#cw cheating mention

[ginger-canary]

Hey D20 fans here's a heads up about what's happened with Gabe Hicks (message from Jeremy Cobb, Three Black Halflings)

[the-sprog]

In case you don't have tiktok NED FUCKING- CHEATED ON ARIEL. WHAT IS GOING ON. I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING WTF

[slowandsteddie]

Claudia Henderson and Her (Two) Boys

Link to Part One

Link to AO3

I don’t really have a preamble here. Just know that I am incredibly happy to have this one off my WIP list. I’ll probably do a part three at some point where I focus more on her story, but I need to knock some other stuff out first. I never realized how much we are starved for Claudia content until I started trying to write some.

Steve talks about the night that his mother died in this one. Tread carefully if that’s sensitive content for you but you want to read anyway.

2,242 words.

“You never really explained how you got those scars.” Claudia said softly.

She walked into the kitchen and set her bags down on the counter. While that wasn’t the most correct greeting with Eddie sitting across the table from Steve, it did go to show that she saw the guy with matching scars as part of the family. She had been dating his uncle long enough, in any case, to have claimed him as one of her boys.

“Protecting Dustin.” Steve said after a moment.

She ignored the fact that his face went through a lot of emotions over that one, like he couldn’t decide what he was allowed to say to her. She knew there was a cover up of sorts and lots of NDA’s that he had to sign. But surely he could tell her something.

“And, who was protecting you?”

His eyes flicked to Eddie and she noticed the way that both of them blushed. It warmed her heart to know that they were safe with each other, but she’d let them admit what she already figured out in their own time.

—

“She, uh. She caught him cheating on her.” Steve said suddenly.

She sat down the plate that she had been washing, and turned off the faucet after rinsing the soap off her gloves. Claudia turned around to look at Steve. It had been years, and this was the first time that he had talked about it. That night. She didn’t say a word, just watched him as he watched the table.

“She was so calm about it until the other lady left, you know?” His voice caught. “She was calm when she told him that she was going to file for divorce in the morning and that she was going to take everything. Including me. And I was so happy, you know? Because I realized that she did love me…”

Claudia felt tears well in her eyes, but made no move to wipe them. She didn’t even dare to sniffle, in fear that it would get him to clam up.

“Then there was screaming. So much screaming. A bang, and then silence.” He shuddered. “I called Hop when the screaming started. Let him hear it over the phone, even as I… I couldn’t even breathe, mom.”

The word that slipped out made her heart squeeze painfully. He had never called her that so sincerely before. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms, but refused to move. Not until he was ready to look at her. Now wasn’t the time to potentially startle him.

She wanted to go to him, desperately. Wanted to wrap him up tightly in her arms and remind him that he was safe now. But, Claudia knew that if she made a move before he was ready, Steve would react like a cornered animal. And he deserved to feel safe in his own home, damn it.

“My dad tried to find me. Got more pissed when he couldn’t. I think… I think he would have killed me if he found me.” A humorless laugh passed his lips. “Hop found me, first. Knew the room I liked to hide in from finding me there on previous, uh, house calls.”

Claudia’s heart broke. How many times had Steve needed to call Hop before? How many times had her poor boy had to endure knowing that his mother was hurting and he was too young to do anything but hide and call for help and pray?

Her hand went to her throat because she needed to hold something and she wasn’t about to move right now. Steve needed to talk about that night. It was good for him to let it out instead of keeping it bottled inside. She wasn’t going to do anything to make him clam back up. Not unless he asked her too.

“Hop got me out of there so fast. So fast, mom. I was in his car and he was peeling out before the on duty cops even got there.” His voice cracked. “I heard a gunshot and I swear he just drove faster. I never really knew what it was like to feel safe with an adult before, you know?”

Steve had to stop to breathe. To gather himself. Neither one of them acknowledged the tears sliding down his face.

“I was twelve and terrified. I knew that Hop would come when I called. Kind of his job, you know? But I never would have thought that he would…you know, uh… Get me out of there himself and promise me a safe place to stay.” A shuddery breath passed his lips. “He was right, by the way. You are safe. And I’d really love for you to hug me right now, mom. Please.”

That was all Claudia needed to hear. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her boy up in her arms so tight that she could feel his heart pounding as he hugged her just as tight. He was shaking so badly as she whispered soothing words against his ear. He was taller than her, but it was easy to get those gentle words right where they needed to be with the way he curled into her.

“You are mine, Steve Henderson. As long as I have air in my lungs, you are safe and have nothing to worry about. Ever.”

“H-Henderson?” He pulled back, then. Not a lot, but enough.

“Yes. You’ve been a Henderson to me since the day you stepped foot in my house.”

“Can… Can we make that my legal last name?”

“We’ll go Monday.”

—

“Five years and you’re finally a Henderson,” Dustin said with the biggest grin that she had ever seen.

That really did say something because he had this habit of somehow smiling with his entire face when he was genuinely excited. And that happened a lot.

“Ew. The same last name as you? What was I thinking?” Steve teased while pulling him closer. He yanked off his hat and messed up his curls, his fingers not tangling for once. “Nice! You actually brushed it this time.”

“I’ll have you know I did no such thing. This is from when I tricked you into brushing my hair for me last night.”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re telling me that you didn’t brush your hair this morning? You woke up in plenty of time, I heard Lukas on your walkie-talkie.”

“Why were you eavesdropping?”

“One. Your friends are loud. Two, don’t change the subject on me.”

That was when Claudia decided to clear her throat. Both boys stopped and looked at her, eyes wide, and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.

“Hi, mom,” they said sheepishly.

She held up the envelope. “Steve, you want to do the honors of opening your new documents?”

Steve walked toward her and reached out, delicately taking the envelope from between her fingers before sitting down. Dustin was trying to crowd around him, wanting to be the first to see them with him. She couldn’t help but to smile. Her two boys, brothers in all the ways that mattered.

“Can… Can I wait until Wayne and Eddie get here, too? Want my whole family here for this.”

Her heart swelled with pride and adoration for the teen she had taken in all those nights ago.

“Of course we can wait, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

Claudia listened as Steve and Dustin went back to the importance of taking care of their hair. She smiled, shook her head, and started putting away the groceries. Usually, she’d ask her boys to help her out. But, Steve seemed to be making headway and she really would love for Dustin to actually brush his hair more than once a week.

She waited for a lull in the heated discussion. “Spaghetti or meatloaf?”

Steve said meatloaf at the same time that Dustin said spaghetti and she was prepared for another argument. But then she heard a cheery “meatloaf!” coming out of Eddie’s mouth as he walked in the front door like he owned the place. Her face broke into a grin, but only because she knew that Wayne wasn’t far behind.

Wayne’s face immediately lit up the second he saw her and it had her blushing like she was still just a school girl. She was almost tempted to try and hide behind her hair, but then she remembered the effort that she had put into the updo and left it alone.

Dusty grumbled and it made her pout at him playfully. “Sorry, baby. You were outvoted, but I’ll make spaghetti when all the leftovers are gone.”

That seemed to appease him for the moment and that was enough for her to start getting all the ingredients together for dinner instead of fretting over her boy. Wayne easily found his way into her space in a helpful way. He did kiss the side of her head when the opportunity arose and Claudia almost squealed over it. Nearly five years and she still got excited over the affection he had to offer.

“Hey, uh. Everyone’s here,” Steve said suddenly.

Claudia nudged Wayne to go take a seat at the table with their boys. She washed her hands before doing the same as she had been messing with raw meat before.

“What’s up?” Eddie asked after a few seconds.

Steve was just staring at the envelope that he had sat on the table after his statement. He cleared his throat.

“I wanted all of my family to be here when I opened it, so I had to wait for Dingus and his uncle to get here.” He cracked a smile.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin. Dingus.” Eddie joking mocked that last word before shuddering.

“Shut up, Ed’s. This is a big moment.” Steve said without any heat. He was too busy grinning.

Claudia smiled, watching the boys bicker.

“Open it, Steve!” Dustin demanded, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly before opening the envelope so carefully. Dustin opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it over the pointed look that Wayne gave him. This was Steve’s moment, Claudia thought, and she was glad that the other adult in the house agreed with her.

He pulled the letter out, carefully unfolding the paper and his eyes scanned the page quickly. His smile just kept getting wider and wider. He turned it around so that everyone could see it when he was finished.

“Officially a Henderson!” He exclaimed and it was met by cheers.

Claudia’s were the loudest of all. While she couldn’t officially adopt the boy who showed up on her doorstep all those years ago, she could give him a family name that doesn’t make him flinch when he hears it. She got up and closed the distance before pulling him into a tight hug that he was quick to return.

It was kind of funny, in a sad sort of way, that Steve couldn’t be adopted because his father, who was in prison, refused to relinquish parental rights — but, they could get his last name changed and it was more or less the same to them.

“I’m so happy,” Claudia murmured against his temple, which she promptly kissed.

That was when the rest of her boys came in to join the hug, effectively squishing Steve into a pile of love and affection that she knew he’d never have to doubt again.

—

Dustin, Steve, and Eddie were all in Steve’s room with some of Dusty’s other friends. They were playing that dice game that she couldn’t seem to understand no matter how much they tried to explain it. What mattered was that there was math and science involved somehow and that they were having fun.

She leaned into Wayne who was sitting beside her on the couch. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she smiled as she settled into him. He placed a kiss on top of her head that left her blushing pretty badly.

He was watching the game with a beer in his other hand. Claudia, meanwhile, had a glass of wine. She was more than content to just sit close and spend time together. Sports was another thing she didn’t know much about. Wayne had tried to explain this game to her and she did get the general idea, but she was never going to be able to remember all of those stats.

“I’m happy for ‘em,” Wayne said at the start of the commercial. “Steve, I mean. He seems so much lighter now that he has your name.”

“I feel like I can breathe easier, now. Like I have some sort of legal claim to him now that we share a last name.” Claudia took a sip of her wine.

Wayne hummed his agreement before taking a drink of his own beer. Apparently it was the last drink because he sat the can on the coffee table and it sounded pretty empty. When he leaned back against the couch, she leaned back into him and rested her hand over his chest.

“I think you should stay tonight,” she said.

Almost like it wasn’t the first time that she invited Wayne into her room while the kids were home. If it shocked him, he didn’t let it show.

“Then I will.”

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Language Barrier (Yandere male x reader) P11

tw: Infantalization, angst, violence, angst, cheating mention, general yandere shenanigans, and did I mention, angst? lots of words 3777ish

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

hi guys here u go , thanks for the notes and messages tho very nice very cool

no proofreasd <3 enjoysies

masterlist

part 1, part 10, part 12

You rubbed your eyes, feeling sluggish and lethargic.

Your head is buried in 2718's chest, all snug and comfortable. Both of you are clean and so are the sheets, your companion made sure to wash everything up before calling it a day. Your clothes and his have a wonderful floral scent to it, he must have used a powerful detergent to achieve that. It left no stains but the beautiful patterns on the fabric remains.

You don't know where he does the laundry though. You were knocked out cold on the couch the entire time... As expected after being awake for 45 hours straight.

The room is cold and 2718 is like a heater. You don't remember seeing an air conditioning unit around.

You squinted, 2718 didn't bother to close the curtains. The sunlight is still going on strong, burning your retinas. Whoever renting the sun must be loaded.

Yawning, you sat up. His arms limply hanging onto you.

You know he's awake, but he doesn't seem to stop you from moving away from him. There's a mild frown on his face though.

You plucked his hands away from you and hopped out of bed. You looked behind you to see that he's still laying there with his eyes closed.

The bedroom door unlocked 'on its own' and creaked open.

You walked towards it and widened the gap, entering the living room.

All the mess and debris were swept away, no trace of biological fluids were present. He must have dragged a wet rag over everything.

The massive holes leading to his porch was temporarily covered up by a tarpaulin, its' blue hue clashing with everything in the cabin. It seems to be glued onto the walls, sealing off the holes. You can leave the building through its' zipper.

He can't... 'lock' a zipper, can he? You don't see any padlocks around.

You tried unzipping the entrance, it wouldn't budge no matter how much you tug on its' tab. Worth a try.

You can't see the outside, the windows were destroyed and subsequently covered by the mostly opaque tarp. You're not sure if he cleaned up the sand around this house.

All the other doors were locked, you checked. Except the bathroom.

You turned around when you heard 2718 called you by the pet name. He stood by the bedroom's doorframe, wiping the sleep off the corner of his eyes.

You rushed to the entrance and began tugging on the zipper tab again, hoping that he will get the message and allow you to leave.

Instead, he opened the kitchen door and entered there instead. Leaving you to your own devices.

You followed him, whining to let you out. He paid you no mind as he took a clear plastic bag out of the refrigerator. It was filled with a beige dough, he's going to make the biscuits you ate the first day living here.

He set it down on the counter and washed his hands. He left the tap on and observed you. Getting the memo, you also washed your hands in the sink.

Satisfied, he turned the tap off and began removing some of it from the bag, placing it on a tray he took from a high shelf.

He pinched some off and rolled it into a ball. 2718 set it aside on the same pan, making sure not to deform it. He pinched another portion, but this time he handed it to you.

You mimicked him, placing the ball of dough onto the tray and gathering a small amount in your hands on your own coalition. This earned you an appreciative kiss on the cheek.

He rinsed his hands first and dried it on a towel nearby. The man pulled a chair nearby and positioned it near him.

You were in the middle of rolling a doughball when he picked you up by the arms. He sat you down on the high rise chair and pushed it close towards the counter.

He washed and sanitized his hands before helping you out. All the while, standing next to you.

It's peaceful. It's quiet, save for the residual drips from the tap hitting the sink. You can't hear his breathing or your own. There was the gentle hum of his refrigerator, but it's silent enough to blend into the background.

You watch the sunrays illuminate his eyelashes, almost making it platinum white in the warmth. His irises turned golden when being shone with sunlight, making his face look kinder than it actually is. The shadows on his face gave him so much depth to his form.

A vague sense of nostalgia came creeping up the base of your neck. But you have no memory of this man at all, it's just an odd yet melancholic sensation. You have never seen anyone that looks like this back home, maybe you came across some doppelgangers on the street, however, they're complete strangers.

He... should be a complete stranger, to you.

He noticed you staring. The both of you locked eyes for a bit before he smiled, chuckling and looking away with a shake of his head.

He paid no mind to you for the rest of the session. He focused on pressing small dents on the balls with his thumb. He reached up to grab a roll baking paper, tearing a sizable piece.

You helped him transfer the dough onto the sheet before softly lowering it down onto the metal tray.

He fired up his vintage stove. All he needed to do was tap the firewood in its' firebox, one of the shards spontaneously combusted, spreading its' flame to others. You eyed up its' flue collar and stove pipe, it is connected to the ceiling. Making you wonder if the smoke was visible from outside whenever he's cooking.

He picked the tray up and placed it into the firebox as well. On top of a raging hot metal grate. He completed his cooking by closing the glass door.

He rinsed his hands once more, you followed suit.

You dried your hands after him and hopped down the chair, his hand jerked towards you, ready to support if you happen to slip. They stopped hovering around you when he's certain that you're down safely.

You head towards the door of his glassblowing room, tugging on the doorknob while staring at him.

2718 snatched your hand and lead you away from the kitchen. You protested, wanting him to fulfill his promise of giving the translator her teleporters and coins. Of course, he understand not a word you say. The man continued to drag you out of the kitchen and into the living room.

He lets you go when you're next to the couch. However, you ran straight to the tarp, yanking on its' zipper. Complaining that you wanted to see the translator.

You looked behind you to see that... he was hurt? He looks upset, more sad than angry though. You can clearly see that whatever you're doing is hurting his feelings though, with his knitted eyebrows and bitter frown.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, lower lip slightly trembling. He shook his head but stayed in place.

You pulled the zipper once more to see that it's now moving! But... You get to unzip it half way. Allowing you to see outside, not allowing you easy access.

The vat of ink is still there, and to your relief, the translator's footprints. There were obvious signs of tampering, though. Her footprints look deeper in the ground, as if someone tried to dig the sand away but realized that the dye runs deep.

You looked over your shoulders. 2718 sits on the couch by himself, watching TV. He said nothing and his back is facing you.

You kept pulling on the zipper until it's completely down. You stepped over the tarp and onto the porch. You used your hand as a visor, shielding your eyes from the sun as you look into the distance. How far did she go? You can see the lighthouse from here, but as a dot. Why can't you see the translator? Her footprints seem to go on indefinitely though.

Barefooted, you descended the porch. You grimaced when your soles made contact with the burning sand.

Looking behind you again, you saw 2718 slouching against the couch. Distracted by the TV.

You took a deep breath as you walked, trying not to have a sole touch the ground for too long.

Actually, you ran. The sand is hot! How did the translator manage with her toes out!?

But before you could get far, you heard 2718 yell out your pet name. Regret and panic setting into him.

You ignored him and kept running forward, determined to find the translator.

His voice became louder and you heard rapid tapping. He must be chasing you now. It's only a matter of time before he catches you, but you can't wait for him or you'll burn your soles off. So you kept running to decrease contact time between fiery sand and feet.

You screamed when you were swept up, landing in the man's strong arms.

He scolded you in words you cannot truly comprehend, but felt the pain within. The souring of his mood and fury that comes along with it.

Your head wanders elsewhere as he went on an angry rant. Walking back home with your sore, sandy feet dangling in the air.

You were brought back to reality when you felt something drip on you. Looking up, you saw tears rolling down his cheeks as he continued admonishing you. Voice cracking and wavering for every word he yelled in sobs.

You're staring at a man, deeply wounded by your actions. He would pause his lambasting to sniffle and blink away his tears.

Something caught your attention in the corner of your eye. You discreetly took a peek at what it was, only to see that the translator was standing behind 2718, a mile away, in a defensive pose. She's trembling in fear and gesturing you not to alert him of her presence.

She must have heard the commotion from far away and decided to check out what was happening. It was best for her to keep her distance for now though.

You remained unmoving as you took on his emotionally charged berating. Feeling your heart sink when the translator's form became smaller and smaller as the two of you approach his home.

The translator slowly walked backward before breaking into a high speed sprint. She's fleeing the scene, and she's not leaving anymore visible footprints.

Without thinking, you yelled out a big 'NO!' while stretching your arm out towards her direction.

He whipped his head around to catch a glimpse of her running away.

You bit your tongue, oh, you've done it now. He is definitely going to kill her!

While he's distracted, you squirm out of his hold, losing balance and face planting onto the sand. Causing him to exclaim something before quickly picking you up again.

He crouched down to dust you off. Nagging you while doing so.

That... Wasn't your intention. You were planning to run off a bit to distract 2718 enough for the translator to escape. But at least this took the attention off the translator for now.

He suddenly pulled you into a tight hug as he cried into your shoulder. His anger died down, now replaced by some sort of desperation.

He is saying all these words, but you still couldn't understand anything. You can only assume his feelings, and that may not necessarily be correct.

He slowly pulled away from you, revealing his teary face. He looks completely broken-hearted. 2718 cast his gaze to the ground as he sniffled.

The man then looked up to you again and whispered something, gently shaking you by your shoulders.

Feeling overwhelmed, you screamed in terror. You don't know what he wants, or what he's saying, or what he wants you to know. The sun is blazingly hot and the blistering heat is giving you a headache.

He repeated the same sentence, only louder, he shook you harder. His voice became strained and worse.

I don't understand your language! You started crying too. The stress and pressure is too much to stomach. No one understands each other, neither parties can give what either of you wanted.

You tried clawing his hands away from you, but his grip was iron.

Your ears hurt from his yelling and you don't know what to do to make him stop. You felt sick, you felt nauseous. You can't tell if you're having a fever or the sun is giving you the heatstroke of your life.

You can't apologize, you can't tell him to stop, you don't know how! You dug your fingernails into his skin until it breaks, causing blood to bead through his cuts.

He doesn't seem to notice it though, he kept shaking you back and forth. Like he's desperate to also make you understand. But in a more physical and counterintuitive way.

You resorted to scratching him like a wild animal, leaving streaks of red and pink on his arms and neck.

"Hug him!" Shouted the translator in the distance. "Trust me, he'll stop when you hug him!"

Finally! Some directions that you can understand. You'll take it, even though it comes from a dubious person. It's better than nothing.

You quickly wrap his arms around him tightly, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing yourself for whatever is going to happen next.

And whatever the translator promised, happened. He actually stopped, calming down to hug you back. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and silenced himself in the end.

You relaxed when he decided to cool you down to a comfortable temperature. You sat on his lap, embracing him as you watch the translator cautiously stalked towards the two of you.

2718 ceased his crying, he sniffled from time to time. But looks like this simple gesture of... Acceptance? Affection? Apology? Calmed him down.

You asked the translator what he said.

Her eyes darted around, she's choosing her words very, very carefully.

"This may not be entirely accurate, but I'll try my best to translate this for you. He was begging you to choose him for once. Over and over again. Stroke his hair for me, please."

She refused to go any closer, leaving a huge gap between her and you.

You did as you were requested and ran your fingers through his blond strands. It's dry and coarse.

He melted into your arms, though. Exhaling a sigh of relief. You were amused to see that his ears rose up.

You asked if he said anything about wanting a hug.

"Oh, he wanted a lot of things. The thing about these people is that a sentence can have... Eighty thousand words? It's going to take a whole novel to explain that one line. But the gist of it is just-- he's extremely jealous, because he's always your second choice. Um..." She scratched the back of her head, struggling to summarize everything.

"He... He wanted acceptance, love and attention. Yours, specifically. But you're always off chasing after the ones that hurt you in the end. He is always there to catch you when you fall, patch you up when you get hurt. He stayed by your side when you had no one left. But it's a thankless job, he was never rewarded with the only thing he ever wanted; your loyalty."

She paused to check on him. 2718 remained still.

"He did say that he's sorry for wagering you, he needed to find a way to keep you safe and untouched while he duke it out with the Giant. He didn't account for the fact that the people already in the cage could hurt you too." She gestured you to keep stroking his hair.

"He repeatedly apologized for that and pleaded for forgiveness. And um-"

You cut her off, asking about the part where he said you weren't loyal.

"He never claimed you were a cheater, he just said you never saw him as your first choice in anything. He was just an afterthought to you. Always." She gripped onto her weapon tighter as he saw 2718 adjusted his positioning.

"What else..." She rubbed her chin.

You asked her if there were any clues to confirm you're his soulmate, and not a random doppelganger from another timeline.

She thought about it before answering.

"I think so, let me think." Said the translator as she wiped her forehead.

"You will always be his first priority- first and only priority. All he is asking is that you do the same for him- to at least put some more importance into his worth."

You nodded. Taking time to digest his thoughts.

You asked her if there is anything else you should know.

"...He wanted to be validated by you, he wanted you to recognize his efforts in keeping you safe and happy. He wants recognition and praise too. Well... that's a... little hard, isn't it?"

You asked if she knew what he was saying before you fell onto the ground face first.

"Oh, he was pissed. At me, mostly. He was ranting about how he's going to eviscerate me and sell vials of my blood for a gold coin each. He called me an 'evil homewrecker'... Hmm. It sounded much kinder in English." From the look on her face, it looks like 2718 had said much worse things than that.

"He did call you stubborn and selfish, though. Your friend is very hurt by your actions. He said you kept breaking his heart through every iteration of yourself. Looks like this isn't his first rodeo."

You gulped. Wondering if your previous-- or parallel incarnations are all cheaters. You felt guilty about treating 2718 this way.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up like that. You are not those versions of you, you had no way of knowing or controlling them. Plus, I doubt that every reincarnation cheated on him. I just think that he can't handle rejection all that well. Maybe it's believable when it happened once, or twice. But all the time? I think he's the problem at this point." She gave her rebuttal. Making you think about it.

"Don't tell him I told you that, though." She quickly added.

You asked how could you tell him that when you don't even have the biological hardware to communicate with him.

"I forgot." She shifted her feet. "Wait."

"I must apologize, I should have told you this earlier." You asked what she meant by that.

"His language is really complex. He never said anything that gave away the nature of your relationship."

Meaning?

"He never explicitly said that you were his spouse."

But didn't he call her an 'evil homewrecker'?

"That's the closest translation to what he said. But it's not its' true equivalent." She stopped to ponder. "He did refer to you as his eternal partner, though."

Is that not irrefutable proof that the relationship you have with him is romantic?

"That could mean fucking anything in this stupidly complex language! Why the fuck can't you get that?!" She exclaimed, exasperated that it's so hard to explain to someone who isn't equipped to understand its' nuances.

The high energy response made 2718 turn his head to scowl at the translator. You quickly hug him tightly and nuzzled your head against his lips. He lost interest in the woman, preferring to pepper the top of your head with kisses instead. His hands stroked your back in soothing circles.

She pursed her lips while scratching her neck. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get riled up. I should have been more understanding, you had no way of knowing about it."

You said it was no big deal.

"It's hard, really. To translate them into a primitive language- No intention to offend you, English really is considered an... analogue tongue."

All three of you stayed silent for a while.

You broke the silence by asking if there was anything else you should know.

"...I think that's all you need to know. Everything else doesn't seem relevant enough to the situation at hand."

You asked her why wasn't it relevant.

"He threw in long apologies for not being enough for you. It's heavily self depreciating and it was extremely hard to hear, too. I'll spare you the details. Trust me when I said it was horrible." She shuddered.

You asked her if she could convince him to hand you her teleporters and her pay, that they agreed a day prior.

"I'll try." She nervously swallowed her saliva. Expecting the worse, she opened her mouth to speak, her lips were quivering badly.

She spoke her piece. You're sure 2718 heard it all.

You asked her what was happening. She brought a hand up, silently telling you to wait.

You heard some scraping. Soon, 2718 stood back up on his feet with you securely held in his arms.

He walked towards the porch at his usual pace.

The translator exhaled a breath she was holding and grinned in victory.

You asked her what she said.

"I had to kiss his ass a bit, assure that I don't have the intention of stealing you away. I also had to say you apologized and promised to be a better partner for him."

What does it mean for you?

"You can't keep seeking me out after this. He already doesn't trust me, if you keep looking for me, he's not going to believe any of my translations. Even the simplest ones." She sighed.

You panicked, but tried to keep it under control. You asked how are you going to know what he wants after this.

"You'll live. I mean, You don't have a choice after getting the shard of immortality shoved down your throat. Assuming that guy was right."

That sounds an even worse fate!

"You'll be fine. As long as you know that he's the possessive type, I think you'll have no problem doing the guesswork."

You frowned, you don't want this! You hate being misunderstood and misunderstanding him, you can't fucking hear the language! Let alone speak it!

He took a step onto the porch. The translator tried following him up, but it seems like an invisible forcefield prevented her to do so. She collided against it, knocking her to the blackened sand.

You stared at her as she slowly got up from the ground, cradling her nose while groaning in pain. She was also dusting herself off.

Wait, where is her backpack?

The man unzipped the tarpaulin and stepped inside. You took one last glimpse at her before he zips it back up.

She looked angry with her fist balled up.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

ch. 1: A Safe Place to Land - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x nurse!reader

Summary: 3.7k words. After an unexpected break-up with her long term boyfriend, y/n had one goal: to keep her head down and finish her travel nursing contract as soon as possible. That was until Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw derailed her plan entirely. Just as y/n finished picking up the pieces of her broken heart, Rooster came along and showed y/n what it’s like to be loved again–if only she’ll let him in.

Warnings: descriptions of injury, medical situations, cursing, alcohol mentions, cheating (previous relationship), very self-indulgent for yours truly

a/n: hi y'all! this idea has been bouncing around in the back of my mind (read: it lives rent free in my head & i constantly fantasize ab it) for almost a month now & i'm finally ready to start sharing it whoop whoop :) i hope you enjoy, please lmk what you think!

series master list | master list

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw had gone three months without winding up in the hospital since returning from the mission that originally called him back to Top Gun. Three whirlwind months in which he’d finally been able to plant some roots after making the Top Gun base his home base—or really, as much of a home as a naval aviator could find. He was constantly being called away for missions all over the world, but for once he had some place to call home. 

In the past few months, he’d defied death more often than not and pushed himself to his limits, things that could’ve led him to crash and burn right into a hospital bed. So what was it that brought him back to the hospital?

Routine F18 maintenance. 

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on Bradley as he waited in an ER exam room at the on-base hospital. The bleeding from the deep gash on his arm had mostly stopped, but there was no doubt that he needed stitches. The gauze from the poorly stocked first aid kit in the hanger he’d been working in wouldn’t be sufficing for much longer, so he hoped someone would be in to stitch him up soon.

His prayers were answered by a short y/h/c nurse knocking on the exam room door before she entered. The woman immediately drew Rooster in, the attraction was practically magnetic. Carole Bradshaw raised her son to be a gentleman, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes trailed up and down the stranger’s body as he checked her out. Maybe it was the way the fluorescent hospital lighting highlighted her features and gave her a natural glow, something Rooster thought would be impossible given the clinical coldness of the room’s fixtures. More likely, it was the way she carried herself. Tough but soft, friendly but guarded, hardy but not hardened.

“Bradley Bradshaw?” she asked rhetorically as she took in the man. Even though he was sitting, she could tell he was tall. His khaki uniform did little to cover the way his golden tan skin stretched over his large biceps. “My name is y/n. I’ll be your nurse today,” she introduced herself as she pulled medical supplies out of a closet.

“Rooster,” he corrected with a smirk.

“What?” her brow furrowed and she paused to look at the Navy man.

“My call sign is Rooster,” he said proudly. The characteristic naval aviator confidence oozed off of the man; y/n had seen this attitude countless times before, but Bradley made it look sexy. She hummed lightly as she approached his bedside to place gauze and isopropyl alcohol she had retrieved down.

“Ahh, Navy lingo,” she said simply. Rooster let out a confused chuckle. 

“You say that like you’re not serving as well.” y/n looked over her shoulder from the sink where she was watching her hands.

“I’m not, actually. Civilian travel nurse contract,” she clarified as she walked towards Bradley once again.

“How’d you end up here, then?” Rooster winced at the sting of the antiseptic on his open wound. y/n let out a humorless laugh.

“That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got a little bit of time, sweetheart.” y/n rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach from the pet name. y/n was a professional, but she’d have to be blind to not notice how attractive Rooster was.

“It’s not a story I can tell sober either,” her eyes briefly met his before her focus returned to cleaning his wound.

Rooster was never one to be shy or nervous around women, much less one he just met, but he found himself needing a mental pep talk before he spoke again.

“Let me buy you a drink then,” his cocky grin and the aviator sunglasses perched on his nose gave him the illusion of confidence he typically felt. y/n loud out a laugh. It wasn’t from a place of malice, but more shock than anything else. This Greek God of a man wanted to buy her a drink??

Nevertheless, y/n had a reputation to uphold. While this by far wasn’t the first drink offer she’d turned down from a patient, it was the one she wished she would’ve taken the most. If she had met him anywhere else, she would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. A little flirting was harmless though.

“Mm mm, you’re gonna have to try harder than that, Bradshaw.”

Rooster lifted a hand to his chest, feigning as though he'd been wounded, only breaking character once he felt the sting of alcohol again.

“We’re back to Brashaw already? Damn, you’re tough to crack,” y/n tried to hide the amused smirk on her face, but Rooster caught it before it disappeared. A short-lived comfortable silence fell between the two as y/n worked on cleaning Rooster’s wound.

“For a highly trained fighter pilot, you sure are clumsy,” y/n teased, referring to the wound he received while working on his jet. A smug smirk of her own graced her face as she began disposing of the gauze and materials she used to clean Rooster’s wound.

“I’m very good with my hands, I was just off my game today,” Rooster replied without missing a beat. y/n didn’t miss the innuendo in his comment and she found herself blushing uncontrollably. The flush on her cheeks was confirmation enough to Rooster that he’d gotten through to her. y/n cleared her throat before addressing the aviator again.

“The doctor will be in to stitch you up shortly, they’ll give you aftercare instructions and let you know when you need to come back to have the stitches removed,” y/n explained, resuming her professional demeanor.

Just before exiting the exam room, y/n tapped her clipboard against the door frame.

“Stay safe out there, Rooster,” she teased before exiting, leaving an uncharacteristically smitten Rooster in her wake.

Just over a week later, Rooster sat waiting in an ER exam room once again, this time to have his stitches removed. The aviator came straight to the hospital after a long day of training, still in his flight suit. Admittedly, he could have taken the time to change into something more hospital-appropriate, but he was anxious to see y/n again. Hence the reason he made it from the Top Gun hanger to the base hospital in a record-breaking 3 minutes.

Rooster’s head whipped towards the door when a quick succession of knocks broke him from his train of thought. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face once his favorite nurse came into view.

“Rooster, what a nice surprise,” y/n greeted with a genuine smile. The pair locked eyes for a second longer than might’ve been considered appropriate, but neither of them seemed to care. y/n reviewed his chart quickly, seeing that he just needed to have his stitches removed. y/n was secretly glad that he wasn’t injured again, which she tried to rationalize in her mind as it being totally normal to care about the well-being of my patients.

As y/n gathered supplies to take out his sutures, she sized Rooster up. Mostly for medical reasons, but partly for her own viewing pleasure.

“Strip, Bradshaw,” y/n ordered with a completely straight face. Her poker face cracked when Rooster’s eyes widened in shock, causing a satisfied chuckle to escape the nurse. Rooster rolled his eyes but played along.

“At least take me out to dinner first!” Rooster replied dramatically, earning a snort from y/n. She then motioned for him to take off the top half of his flight suit to give her access to his stitched-up arm. The tight-fitting white tank top Rooster wore underneath his flight suit was revealed as he shrugged out of the sleeves, leaving little to the imagination. y/n knew Rooster had defined muscles from seeing his arms alone, but watching the thin white fabric stretch over his defined pecs and abs gave a whole new meaning to built.

The smell of jet fuel made y/n wrinkle her nose as she approached Rooster’s bedside with a small rolling stool in tow. This time around the antiseptic didn’t sting as y/n carefully cleaned his arm, but Rooster still found himself tensing under y/n’s gentle touch. y/n handled the forceps and surgical scissors with a mastered ease as she removed his stitches. By the second stitch, Rooster psyched himself up enough to ask y/n out again.

“So, about that drink?” Rooster asked casually with a small smile on his face. y/n chuckled. The butterflies are back.

“You just don’t give up, do you, Bradshaw?” Amusement was evident in y/n’s tone and a smile of her own graced her lips. For once, a patient asking her out didn’t make her uncomfortable or roll her eyes.

“Persistence pays off, darlin’,” Rooster responded with a megawatt smile. y/n looked up from his arm for the first time since she’d started removing the stitches. His words and smile might’ve been playful, but there was an undeniable sincerity in his eyes.

y/n maintained a laser focus as she removed the final stitch. Once it was out, she applied antibiotic ointment to the healing wound with a gentleness that was foreign to Rooster. y/n didn’t miss the way Rooster’s muscles flexed under his golden tan skin as she placed a fresh bandage on his arm.

“This might leave a scar,” y/n warned as she began cleaning up the used supplies.

“Chicks dig scars though,” Rooster replied proudly, puffing out his chest sarcastically. y/n laughed unabashedly and Rooster swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

For a fleeting moment, it was quiet in the exam room. The stretch and smack of y/n removing her nitrile gloves broke Rooster from his thoughts, giving him a somber reminder that his time with y/n had come to an end. Just as Rooster stood from the hospital bed, y/n turned on her heel to face him once again.

“Where am I drinking for free tonight?” y/n asked casually as she failed to hide her small devious grin. The victorious grin spread across Rooster’s sun-kissed face was infectious, leading y/n to break into a small smile of her own.

“The Hard Deck,” he replied quickly, confidence radiating from him. y/n knew he was tall from his chart notes, but the height difference between the two of them became very apparent as he sauntered over towards her. y/n swallowed heavily as she craned her neck up to meet his eyes again, but Rooster knew better than to call her out on it.

“Nine?” y/n asked to clarify their meeting time as she led him towards the discharge desk. She tried to stifle her smile but failed pathetically, much to Rooster’s delight

“9 works great for me,” Rooster replied, a grin still gracing his face.

y/n hadn’t been out since she moved and started her job at the Navy base hospital a month ago. At the end of most days, she was exhausted from her long shifts at the hospital; to y/n, this was reason enough to stay in with a glass of wine and an episode of Criminal Minds. Staying in and away from the outside world also proved to be helpful in her ongoing feat to avoid her ex-boyfriend.

So when Bradley asked her out the first time last week, she was apprehensive at best. First and foremost, she doesn’t go out with patients (well, didn’t until now). But in the back of her mind, she also worried that she might run into the exact man she’d been avoiding, especially since Rooster and her ex had at least one thing in common: being in the Navy.

The second time that Rooster asked y/n out, she decided that if she was going to make an exception to the no-dating-patients-rule, she would choose Bradley Bradshaw, hands down. The man was a walking Renaissance sculpture with a good sense of humor. He was clearly a talented aviator, and from what y/n could tell, he seemed to have a good heart–even if it was buried beneath a tough guy act.

y/n also decided that she was done hiding from her ex. From that moment forward, she refused to put her life on hold. What better way to do that than to go on a date in a bar frequented by Navy men?

When y/n walked into The Hard Deck, it was a few minutes past nine o’clock. y/n might have spent some extra time getting ready for a certain Lieutenant, but also figured it couldn’t hurt to make the confident aviator wait a bit. For the first time in weeks, y/n was wearing something other than scrubs or leggings for her first night out off-base. Her curve-hugging denim shorts and summery blouse felt refreshing and empowering, giving her the confidence she needed to wade through the packed bar. 

y/n wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she’d unintentionally drawn the attention of more than a few Navy men as she leaned against the bar.  Her own attention, however,  was captured by the tail end of an energetic performance of Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire”. Rowdy cheers and hollers erupted from the group of people crowded around the piano as the final chord of the song rang out. The energy in the bar was magnetic and y/n found herself smiling as she scanned the rest of the bar.

Once the applause and laughter died down and the jukebox was plugged back in, y/n turned to look towards the piano again. Lo and behold, the man who stood up from the piano bench was none other than Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. Much to y/n’s delight, she found that Rooster looked just as good out of uniform as he did in uniform. When Rooster’s eyes met y/n’s from across the bar, a boyish grin took over his face.

In just a few quick strides, Rooster stood beside y/n at the bar top. Damn him and his long legs. The pair exchanged coy smiles; the lines of what was and wasn’t ‘okay’ were very blurry. Rooster wanted nothing more than to wrap his arm around y/n’s waist and pull her to a quieter corner of the bar, but he’d be damned if he moved too quickly and made her uncomfortable when he’d just managed to successfully ask her out.

The bartender approached the pair with a friendly smile. It became clear that Rooster knew her well when he flashed her one of his signature grins y/n was becoming familiar with.

“This lovely lady’s drinks will be on my tab tonight, Penny,” Rooster greeted with a casual confidence that stirred up the butterflies in y/n’s stomach. Penny nodded and greeted y/n with a smile before retrieving the beers they ordered. To Rooster’s surprise, y/n preferred the same dark ale beers he’d become accustomed to drinking.

The two of them relocated to a booth towards a quieter corner of the bar. Here, they could talk without yelling to be heard, but they were still close enough for the lively bar chatter to fill any awkward pauses.

“You look good, y/n,” Rooster complimented, doing little to hide the way his eyes flitted across her face and down her figure. y/n blushed and smiled against her beer bottle and returned the favor. She unabashedly admired the way his sun-kissed hair formed golden brown curls that framed his face and the way his biceps filled out his Hawaiian shirt very well.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” y/n teased with a flirty smile as she brought her bottle forward to clink against Rooster’s.

The pair exchanged pleasantries, asking about each other’s days and other ‘easy’ topics. The conversation wasn’t boring by any means, but both Rooster and y/n were hungry for more. Rooster decided to dive in first, clearing his throat and hoping he wasn’t about to cross a line.

“Truth is, I want to know how a civilian travel nurse ended up at a Naval base. But I have a feeling you aren’t going to give in that easily,” he began, smirking when y/n confirmed his suspicions with a nod before taking another swig from her beer bottle. “How about 20 questions?” Bradley offered as an alternative. y/n grinned big. It wasn’t a competition of course, but if being an ER nurse taught y/n anything, it was how to ask good questions and draw wild stories out of people.

“Bring it on, Bradshaw.”

Rooster and y/n spent the next hour talking about everything, from their respective careers to childhood memories. For a brief moment, they touched on how they got their scars. For y/n, the burn scar on her wrist came from a holiday baking incident. Rooster, on the other hand, had a much cooler, albeit scarier explanation for one of his scars. y/n didn’t miss the fact that the aviator across from her had quite a few scars, but she tried not to dwell on it too much.

The Hard Deck’s naval patrons slowly started filtering out of the bar in preparation for early wakeup calls the following morning, but Rooster had no intention of ending his conversation with y/n anytime soon.

By the end of their 20 questions game y/n felt comfortable enough–with the help of her liquid courage–to open up about how she ended up working at a hospital on a Navy base as a civilian. y/n tried to keep the mood lighthearted before she began her story, but Rooster caught a glimpse of the somber look in her eyes.

“I-, uh, my boyfriend of two years got transferred to this base. So rather than do the whole long distance relationship thing, I decided to relocate with him,” y/n wore a soft smile as she spoke. She had fond memories of her ex-boyfriend. Had, past tense, being the operative word. “It all happened fast. I signed a four-month contract to work at the hospital here, we applied to rent a small house just off-base, and we were- we were happy.”

y/n cleared her throat before she started speaking again. Rooster wasn’t a behavioral analyst, not by a long shot, but he could tell y/n wasn’t as carefree as she was moments ago

“A few days before we moved, I came home early to surprise him,” y/n paused to let out a bitter chuckle. “I found him hooking up with a woman from his squadron in our bed. A last hurrah, I guess,” she mocked. y/n looked up at Bradley to see his shocked expression. Fuck, had she said too much? Was she too honest? Rooster quickly schooled his features when he saw y/n’s vulnerable expression. His heart ached for her, but more than anything, he was dumbfounded that y/n’s ex not only let her get away, but cheated on her.

y/n explained that it was too late to break her nursing contract, so she ended up moving by herself. The first few weeks were brutal, not that she admitted this to Bradley. In a way, y/n felt like she had something to prove. She wanted to show her ex and herself that she wasn’t a coward and that she wouldn’t run and hide, especially from the man who disrespected her by cheating. y/n filtered the last bit out while she got stuck in her thoughts.

“Jesus,” Rooster muttered with wide eyes. He cursed into his beer bottle as he raised it to his lips and shook his head. For having been cheated on and getting out of a two-year relationship so recently, y/n seemed surprisingly unfazed. If anything, she seemed relieved after telling Rooster and getting it all off her chest.

“I- shit, I don’t even know what to say… I’m sorry he put you through that. You deserve better,” Rooster said definitively. y/n briefly locked eyes with him and seriousness in his gaze took her by surprise. Between his voice and unwavering expression, y/n came to a startling conclusion–Bradley Bradshaw actually cared. The butterflies in y/n’s stomach stirred once again, but she knew she had to tread with caution to save herself more heartache.

A strange silence fell between them; it wasn’t tense or comfortable either, but it was far from neutral. As it settled further, y/n realized what it felt like: understanding. Something as simple as a few quiet moments in a bar after pouring her heart out had her feeling lighter than she had in years. A relieved breath blew past her lips and shoulders lifted a bit. When she finally met Bradley’s eyes again she saw nothing but sincerity. y/n realized she might already be a goner for this man.

“Thank you,” y/n breathed out with a small smile.

“For what?” Bradley’s eyes moved across y/n’s face as she searched for the right words. The way she bit her lip while she was thinking had Bradley shifting in his barstool.

“For hearing me out. Letting me get that off my chest,” y/n clarified. Despite reliving one of the worst moments of her adult life just minutes ago, she felt good. She felt good with Rooster, and that was a scary thought. She wasn’t ready to be close to anyone just yet.

“Anytime, y/n,” Bradley smiled and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. There was an undeniable spark when they touched and they both felt it. That much was clear by the way they quickly locked eyes when their fingers interlaced.

The pair moved on to lighter conversation topics for a while whilst time crept up on them. By midnight, y/n was yawning as her long day caught up to her. 

Ever the chivalrous gentleman, Rooster insisted on walking y/n out to her car. There was no goodnight kiss, though Rooster desperately craved one. y/n was still figuring out her boundaries, but she was also having quite a bit of fun watching the confident aviator squirm and work for her attention.

y/n did, however, gladly accept the bar napkin Rooster scrawled his phone number on before he opened her car door for her.

It was a win in his book.

a/n: AHH!! what do y'all think?? i'm so excited about this series hehe :) if you'd like to join the tag list for this series specifically, drop a comment or reblog on the series master list post! xx

[somekndofnature]

Summary:

Inuyasha is the leader of a currently defunct punk rock band, The Strays. His other bandmates, Sango and Miroku, agree to help him win back their former manager to reinvent their sound for the current era of music. He trusts her more than anyone, believing that only she can bring them back from obscurity, but time doesn't always heal wounds. Inuyasha has to accept his past mistakes and show that this is the only way forward for him. The consequence of failure is a life spent alone, without his fated mate.

It has been six years since Kagome first managed The Strays, and at first, she thought the band would be her ticket to success. It was, but not in the way she imagined. It had taken a toll on her, ruined her for other relationships. She had broken a cardinal rule, never fall in love with a client. Inuyasha Taisho damaged her in so many ways, but now she has a second chance to right the mistakes of the past and take on of her greatest challenges, making The Strays relevant once again.

The music is solid, as is the determination of the band members, but Kagome is unsure whether she can forgive the wounds of the past and move forward with the band in a mutually beneficial future

AN:

Hi! I know it's been a hot minute since I posted anything for this fandom. A lot of readers have been waiting for my MMA AU and, I'm working on it. This idea just sort of shoved all others out of the way and... I'm doing a lot more research on the MMA AU to make it authentic. Hopefully, you enjoy this a bit in it's place, for a while. This fic has... encompassed my whole brain.

I'm obsessed with music... I can't put it any other way. Music talks to me; music is life. I would rather be blind than deaf because living without music feels like a life I could not envision. Then again, I've had terrible vision all my life, so maybe I'm biased. Music allows me to see things that I cannot with vision. It allows me to feel more than words could ever express... and I'm a writer, lol. That being said, I hope my profound love for music... and this ship are expressed in the story that follows.

I'm hoping to get a publicly accessible playlist for this fic, but I have very strong reservations against Spotify, due to how they compensate creators. I'm looking for an alternative but I haven't found anything comparable... then again I'm not a very good judge on the interwebs, lol. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

That being said, there are a few music artists who have GREATLY contributed to this fic: Sick Puppies, Eve 6, Panic! at the Disco, and Imagine Dragons, along with many other artists. I will do my best to mention each of them in the authors comments because... it's important to me. Anyway... for this prologue, its Viva Las Vengeance by Panic! at the Disco.

AO3

CHAPTER 1 : You Give Me Highs That Lose My Breath Present day…

Inuyasha shifted in his chair and tried to assure himself that the walls of the tiny Vegas café weren’t closing in on him. It was a stifling summer day, temperatures reaching well over one hundred degrees by noon, and the piddling AC of this place was doing a piss poor job of battling the heat. He plucked at the collar of his t-shirt, desperate for a bit of air movement against his sticky skin.

He had run all the way here from his home, jumping between the tops of the brightly colored buildings in hope that he could work off some excess nervous energy. That hadn’t exactly gone to plan. Inuyasha was still keyed up, unable to settle his pounding heart as another bead of sweat slid from beneath his silver hair and down the back of his neck.

Fucking great, now I’m gonna stink on top of everything else. That’ll be a killer first impression.

Although, it couldn’t really be called a first impression. Even after six years apart, the woman that he waited for with bated breath still knew him better than anyone else on the planet. She had seen him at his best… and very worst.

Could I really make her think any less of me at this point?

His shoulders bunched as he realized the answer to that question was probably a resounding ‘no’.

His leg began to bounce, jingling the long silver chain that hung from his belt loop to the wallet in his back pocket. A hand settled on his knee. Inuyasha glanced up into a pair of sympathetic brown eyes.

“Relax, she’ll be here,” Sango said with a gentle pat. “Besides you’re gonna drive me crazy with all that noise.”

He planted his foot on the floor and straightened. “Why the hell would she come?”

“Because I asked her to,” she replied with a shrug, sitting back in the small wooden chair. “Trust me, she’ll be here.”

Despite her confident words, Sango seemed just as nervous as him. Her dark gaze was glued to the front windows of the café, darting amongst the people on the sidewalk beyond. She drew her leg up and hugged her arms around it, resting her chin on her knee. Then she went completely still and unblinking, perched on her chair like a silent gargoyle. 

Inuyasha’s frown deepened. “I’m just sayin, she has no reason to show after…”

“After you lost your ever living mind?” Sango completed.

“Now, now,” Miroku said from beside her, squeezing her shoulder. “Inuyasha has apologized several times and taken great strides to change his ways. Let’s not rehash the past.”

His golden gaze found the floor, heat working its way up his neck. Geez, a hanyou has one little near-death experience and everyone wanted to make a federal case out of it.

“I don’t know if an apology is going to be enough,” Sango said, almost to herself.

He growled in annoyance, even as the soft white ears on top of his head lowered in shame.

She cut him a sharp look. “Don’t growl at me. What do you expect? You weren’t there for the aftermath of your dumb decisions, you know. You didn’t have to hear her cry over you or convince her to eat when she started losing weight or—”

“I get it!” he snapped. “I’m a dick. I know.”

Sango pursed her lips. “Well, as long as you know.”

Inuyasha snarled.

“Sweetheart,” Miroku soothed while rubbing his hand across her upper back. “Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be.”

“Why? It should be hard for him. It should hurt. We all hurt enough—”

“Argh! What the fuck do you want me to do?” Inuyasha erupted, throwing his hands into the air. “Should I break out the sack cloth and ashes? Would a public stoning do it for you?”

“I just want to know I’m not setting my friend up for another round of your bullshit,” she sneered. “Tell me you’ve got it together.”

“I do! I do! How many times you want me to fuckin say it?” 

Sango opened her mouth to deliver another verbal blow when the bell above the café door tinkled. Three sets of eyes flew to the front windows and Inuyasha snapped his mouth shut, trying not to swallow his suddenly thick tongue.

She was here…Kagome.

She lifted her sunglasses up to rest in her dark hair and scanned the few tables before her eyes lit on Sango in the back.  When her gaze finally landed on him, those baby-blues grew wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

Inuyasha cursed under his breath and dragged a clawed hand down his face. “You didn’t tell her I was going to be here, did you?”

[xaviermattthews]

who: xavier matthews + vanessa gable // @vanessagable

where: x's los angeles aparment, circa april 2020

trigger warnings: drugs, cheating mention, .nsfw mention, alcohol

VAN --

It felt unnatural to keep something from Xavier. She was often more vulnerable with him than what she had ever been with any other person.

Which was part of the problem. And she knew that.

They often skirted talk about her husband, which is why the conversation about his career and what jobs he was booking never came up. She'd lived in the pretend of it for awhile -- that everything could somehow be sustainable even with change. And she had known X well enough and long enough to know that changed was never something he coped well with.

But she was leaving in two days. She couldn't put it off any longer.

For lack of any other offering she could think of, she arrived knocking on his door with a bottle of the most expensive tequlia she could find in hand.

And a rock in her stomach.

X --

A knock on the door and X's head immediately sprang up to look at the back of it from where he sat on the couch neatly cutting lines with his credit card. Had he texted for more white? He probably had and had forgotten after he got distracted by the burst of inspiration he had that was scribbled in almost incomprehensible letters in his notebook.

With his shirt fully unbuttoned where it hung on his body, he put his credit card down and got up and walked around the coffee table to open the door.

It wasn't his dealer, but it was a much better surprise.

"Baby," He greets with the kind of smile he only got when he's gotten more into a bottle of Hennessy than he should have. His arm hooked around her shoulders to usher her into his place and to draw her into his body so he could kiss her forehead and her temple and the side of her face in an onslaught of affection before he releases her so he could wander back inside.

"What you doing here?" X asked as he collapsed back down onto the couch, slumped in how he sat with both his arms held out in a beckon for her to come join him -- across the room was too far for his liking.

VAN --

The utterance of 'baby' makes her stomach twist as much as his smile does -- because she knows that smile. It means he's been using for an hour at least and had a round of shots all to himself.

She should have told him she was coming. She should have asked him to be sober when she got there. She shouldn't have brought tequlia. She should have done all of this two weeks ago.

She's grateful that he can't see her face as he's kissing over it -- she'd never much had a poker face. Especially not with him.

Van's eyes follow him as he makes his way back from the couch, still wearing her denim jacket as she sets the bottle down on the table. It's impossible to look anywhere but the white lines, but she fights the urge she feels to swipe her had across them and scatter them to the wind. She had a terrible feeling that he'd lick the remnants off of her fingers for the taste.

"Um, I need to talk to you," she starts, her fingers laced in front of her as she takes a breath and considers him, not moving from her spot across the room.

"How fucked up are you right now, X?" X --

When she places the bottle down, he instinctively sits forward to pick it up, inspecting the label. Tequila, not his favorite but it was at that moment because it was forty proof and in front of him.

He doesn’t open it, instead he places it back down as he looks across the room at her, trying to discern why she was across the room and not on his lap. Had he pissed her off somehow? Probably.

Everything was a little hazy to him right then.

“I’m not fucked up.” He tells her, even though the fact he couldn’t do another line then because they were having a conversation was starting to make him too aware of his own heartbeat.

“What do you want to talk about?”

VAN --

"I'm not fucked up."

How many times had she heard that one? How many sound checks had he'd stumbled into? How many times she'd picked him up off a green room floor? How many times with his mouth against hers and she tasted something too chemical?

Enough times. Enough to know a lie when she sees it.

She shakes her head slightly to herself. There's no way this goes well or even halfway well. But if she tries to wait for a moment where he's sober she could be waiting years or until the day he dies.

Van bends down to pick up the bottle of tequlia, she pulls out the stopper with a heavy sigh and takes a mouthful and swallows it clean before putting it back down.

"Um. Lee got a job. A big one. Lead in a new series based on some James Patterson shit. For Netflix. He quit the soap."

X --

X’s mood instantly sours at the mention of her husband, the man an ever present figure in the background of his mind whenever he was around Van. Easily ignored, but still there.

“Am I supposed to say congratulations?”

He tended not to say anything about him if he could help it, he was rarely nice on the topic.

VAN --

"No," Van says through a frown, brows furrowed as she looks at him and crosses her arms over her chest.

Even getting him to acknowledge the man she'd been married to for over a decade was treated with the same amount of dread and distate as being sat for a root canal; it seemed the longer she knew X the more petulant he became about someone else having the audacity of knowing her first.

"But it's filming in Toronto. And it's a six month shoot. And I'm gonna go with him."

X --

There was silence in the immediate aftermath of her news, one that stretched on for an eternity though it count by have been more than a few seconds.

Then he laughed.

The sound was mirthless, devoid of any joy as his mind tried to find where he thought she thought the punchline was in her words because that’s what it had to be. A joke.

“You’re not going to fucking Canada, Van.” He tells her, sitting forward again so he could reach for the tequila, this time he was taking the top off and taking a swig of it.

“Coming in here saying stupid shit like that like we ain’t got gigs lined up.”

VAN --

There's absolutely no comfort brought by the sound of his lap, the line between her brow only growing deeper as his tone follows.

She doesn't know if she's annoyed or worried.

Annoyance takes the drivers seat.

"I am going to Canada. In two days," she adds, posture unmoving and tone more defiant than what she'd initially planned.

"The label knows and they're sending in a sub bassist until September."

X --

X’s hand lifts to his face, rubbing his eye as he found himself the sudden victim of a migraine of sorts. He places the bottle down at his feet and then looks to his bandmate, his expression that of simmering rage.

“You’re bailing on us to go follow your husband to Canada for his job?”

He was trying to follow the threads here, but so far the picture they displayed wasn’t making much sense.

VAN --

She narrows her gaze at him.

"I'm not following him. I'm going with him."

Her tone is becoming more firm and less contrite.

"And I am not bailing. I am taking a break, Xavier."

X --

Now she was starting to grate on him.

His attention diverts to the lines he carved out that were still on the table, the rolled up 100 dollar bill he had been using now picked back up and re-rolled so he could use it as an aid while he leaned over and snorted the closest one to him with little residue left behind.

He places the bill down again and straightens up, wiping his nose with his thumb before he’s looking at her again, a little more wild-eyed before.

“If you fuck off to Canada for six months you better not think you’re going to come back here and still be a member of this band.”

VAN --

He couldn't do it. He couldn't have one single real conversation with her without having having to literally put a line in the middle of it.

And she finds the worst part is is that she doesn't stop him. She knows she can't -- she just watches him do it, like watching a car wreck happen from three lanes away.

"It's just a break," she repeats to him, her voice remaining even but grounded. "We've been on tour for the better part of the year. I need a break and I need to spend time with my family…"

X --

That wired feeling he likes that takes over his whole body felt like too much when he was faced with a waking nightmare — losing her.

He could deal with anything but that.

“So we’re not your fucking family now?” X asked, on his feet suddenly, his hand movements erratic as he ranted.

“You want a fucking break while we’re on the verge of our big one. We’re so fucking close to it and you want a sub to step in so you can be a full time wife.”

It makes his skin crawl to think about the two of them together, and it would be all he could think about the entire time she would be gone.

“That’s fucking pathetic, V. You can see that, right?”

VAN --

"That's not what I fucking mean and you know that," she argues when he puts words into her mouth, gaze following his abrupt movements as suddenly he's up from the couch.

As if the band hadn't been what had kept her afloat the last several years. As if it wasn't where she was at her happiest and most proud. As if she hadn't poured just as much of herself into it as he had.

She takes in a long breath through her nose and squares her jaw.

"It's not pathetic to want to be happy with my husband. There's nothing wrong with that. You just have a fuckin vendetta…"

X --

“You tryna be happy with your husband every time you let me make you cum?”

It’s a low blow and he knows it as soon as he says it, but he doesn’t apologize because he never has before and he isn’t about to start now.

She was integral to everything Submergence was, everything he was, and he had never had to truly contend with the idea of her not being there.

His pacing was as sloppy and out of time as he was, only coming to a halt when he was stood directly in front of her. It was then that he takes her face in his hands, his hold gentle as it always was when he touched her.

“Please, baby. Please. Don’t fucking do that. I don’t know how to do this without you. I don’t know how to be me without you. He doesn’t need you, we do. I do.”

VAN --

It's not that what he says isn't fair or unearned -- he's in the right on both fronts on that.

But he's never used their affair against her as a slight, or made her seem horrible about it as she often felt -- not outside of songs, at least. It stings and it shows on her face, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she looks away from him.

Her face is only brought back to him by the guidance of his hands, her jaw still clenched stubbornly to keep her lips for quivering.

It isn't fair for him to call her baby right now.

"You don't need me. You just said I'd be out of the fucking band if I go. So you must think you can get on just fine, huh?"

X --

He leans down as she speaks, his forehead pressing to hers gently as they exchange warring words. X had never cared much about how combative he could be, he was always someone who found some thrill in the battle, but it was hard not to hurt himself in the process when his opponent was Van.

They had always been on the same team.

“You know that’s not true. I know you know that. Stay.”

VAN --

"How am I supposed to know that's not true, you just fucking said it…"

Her voice is hollowed, a far cry from the soul she usually sings in when she's at the mic backing him up.

There's still hurt in her eyes as she looks up at him, their foreheads togethers as her breath shakes.

"Stay. Stay and do what, X?" she questions, her voice low and between them. "Hmm? Stay and watch you do another line?"

X --

His shoulders tense at her final question, his thumb stroking against her jaw as his face lifts from hers and he takes a step back from her, oscillating between anger and hurt at a speed so rapid he couldn’t dissociate the two.

“It’s s fucking line, Van. Don’t make it sound like it’s something it’s not.” There was an unspoken agreement in the band — don’t mention X’s using. He never took it well, no matter what kind of place it was coming from.

“Fucking coming over here acting like you can tell me how I’m supposed to be living when you’re about to throw everything away for the same motherfucker who’s been weighing you down since you were a teenager. Least I can do another line if I want to. You can’t do another fucking life.”

VAN --

"You're doing coke in your apartment alone at 9 pm on a Tuesday, so maybe it's exactly how it sounds," she says, eyes still on his as he pulls himself back from her.

She knows she's struck a nerve in him -- one that she'd previously been protecting. She's made so many excuses over the years for the way he used, she's tried to put herself between him and the highs as if she could be the more alluring and safe option than whatever pills or needles he could get his hands on.

Van realizes with a feeling of sinking that she's probably only further pained him and made everything worse. Having but not having her killing him just as much.

"He doesn't weigh me down," Van argues, even when in her gut she knows that he's right. But it's like him and his vices, and she rationalizes herself around it the way trees in the forest do when there's an abandoned car or bike in their way.

"When you're married you make sacrifies. You give shit up when you love someone," she swallows hard, hurt on the edges of her next words.

"You only love one thing that much, so I don't expect you to understand it."

X --

“Fuck you.” X says without hesitating, the bite in his delivery as deliberate as he was when he had been cutting the very lines she was judging him for. He’s a little unsteady on his feet as he makes a swipe for his box of cigarettes that was open on the coffee table, taking one from it and tossing the box back where he got it before he held it between his lips to light it.

He needs to fill his lungs with something other than air, to prove to himself there was something in his chest other than the hollowness he feels at the conversation at hand, at the fact he would lose her to another country and to a man who could live a hundred life times and not deserve her in a single one of them.

( There was no man more qualified than him to make that observation — it was true for him too. )

“You’re right though, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can be as good as you are at what you do and still be unwilling to be great. Because you’ll never be that with him dragging you down. One foot in this world, one foot in his. Half the focus, half the talent, half a person. Who the fuck are you, Van? Do you even know?” His question is asked around an exhale as he breathes out cigarette smoke, his stare locked on her from across the room. Even then, she’s too far away, yet he’s supposed to be able to stomach her in another country.

“Because right now, I don’t. You’re just some guy’s wife. It’s pathetic and it’s beneath you. And if that’s what you want to be, if that’s all you are, get the fuck out of this apartment, get on that plane and lose my fucking number. Have fun playing house, and when the house comes down on you and you realise you made a shitty call, don’t come knocking. Bassists aren’t hard to come by, we’ll be just fine. I’ll be just fine.”

VAN --

"Fuck you, too," Van bites right back without a moment's breath, like a reflex in spite of the fact that her voice rarely holds that kind of venom for anyone -- especially him.

She watches him with her jaw heavily set, biting on the inside of her lower lip as her eyes keep a narrow gaze on his movements.

Vanessa Gable feels everything from the heart, but in this moment she'd rather draw her own blood than give him the satisfaction of her tears.

Even when he's making her feel a foot tall.

Even when he's right.

"Do you even know?!" she shouts at him incredulously, the force of the words taking her a step forward.

"Because for the last three months you haven't looked me in the eye, X, you've fucking looked through them. This is the first time you've listened to a word I've had to say in weeks. We don't even fucking play together anymore because every fucking gig of the last leg has turned into the Xavier Matthews ego hour. And the last time you fucked me you didn't give a single fuck that it was me. You weren't even on the same fucking planet as me, there wasn't a fucking thing in your eyes and I -- I haven't ever felt that fucking used in my entire life so I think you've forgotten who the fuck I am, too."

She inhales sharply, eyes dead on him.

"So you know what? I'll be pathetic. And while we're at it, mark me down as a coward -- because if this is the path you're going to keep going down then I can't fucking walk it with you. I won't. I'm not gonna stay here and watch you run your fucking genius into the absolute waste that you seem to be aiming for."

X --

“There. That.”

X says with a point of his index finger at her, her words bringing about epiphanies in real time for him. The syllables feels like a scalpel to him, a phantom incision that slices from stomach to sternum until he’s nothing more than spilled guts on the floor.

“We’re not on the same planet. You can’t even comprehend where I’m at, what I’m aiming for.”

X thought he was clever enough to not befall the same fate as Icarus — he wouldn’t fly too close to the sun, he would become it instead.

A band that revolved around him, a fan base that found illumination in the light he cast, ambition that burned brighter than any open flame.

He was the fucking sun.

He had it all figured out. He had himself all figured out.

He never factored in Vanessa Gable.

The scorched earth that he would have to leave in his wake had never been a factor he cared about until it became her. Until it was soft hands and kisses that had meaning and talent that was enviable even to him. Until it became a feeling that was bigger than he was.

She’s all he wants to hold even though he knows she’ll turn to ash in hands if she stayed.

“If I’m that hard to be around, if you think I’m just a dead end road, go. You want to know why I’ll always choose the drugs over you? Because they choose me back. You never did. You never will. So you’re right. You are a fucking coward. So run back to your husband, to your marriage, to what’s easy and expected of you and when I win a Grammy and I’m stood there thinking who to thank I’ll look back on this moment and I’ll be so sincere when I say your name because I’ll be eternally grateful for the only good thing you ever did for me and that’s you getting the fuck out of my life.”

VAN --

She used to be able to tell when he would say something he really meant -- she could be laser-eyed and find the truest sentiment in the layers of bullshit he displayed to the world. She could find it in his lyrics and his rambling on-stage speeches, and in everything he ever said to her when it was just the two of them locked up in a hotel suite.

And even when she didn't agree, she always believed.

And now the waters are more foggy under the layers of mixed substances -- it's harder to tell anymore if there's a difference in what he's saying now or things he's felt all along. But the unwavering conviction is there, so it must be true.

And maybe he's right. Maybe this is the best thing she's ever done for him. Maybe she's been the selfish one all along.

Her head hangs in defeat a moment, amber hair curtaining her face as she sniffs sharply and wipes her eyes, nodding to herself before she brings her eyes back up to him.

There's tears in her eyes and a forced smile of pure heartbreak, making a last-ditch effort to give them both a goodbye that they could live with.

"I really hope you get that, Xavier," she tells him, and while her voice is hoarse and wavering, the sentiment is sincere.

"I look forward to being a footnote in your story."

With that, she turns and makes her way out of his door, closing it calmly behind her so as to not cause any further intrusion into his life.

She'd clearly done enough.

[tennessoui]

Miss Kit updates from you never fail to cheer me up, and that was a tall order this week when I spent my birthday alone because of covid and had to cancel my party because I'm still testing positive, so thank you! If you're taking Prompts I'd love to see something where Anakin is ill or injured as misery loves company, maybe the bit in cheating au where he's hospitalised and Obi-Wan finds out/is in waiting room? No pressure though, just wanted to drop in and say your updates always make me happy

hey!!!! it's been uh. a month. maybe two months. so like. i hope you're no longer testing positive :D here is a 2k snippet set in the cheating au when obi-wan rushes to anakin's side after he loses an arm fighting. also when padmé may start thinking that there's something rotten in the state of stewjon.......

(2k) (cw: i wrote this on my laptop when the i key was sticking so who knows how many i's i've missed)

(also cw: cheating)

(this snippet is sorta mentioned, might be important to read for understanding of the verse)

Obi-Wan’s hands are shaking. They have been since the missive came in for Padmé and Obi-Wan had leaned over to read it when she’d gasped in horror.

Her husband had been wounded. There’d been an attack of some sorts, a robbery or a premeditated attack or something else all together, and Padmé’s husband had heard the noise from his gallery and gone to investigate. He’d decided to break up the fight with nothing more than his voice and his own hands, and he’d lost one in the process.

He’d lost a lot of blood as well, Padmé’s husband had. A lot of blood and an arm. Padmé had been right to be so horrified, so frantic in calling for a recess in the conference, just one long enough to gather her things from her Republic-funded room, brief the secondary senator from Naboo on the state of negotiations, and then hail a shuttle to the nearest space port. She was allowed to go with little fuss.

After all, it was her husband who had been hurt so drastically he had been airlifted to the best trauma center in Coruscant. She had children to comfort and hold and feed sweet words of reassurance to.

Obi-Wan logically knows that he must stay. He’d been told as much by Padmé herself—not outright, of course, she probably wouldn’t have thought to do so, but she’d squeezed his shoulder as she left the Hall and promised to comm him as soon as she could with updates on Anakin’s condition.

It was, after all, the duties of a wife.

But what of the duties of the lover? The affair? The man who knows for certain he has managed to slip his way into Anakin’s heart, wrap himself around it until its every piece belongs to him alone, nothing left over for the wife who has rushed to his side?

His hands ache with the need to hold, to feel at Anakin’s skin, his pulse.

He makes it ten more hours into the conference before he follows Padmé’s example. He does not stop to collect his things, nor does he brief the secondary senator of Naboo, parting with a “you best have been listening, mate, or our failure’s on your head”; he flew to this planet in his own ship, and he flies it now.

He utilizes every trick that Anakin has ever shown him about how to fly fast and how to fly well. Under the guise of Obi-Wan being the worst pilot in the history of Stewjon and Anakin being unable to be cordial with someone who signaled before they changed vertical lanes, they’d spent years sneaking out to the stars for activities that had nothing to do with flying.

But perhaps against his will or perhaps because his love for Anakin had to better him in some way in order to be endured, he had also learned how to pilot the way Anakin piloted.

His hands shake the entire time. It’s the one concession he will give himself to the roar of emotions that feel like they’re tearing his insides to shreds.

His comm buzzes and when he checks it, an hour out from Coruscant, it’s a message from Satine. He doesn’t read it. He has long since stopped caring what his wife has to say about any matter, and the matter of this affair in particular. 

They had never particularly loved each other, though he thinks they both were convinced they did upon their marriage. But what he feels when he thinks of Anakin Skywalker dooms every other love he’s ever felt in his life to pale imitations.

They had never particularly loved each other, but it’s only been in the last year that Obi-Wan has felt resentment bubble up in his soul. His wife is one more thing that makes Anakin leave his bed early in the morning. Obi-Wan’s wife and, well.

Obi-Wan has been arguing with the health droids for ten minutes before Padmé appears from around the corner. She’s still wearing her Naboo regalia, though it looks much more worn. She must have arrived hours ago, yet she’s not left at all yet. This observation makes Obi-Wan’s heart seize up in fear. Has Anakin taken a turn so nonsensically towards the worst? 

Padmé looks startled to see him. She looks relieved though, too.

If Obi-Wan were a better person, he’d let the guilt of it all eat him alive. As it is, he’s not a better person. He’s a politician, and he wants something.

“Padmé!” He says upon seeing her. “How is he? Please, tell DR-023 that I should be allowed to see him.”

Padmé blinks, as if she can’t understand the stimuli her brain is showing her. “Obi-Wan, you came.” 

“Of course I came, Padmé,” Obi-Wan replies and knows he should say something else, but the words are tricky. He wants to say, because I love him. Because it’s Anakin. Because I know he would want me there. Because if it were me in that medical bed, I would want him beside me.

All of this is too incriminating. Padmé, though she still does not know about her husband’s infidelity, is not an unintelligent woman.

So he says, “I view you all as my family.”

This is uttered with a pointed look at the medical droid, barring Obi-Wan’s passage to the rooms of the hospital. Though heavy-handed, it seems to shake Padmé into action, and she swoops forward to key in the Skywalker room code into the droid’s bank, allowing Obi-Wan passage.

“Thank you,” he tells Anakin’s wife, and then when he cannot wait a second longer, “how is he doing?”

Padmé guides him back to Anakin’s room, and Obi-Wan lets himself be guided. “He’s—he’s going to be alright,” she says. “They—they won’t fit him with a prosthetic, not while he is unconscious and cannot consent, but they’ve taken him out of bacta and done several blood transfusions. Mine took, thank the stars.”

Obi-Wan swallows and stares forward so as not to give into the monster inside of him that roars in jealousy at the idea that Anakin and Padmé’s bloodtype match. That once more, Obi-Wan is made an interloper.

“Quite,” he replies faintly, for they’ve entered the room. There on the bed, looking much too still and ashen, is the love of his life. It takes all of his training in politics and appearance to stop himself from running to his side, grasping at his one hand, and raising it to his lips. The japor snippet around his neck burns with his need to touch and feel and heal.

Padmé, unaware of his agony, walks to the other side of Anakin’s bed, ghosting her fingers over his missing forearm with a haunted sort of expression.

“I was just going to leave to relieve the nanny,” she confesses, brushing a piece of hair away from Anakin’s face. Obi-Wan stiffens and forces himself to relax. “The twins haven’t seen him yet. I thought about getting them when I arrived, but….”

The twins live a charmed life, five years old and untouched by every great unfairness in the galaxy. Obi-Wan would hesitate to retrieve them as well, not when it would mean they would have to—at least for a moment—confront the senseless violence of their world.

“They should see him,” he tells her gently. Anakin would want that. “Please, I—I can get them if you do not wish to leave him.”

“I’m perfectly capable of parenting my own children,” she snaps. When she looks up, her gaze is hard.

Interloper.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan gentles his tone, his mannerisms, and steps back from the bed though that distance kills him. “Whatever you want, Padmé, I am only trying to support you.”

Anakin’s wife stares at him for several seconds, before glancing down at her husband. “You’ll call me if he awakens?”

“In an instant,” Obi-Wan promises, and she nods once, slowly and then with a fast upward tilt of her head. She navigates around the bed, and Obi-Wan moves closer to the very bounds of what is allowed.

He doesn’t watch her leave. He cannot tear his gaze away from Anakin’s slack face. There will be scars on it, wounds so deep that the bacta could not heal them perfectly in time to save him from the blemish.

Obi-Wan already finds them beautiful, because it is Anakin and he finds Anakin beautiful always.

He doesn’t watch Anakin’s wife leave, so he is startled to hear her speak. Startled and deeply grateful he hadn’t given into the impulse to touch her husband’s cheekbone. Stewjoni are affectionate, but not that affectionate.

“I am glad you’re here, Obi-Wan,” she tells him. Her tone is unreadable and when he turns around, her face is the same. 

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks when she does not immediately continue. 

And then for a moment his heart freezes in his chest as he follows the descent of her eyes. Sometime between leaving the conference and arriving at the hospital, he’d taken his heavy, ceremonial Stewjoni cloaks off. His shirt is unlaced most of the way, his chest almost on display.

But she’s not looking at his skin.

The japor snippet lays lower than the shirt cuts, thank the gods, but there’s something in her eyes that looks like a denial. A rationalization. She’d seen the same leather cord around her husband’s neck for two years before he’d lost that pendant.

Before he’d given it in secret to its intended recipient and told his wife it must have fallen off in some restaurant on some planet.

He tries not to move, to hold his posture exactly as it is. Any sudden movements would read as guilt.

He has nothing to feel guilty about.

He has a whole galaxy’s worth of wrongdoings to feel guilty about.

“Why’s that?” he asks, prompts her towards speech in a voice that he prays is not shaking.

Her eyes snap up to his face. They’re unreadable. She is unreadable. She is the last thing that stands in the way of Obi-Wan being able to cradle Anakin’s head in public, kiss him in broad daylight, and if he loved Anakin less, he would tear off the necklace and throw it to the ground in  front of her feet, dare her to rationalize that coincidence away, the same way she’s rationalized all the touches she’s seen, all the heavy looks, lovers’ feuds, piloting lessons.

But he loves Anakin.

And if a team of droids refuse to operate on him without his consent, he can’t just go and reveal their affair to his wife without the same.

“Why’s that?” he asks again, when she doesn’t say anything. He crosses his arms, higher than he usually would, in case the japor snippet is peaking out from the edge of his shirt collar.

“They said he was calling for someone,” Padmé Amidala-Skywalker says, soft as rain and bells and lace. “They thought it must have been his wife. When I told them I was his wife, they called me Mrs. Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense with the effort not to look at Anakin. He wants to see him suddenly so bad that it hurts, but he forces himself to hold eye contact. “How strange,” he murmurs instead of the myriad of things he wishes to say. “I’ve always thought the name Obi-Wan to be quite masculine.”

Padmé says nothing, but she does leave.

It feels less like a surrender, more like a retreat.

[e-m-p-error]

💋 {{ She needs some from her boys. <3 }}

everyone sending ‘💋’ in my inbox gets a kiss from my muse.

[ Valentino ]

"Mmm, c'mere, baby, give Daddy some sugar." Val purred, charm on full blast as he bent in half to give May a kiss.

[ Crimson ]

With a growl, he yanks May close instead, pulling her down for a kiss instead. She should be kissing her husband.

[ppfw-out-of-context]

[boatdriinks]

aaaand part 3 of the ex-spouse series

Let's talk about Louise

After the unremarkable marriage that was his relationship with North, Kerry went back to his old ways for a time. Having fun, dating and sleeping around, while trying to be a present-enough father figure for his daughter.

For over 20 years, he went through several relationships. Some were serious, but most left him with a bad taste in his mouth and a resentment toward the other person.

He would meet and start dating Louise Nordin in 2054 while she was working as a model in Denmark. They dated long distance for two years and Kerry would invite Louise to move in with him on their third anniversary. He could see this was going places, and he was cautiously looking forward to taking things further.

He loved Louise's similar boisterous energy to his own. They could party, they could make all jaws drop in formal events for each other's careers, and they could talk to each other about anything. Kerry genuinely believed he'd met his one. He was able to talk to her about Johnny, about Derry. About how he hadn't treated his first wife that well, and Louise provided insight of how Zoh might've been feeling.

Despite what she heard, though, she didn't turn away. Kerry valued that. Not everyone could even begin to handle the trucktons of baggage that came with Kerry Eurodyne.

After 5 years of dating, they married in 2059. They lived blissfully alone together until April 28th, 2063 when their son, Theodore Nordin Eurodyne was born. Kerry's only son. And things were still good, but cracks would begin to form soon enough.

Drugs and alcohol took hold again during a particularly bad pass of the anniversary of Derry's, and then Johnny's, death. Kerry was spending more time away from home after Louise reluctantly retired for the sake of raising their son, because she and Kerry both hated the idea of their children being primarily raised by nannies.

In the midst of the conflict, the arguing, and trying to fix things, Kerry and Louise's daughter was born. Kimberly Nordin Eurodyne was born on December 1st, 2069. Kerry tried to clean up his act for the sake of his kids, but found that was far easier said than put into actions.

Kerry would catch Louise cheating in mid-2070, and that really sent him off on a war path. He'd cheat on her in return, out of revenge more than anything concrete. Kerry and Louise "patched things up," but he had a feeling she was still cheating after that point. He'd never question whether Kim was his. Whether she was actually or not, she was always going to be his.

It all came to a head, however, when Kerry was arrested for drug possession, assaulting a police officer, and public indecency in 2071. He was sentenced to 15 months in prison, where Kerry would only receive one visit from Louise and their children before being served divorce papers.

Ever since Kerry got out of prison, things have been shit with Louise. She got some of his cars, his home in Tokyo, and worst of all: full custody of the kids. He guessed he couldn't blame her there. Kerry was unstable, and honestly? He didn't want the kids to see him while his mental health was deteriorating. It sure as hell wouldn't help when Louise would occasionally dangle the kids in front of his face in her worst moments, but Kerry rarely had the fight left in him to argue with her too much about it.

And yet, despite all of the bullshit since they finalized the divorce in 2072, Kerry still loved her. If he hadn't fucked it all up, he felt like he could've been with her for the rest of his days.

[livebloggingkidshows]

Flufftober (@flufftober) Day 4

"Whose hoodie is that?" Davis asks, referencing the college branded sweatshirt Jacquie's wearing. A branded jacket for a college neither of them go to. Crap.

"Um," She could lie and say it's Richelle's. But she's pretty sure that Davis knows her girlfriend chose not to go to college, preferring to work as a dance teacher at the studio she grew up at. "My boyfriend's?" She finally admits after a long pause. It's not like she was intentionally keeping her relationship with Noah from her sister, well maybe she was a little bit, but she was sort of hoping that Noah's hoodie of all things wasn't going to be the thing that outs them.

"Oh, I didn't realize you and Richelle broke up." It would be such an easy out. Because of course her sister jumps to the conclusion that she would only be wearing Noah's jacket if they were dating, even if it is a correct assumption, and that she wouldn't be dating both of them.

Jacquie looks away from Davis, "We didn't," she says quietly, chancing a glance up at Davis to see her sister's reaction.

Davis is staring at her, but she can tell she's not entirely sure what's going on. "Does she know?" She asks carefully, clearly not wanting to think of her sister as a cheater.

Jacquie nods hesitantly, "They both do. But we're not really telling people, not yet. Riche is worried that she'll lose her job if people find out. Emily knows and she's fine with it, but she's worried about the parents of her students." Of all of them, Richelle has the most to lose if people found out.

"Sister secret," Davis promises. It's something they came up with when they were little and had secrets they wanted to confide in each other about, but didn't want anyone else to know.

"Thanks."

"I know you'd do the same for me."

[slowandsteddie]

WIP Wednesday Game

Tagged by @eriquin

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

* In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

* Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

* After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

* That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

My contribution is below the cut 💜

Lazy Petals - the one where I take my grandparents love story and make it Steddie

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - the one where Steve tries to kill himself only for one (undead?) Eddie Munson to come to his rescue

you mean it isn’t normal to cuddle your drug dealer? - the one where Steve turns to weed after S3 and him and Eddie become a bit more than friends

Claudia Henderson POV - the second part of Claudia Henderson and Her Two Boys

Oral Fixation - the one where Steve is always sucking on hard candies and Eddie notices

Tags: whoever sees this and wants to participate

The lil snippet is from Claudia Henderson POV:

Steve starts to open up about the night that his mom died.

“She, uh. She caught him cheating on her.” Steve said suddenly.

She sat down the plate that she had been washing, and turned off the faucet after rinsing the soap off her gloves. Claudia turned around to look at Steve. It had been years, and this was the first time that he had talked about it. That night. She didn’t say a word, just watched him as he watched the table.

“She was so calm about it until the other lady left, you know?” His voice caught. “She was calm when she told him that she was going to file for divorce in the morning and that she was going to take everything. Including me. And I was so happy, you know? Because I realized that she did love me…”

Claudia felt tears well in her eyes, but made no move to wipe them. She didn’t even dare to sniffle, in fear that it would get him to clam up.

“Then there was screaming. So much screaming. A bang, and then silence.” He shuddered. “I called Hop when the screaming started. Let him hear it over the phone, even as I… I couldn’t even breathe, mom.”

The word that slipped out made her heart squeeze painfully. He had never called her that so sincerely before. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms, but refused to move. Not until he was ready to look at her. Now wasn’t the time to potentially startle him.

[chelseasasimmer]

The next day was Love Day! Unfortunately, Thorne woke up to the terrible news that Pepper had passed away!

Rest in peace, Pep, you will be dearly missed.