phoebe wanted a normal day. She had the rare weekend off from O’Shea’s, and wanted to spend time with Spencer who, by her own design, had no idea what the date meant.

But all day he was off with her, like he couldn’t have thought of anything worse than spending time with his…well, they hadn’t exactly put a label on it yet, but Phoebe assumed with the way things were going it wouldn’t be long until they were boyfriend and girlfriend. It wasn’t until they came back to his apartment, a large chrome inspired place in the nice part of Cardinal Hill, when he took out his phone showing a screenshot of Jeanie’s birthday wishes to Phoebe, and slid it over to her.

“Do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out this way?” He asked, and Phoebe immediately felt guilt wash over her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just…my birthday isn’t a big deal to me, and uh, we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months so..” She tried to explain, and Spencer had the audacity to scoff in her face.

“No, I get it Phoebe. You don’t think I’m important enough. God, to think what amazing plans you must have canceled out on to slum it with me.” He shook his head. “I bet your friends will think I’m such an asshole for not getting you a gift. For not even saying it to you!”

“They won’t think that, they know I’m…look, it’s just a day.” She tried to reason, heart palpitating at the idea of upsetting him further. “I…I can make it up to you. We can go for dinner, or…do something tomorrow, maybe?”

He looked at her with utter contempt, shaking his head. “I think I should just drop you off home.” And that’s what he did, the car ride silent, Phoebe feeling like a monster for not disclosing her birthday to him. Her mom had set up more balloons since that morning, and even got Phoebe a cake from Walmart, and she held back tears the entire night.

When she woke up the next morning, she had a text from Spencer inviting her over. She tentatively did, scared things would end before they even really began, being met instead with a large balloon arch, the biggest cake she ever seen, and a small pile of gifts.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, I was just upset you felt like you had to keep it from me. I was worried you thought I was someone who’d feel…inconvenienced or something.” He said, pulling her in for a kiss. “I’m never not going to make you feel like your birthday isn’t a big deal ever again…”

If only she knew what the next four years of birthdays would bring.

Her morning flew by quickly, though she was tense to leave on the off-chance Foster dropped by. But she left it for as long as she did to go for her pre-made plans she couldn’t exactly cancel, returning home with a couple of hours to spare in getting ready for whatever Jeanie had planned for her.

Whatever it was, she could handle it. She was still a living, breathing person after what Elijah had gifted to her, and she knew the excitement would sink in after the shock and the exhaustion of her birthday was past her.

Still, she came home, sorting through her closet to find something suitable, eyes falling on the gift box. Nine whole months it had been shoved in there, the vaguely festive wrapping paper collecting dust. Phoebe had strategically hidden it behind Foster’s stuff when he had first moved in, but without his pants and coats hung up, it was there hiding in plain sight, staring at her in the face.

She pulled it out and placed it on the bed, tearing it open and lifting the box flaps, letting out a soft gasp at what was inside.

2004. Phoebe’s 10th birthday.

“Mommy, mommy! Look!” When her mom had asked Phoebe what she wanted to do today, letting her skip school to celebrate her birthday, all the little girl wanted to was spend time with her mom. Lisa opted to take them to Chicago for the day, letting Phoebe into boutiques, music stores, and even had plans to visit one of the museums after lunch.

They were currently in a small second-hand bookstore, and Phoebe stared hungrily at what was on offer on the small, rickety shelves. The kindly old man was patient with all of her questions, and she had stumbled upon the best thing she had even seen.

A three-piece collection of Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and Peter Pan.

“Oh, they’re a bit young for you, aren’t you?” Lisa questioned with a patient smile, as Phoebe held up the books. “Like, baby, you have an advanced reading level — your teacher even said — you don’t wanna waste time with children’s books.”

“But mom, look at them. They’re like really special.” Phoebe defended, her big brown eyes watering. Lisa, to her credit, did take the box holding the books in her hands, studying each angle, eyes landing on the price tag.

“I’m sorry, Bee. I would, but they’re just…so expensive. For books! C’mon, I can get you a pretty new birthday dress next door for the same price.” They thanked the man for his time, and Phoebe hesitantly put the set down, and no matter how many times she returned to that store over the years — to any second hand store in the greater Illinois area — Phoebe was convinced she had lost those books forever.

There, staring at her in the box, was the exact same collection set she had stumbled upon twenty years ago. All three stories of a little girl going to a magical land, all three stories about her somehow, some way finding her way home again.

There was no note, no clever sentence tying Oz, Wonderland or Neverland into Blue Harbor or what Phoebe sacrificed in her last thirty years. She didn’t know if it was an apology, or somehow Lisa proving that no matter what, she did care and listen to what her daughter wanted. All Phoebe could do was leave the books on her bed as she got ready.

She didn’t cry, not even when she accidentally jabbed her mascara brush in her eye. Just plastered on her best ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this but thank you anyway’ smile, and decided, that maybe once, celebrating her birthday didn’t have to be such a fucking hardship.

#self.para #para002 #e.30thbday #emotional abuse tw #birth complication tw #anxiety tw #depression tw

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