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chasingpj · 3 years

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𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

summary: five ways he says i love you through his actions

warnings: implied nudity and s*x, discusses food and eating and nothing else, i think. oh, and maybe some typos

category: headcanons

love letters/notes

leo is a busy boy

he's always picking up new projects so he can spend all day in his workshop or the forges with his siblings

when you guys live together, he leaves small notes on the refrigerator for you

they're always short, saying simple things like "i love you" and "i miss you already"

for the love letters, he'll leave them in random places for you to find

if you're a big reader, i can see him hiding it between the pages of your book

one day, you pick up your book to read, and the note falls on your lap

it's a love letter written on a piece of blueprint paper; there’s a little bit of oil smudged on the side of it

he got distracted while he was working on something because you were the only thing he could think about

his love letters never fail to make your heart flutter

sometimes they make you cry

he's quite sentimental

leo always tells you he does better writing down his feelings than he is saying it out loud because he can organize his thoughts better

you know that leo has a hard time with that because of how he grew up

when you guys have an argument, which isn't very often, he writes his feelings down on paper

he's always quick to apologize if he did something wrong, and the notes help him form the apology that you deserve, and you're quick to forgive him

once, you were super angry after an argument, so you locked yourself in your shared bedroom

you needed to calm yourself down

the both of you much too angry and stubborn to make a compromise

as your recollecting yourself, 40 minutes in, a folded piece of paper slips from under the door

the letter has teardrop stains, and the ink is slightly smudged

on the paper, it's all his thoughts written out in the best way he can explain them

after reading what he wrote, you quickly deemed that whatever you were fighting about was silly, and you guys made up

you love his spontaneous notes so much that you do them back

you guys have a game of who can find the most creative hiding spot for your notes

one time you found one tapped to the inside of the toilet cover

you found it hilarious

you throw folded post-its with messages in his tool belt

he finds them during the day while he's working on something

after you joined in on the fun, he scatters notes in random places, and every few days, you find a new message hidden somewhere randomly

they're just so sweet; there’s never a time where they don't make you smile

gifts

this is a given

it's not a leo headcanon if gift-giving isn't included

he would make you things like roses from scrap metal to literal furniture

if you have a lot of jewelry, he will make you a cute jewelry box

if you're a big book reader, he'll make you bookcases to support your book collection

he's always giving you little trinkets that he made with leftover materials from projects

he loves making things for you and gets upset when you decide to buy something from ikea instead of asking him

"babe, why would you buy that? I could have just made it for you!"

when he's on his way from returning on his quest, sometimes he'll find something that reminds him of you in a store, and he'll buy it

when he has the money for it, he'd buy you a star :(

says that he spent even more money to buy an extra bright star

because "you're the sun in my universe"

brb gonna cry

also, he'd gift you a bond bracelet

you know, those bracelets where every time you tap on it, it makes the other person's bracelet vibrate

the both of you get anxious when one of you goes on quests, so the bracelets bring the other person who's at home comfort

because when you tap back, at least he knows you're alive and vice versa

one of the best gifts you've ever received from him was your engagement ring

he made it himself

he took so much care and effort into making it

imagine leo forging your wedding ring himself??? i'm in spain with no s

he was so nervous that you wouldn't like the style, so he had piper casually bring it up to you

piper was so nonchalant about it that you didn't even think twice about the question

the ring has the prettiest gemstone or diamond (whatever you prefer)

you cried so hard when he told you he made it himself that you couldn't even say yes to his proposal clearly

he makes both of your wedding bands too

he carves a saying that's dear to the both of you on the inside

this is nothing to do with anything but imagine when you guys have kids, he makes animals out of pipe cleaners for them i'm gonna cry, brb pt 2

overall, whether he makes the present himself or not, he puts a lot of effort and care into it

every gift has a meaning and a place dear to your heart

cooking for you

leo is canoningly a good cook

he loves cooking for you

and you love eating what he makes

he's usually busy on the weekdays, so he cooks on the weekends

you guys always joke that he'd be the cutest househusband

you got him an apron for Christmas as a joke gift one year, and he wears it all the time

there's something so charming about him wearing an apron with a funny saying like "Mr. Good Lookin is Cookin" or with like a ripped out shirtless guy in front of it

you giggle every time you see him wearing it

oh, no matter how many times you've seen it, it's still so bizarre when he takes out hot trays from the oven with his BARE hands

everything he makes tastes amazing

he makes all kinds of food and is always trying something new

if you tell him what you’re craving, he’ll cook it for you

once he woke you up to ask if you wanted ribs… it was 3 am but like, of course, you wanted some

unless you're vegetarian or vegan, sorry, HAHA

often though, he does make Mexican food

it reminds him of when his mom was alive

he always has some story to share

every time he makes caldo de pollo (chicken soup), he always talks about how his mother would make it in the summer and that when he was little, he would always complain about eating hot soup in hot weather

you know he doesn't notice his constant telling of this story, but you don't mind

it's so bittersweet when he talks about his mom

through the cooking of his traditional food, you feel closer to him and his late mother

the memories he shares with you makes your eyes sting with tears

especially when leo says how much he wishes that esperanza could have met you

sorry, that was a little emo

also, leo usually wakes up earlier than you

he knows you're a sleepyhead, so he'll cook breakfast for you

so that when you're running around in the morning trying to get dressed and your things together

you never leave the house hungry because there's always a tupperware filled with breakfast, and if he has enough time, he'll fix you something to take for lunch too

if you come home late from work or school, he'll make dinner even if he's tired to surprise you

so many times you've come home from a shitty day at work or school, and the small table where you guys eat your meals is all set up with your favorite food

leo greets you by peeking his head into the hallway from the kitchen, tossed curls, cheerful brown eyes, and a bright grin

"I hope you're hungry," he says, despite knowing that you are hungry

and then you guys talk and laugh together over a delicious meal

compliments

leo's really observant

he notices when you’re in a bad mood, even if you try not to show it

he also notices when you change little things about your appearance

if you get a haircut or you get your nails done, he'll comment on it right away

especially outfits

if you buy something new, he'll complement it

imagine standing in front of the mirror, looking at yourself in your new outfit

leo comes behind you, his hands coming around your waist

he'll pepper kisses on your neck, a soft hum leaving his lips as he meets your eyes in the mirror

"is this new, mi amor?" he asks, hands running up your sides

once you affirm that it is a new dress or shirt, he'll smile and tell you how beautiful you look in it

maybe says he'd rather see it off of you wink wink

there's never a day where he doesn't compliment you

he thinks you're the prettiest person in the world

you've caught him staring at you lovingly plenty of times

he's just asking himself how did he manage to get someone as beautiful and amazing as you

you always squirm under his gaze and playfully ask what is he looking at

"you're so pretty, mi amor. I can't help it."

AHHH!!!!

alongside the endearment of mi amor, he'd always call you bonita and hermosa

you're so sweet to him, and he can't help but tell you how much you mean to him every chance he gets

surprises

leo is an acts of service kind of guy

i think he'll spontaneously do things to make you happy

if you've been busy studying for finals or just beat up from a day at work

he'll draw you a bath

or he'll cut up some fruit for you and leave it at your desk

he randomly buys you flowers

he never needs an occasion to buy your flowers

it'll be a regular tuesday, leo just happened to walk past a store with flowers displayed in the front, and he thought about how bright your smile would be if he showed up with a bouquet

I feel like he's pretty introverted, enjoys being at home with you

the both of you are pretty broke for a while, so a lot of dates were at home

leo made the most of it

you guys will have nice dinners at home

he'll set the table nicely, set the mood with candles

he'll redecorate the space so well you feel like you're at an actual restaurant

and of course, his food is amazing

breakfast in bed is another thing he'd do for you unsolicited

especially if you guys had a looong night wink wink

you're woken up by his still groggy voice, fluttering kisses on your cheeks

you open your eyes to see he's set a tray with your favorite breakfast on top of the bed

the two of you will eat breakfast together, which usually leads to you staying in bed for the rest of the day

just enjoying the warm cocoon your sheets create around the both of you

overall, he's super observant and caring, and he goes the extra mile to make sure you're happy because he knows you do the same

anyways, does anyone know where I can get a leo?

masterlists taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @Slytherclaw-kitten @idk-bye-no @percysbluehairbrush @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky

#my writing #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus fanfic #heroes of olympus fanfiction #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez drabble #leo valdez headcanon

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startanewdream · 3 years

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It comes with the age

Summary: The thing about having birthdays is that you get older.

Or James Potter is not ready for his first white hair.

(Jily Lives AU)

Read below or on AO3:

It’s there.

James thought he had caught a glimpse of it in the mirror a few days ago, but he had accounted for just a strange reflex of the light. He had even searched for it in the mirror later - when he was alone, when no one would witness his moment of self-doubt -, but he hadn’t found it.

He was sure he had just imagined it.

Until today, when he was leaving the bathroom and checked himself in the mirror distractedly. On the morning of his birthday, as if the powers from beyond had decided to mess with him.

It’s there, a foreigner that has no right to be there and still is shining lazily and brightly against the dark locks around it.

His first white hair.

What should he do? Take it out?

He remembers teasing Remus a lifetime ago - though now he feels a lot more compassionate for Moony, whose hair was sprinkled with grey even before he was twenty - that if he took out a grey hair, another ten would appear in its place. It was Sirius that came up with it, so James is not sure he believes it, but he can’t take any chances.

One white hair is one more than he’d like to have until he was fifty at least. He just turned thirty. That’s way too young to have grey hair.

He takes a comb, something he doesn’t remember ever doing in this bathroom, and tries to arrange his hair for the first time in years (the last time was before his first date with Lily; Sirius almost laughed to death watching his attempt to straighten his hair and James had given up - whatever had possessed Lily to accept to go out with him, she clearly didn’t have a problem with his messy hair).

It helps to hide that white hair in the middle of the black strands, but then he turns his head and the light catches it again, exposing that revealing strand of hair. It seems to glow with the light, a bright silver sign yelling to the world: here, come look at it, James Potter has white hair.

It’s not that he is vain about his own hair - that would be Sirius, no question -, it’s just that its blackness was always part of it. If he was a fugitive, his character sketch would consist of his hazel eyes behind the rectangular glasses and his messy dark hair.

Dark hair. Not grey.

He needs to do something about it. It’s urgent.

He goes back to his room, searching on his bedside table for the ink they always leave there for some emergency letter. The pot is near empty and he files a mental note to replenish it later, but now he has more pressing matters.

He goes to the bathroom again, carefully opening the inkpot and pinching a little between his fingers. Then his other free hand grabs carefully the white hair, raising it; just a little bit of ink and it will all be fine -

'James? What are you doing?'

He lets the white hair fall immediately, his hand already messing his hair nervously and he turns to Lily with the most confident smile he can manage.

'Hi, love', he says, which makes Lily raise her eyebrows at him. It's really unusual for him to call her like that.

'You are taking long', she says slowly. 'Harry and I have your breakfast ready'.

'I'll be in a minute, just go downstairs -'

'Are you okay?'

'Yeah, yeah'.

'Then why is your hand covered with ink?'

James grimaces; his hand was hidden behind him, but the mirror - that treacherous thing that's exposing all his secrets today - showed the reflex, of course.

'Just trying something', he says nervously. 'Checking how I would look with a moustache, see?'

He draws a moustache around above his mouth with his hand, all curly at the end, and grins at Lily, expecting it to satisfy her curiosity - maybe Lily will just look at it as some weird prank.

'How do I look?'

'Classical', Lily answers amusedly. 'Now, not that I don't appreciate your effort, but what were you really doing?'

James sighs, defeated, and he sits on the closed toilet seat.

'I am old', he admits heavily. Lily blinks.

'Yes', she agrees carefully. 'Getting old is what happens on birthdays'.

'Not just because of it, but… look at it', he lowers his head.

'Hum… what should I be looking at?'

'Stop being nice to me, Lily. I know what is there. I can't deny it anymore'.

'James? I am starting to -'

'I have white hair!'

He raises his eyes, expecting to see the disgust on Lily's face, her realization that the dark-haired young man she married is fading away, but Lily is just blinking, confused.

'That one strand? It's no big deal'.

'Of course it's a big - wait, you already knew?'

'Yeah? You do know we sleep together, right? I saw it a few days ago'.

'And you didn't say anything before?'

'What was there to say? It's one white strand, not an illness'.

'It's a tragedy, that's what it is. It means my glorious youthful days are over'.

'I really doubt it, James', she says soothingly, kissing the top of his hair. 'You seemed pretty glorious last night', she winks at him and James feels smug despite himself.

The night before had been rather intense, he couldn't deny it; a very good start to his thirties, if he could say so himself.

And then there is something almost wistful sparkling in Lily's eyes, the remains of an old fear he always saw during the war.

'And I am glad you are old', she whispers, and when he opens his mind to retort, she lets out a soft laugh. 'More experienced, then. I mean… I am happy we are getting older together'.

'That's what we promised in our wedding vows', he remembers.

'To grow old and grumpy together', she repeats, eyes glistening. 'So… It makes me happy to see this one white hair. To know what it means. I hope to see many more'.

'Oh, fancying a grey-haired husband, Mrs. Potter?'

'If he is you, that's all I want', Lily assures him softly, and James grins back, raising his head to allow their lips to meet.

It's a very nice birthday kiss, and then he raises without interrupting it, pressing Lily closer to him, thinking that maybe he can also get a morning quality time for his birthday…

'Dad? Mom?', there is a cry coming from the bedroom.

They break apart with a familiar sigh - Harry always has impeccable timing; Lily winks at him, a promising gleam in her eyes, and James tries not to look too flustered.

'Here, Harry', he says nicely, leaving the bathroom. Harry is at the door of the room, his arms crossed and a grimace on his face.

'You were kissing, right?', he says, sounding properly appealed by the idea.

'A birthday kiss is a very good gift . One day you may find out', James teases, and Harry doesn't look convinced. James fights back a laugh. When he was nine, he wasn't very much interested in kissing anyone either.

'You were taking too long - wait, why is there a moustache on your face?'

'Oh', James flushes, while by his side Lily giggles, taking out her wand and cleaning his face. 'Just trying a new style. How would I look with a moustache?'

Harry shakes his head.

'I know it's your birthday - but don't'.

'And what's your opinion on grey hair?'

'Much better than a moustache', Harry answers, shrugging. 'I keep telling Sirius he should go grey, but then he goes he is a Black…'

'Wait', James blinks. 'Sirius has grey hair?'

'Oh', Harry stops, a guilty expression on his face. 'I shouldn't - never mind.

'Harry… come on, it cannot be that bad'.

'I shouldn't have seen it - I was just looking in his bathroom drawer for a band-aid, and then I saw it'.

'Saw what?'

'His entire hair collection', Harry whispers, amazed. 'He has a product for everything - more than you, Mom'.

'I knew his hair couldn't be that shiny naturally', James says to himself.

'Yeah, and then there was some hair dye too'. Harry flushes. 'That's when he found me. He told me it was for work, you know, for when he needs to disguise himself, but I am not sure'.

'So Sirius has grey hair then?'

'It comes with age', Lily replies, looking amused by the sudden change in James' humour. 'Now your ego is feeling better, can we go down for your breakfast?'

Harry jumps.

'Please, I am hungry! And we need to give you our gift!'

'We are coming', James promises, smiling. 'You can start, we will be there in a sec'.

Harry nods, grinning, and he runs out of the room; breakfast was always his favourite meal of the day.

'My gift is not a hair dye, right?', James asks playfully, as he and Lily leave the room.

She laughs.

'No, and don't go teasing Sirius about it'.

'I wouldn't dream of', James says, though he is feeling pretty happy that he is still far away from needing hair dye.

Maybe in his forties - if he still has hair; he remembers his father's hair had been wispy, and now he comes to think of it, the edges of his hairline have been thinning out...

'Oh, Merlin', he cries. 'Is my hair falling out?'

#Jily Lives AU #Happy Birthday James #James Potter #jily fic #T: fanfiction #Domestic Fluff

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baby-triumphant · 2 years

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ooooh hmm free space for 19?

aha! some leon/andrew, mayhaps? a smidge of suggestive language under the cut

19. tugging at the other’s clothes to keep them close

The Firefighters had one day to celebrate Leon's return unimpeded before the press descended. No matter what miracles they were blessed with, there wasn't anything that could keep a reporter away, something Andrew had grimly resigned himself to.

It wasn't Andrew's place to tell Leon how to feel about the press, and for the most part Leon'd had a neutral relationship with them: except for the invasive questions about how his divorce would affect his game, except for the way they had always demanded more of them, except for the way he always came out of an interview exhausted and wrung out.

Exhausted or wrung out though he might be, he took the questions anyways, with a thoughtful grace that charmed everyone he talked to, and he kept taking them. He liked the attention, Andrew was given to understand; hurtful or helpful, it was all the same to Leon, who always needed to know where he stood with others.

Andrew—whose fealty to Leon had been unconditional since the first four-seam fastball Leon had given him, the one like lightning—was forced to admit that this particular character trait of Leon's was shitty as hell.

During their second day back training together, the way Andrew had always wanted, the reporters lined up at the chain-link fence, because they had wanted this, too: another chance to speak to greatness.

Andrew could imagine the columns already, tallying whether Leon Duncan could hitch the rest of the Firefighters to his miracles and pull them all along with him. He wanted to yell at them to go away, but Bison would absolutely yell at him for it, never mind the inevitable PR fallout, so—no fucking way.

Andrew signaled a time out the third time Leon's attention wandered, and drew close enough that he could hear the way Leon's chest heaved like a racehorse's, starving for oxygen. Leon always did push himself harder when there were people watching.

"You're not focusing," Andrew said, glove over his mouth just in case some reporter had gotten the bright idea to read lips.

Leon's grey eyes were bright as he said, "I am focused."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Yes, Leon," he said, "we all know you love striking a pose."

Leon took his hand out of his glove and stretched it. "That's not fair, Andrew, and I'm not photogenic anyway," he murmured in half-hearted protest, eyebrows drawing together. The little furrow between them had gotten a little deeper, Andrew noticed. Andrew also noticed that the tan line from his wedding band had faded, which he then deliberately un-noticed.

And then Leon's attention wandered away again, stolen. Andrew took a deep breath, did his best not to be jealously resentful, and mostly succeeded.

He moved into Leon's line of sight, and angled his body so the sharp tug he gave Leon's jersey wasn't visible by any curious camera. Leon blinked down at him, bewilderment on his face, and Andrew realized abruptly that his hand was knuckled into Leon's belly, pressing through the fabric into skin and muscle.

Andrew felt his face heat, but didn't take his hand away. If physical touch was what kept Leon grounded then that was what it took, and Andrew's massive, poorly-hidden emotional hard-on for the guy could be ignored for the sake of them playing well together.

"Stay with me," he said.

Leon stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.

Andrew gave his jersey another pointed tug.

"Yeah," Leon said. "Yeah."

Leon's attention didn't wander for the rest of their practice. Little miracles, Andrew thought, and didn't let his attention wander, either.

#andrew you are PHENOMENALLY STUPID #andrew trebek #leon duncan #THANK YOU FOR THE BLANK CHECK i will take any excuse to write about these FOOLS #my writing

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phasmwrites · 4 years

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safe with me || bakugou katsuki

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Female!Reader Warnings: Body Injuries, Mild Violence, Angst Word Count: 1841 Prompt: “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” A/N: This was a prompt request from a lovely anon! I hope u like it friend💖 I added a word into the sentence prompt I hope that’s okay 👉👈 I promise this is also fluffy!!

When you become a pro-hero, it means that you accept and understand the risks that come with the profession; you must be fully aware of the chances of getting severely injured on the job, or even worse.

“Ground Zero!” Bakugou’s current sidekick shouted as he sprinted through the debris over to the hero, desperately trying to catch his breath, “It’s Y/H/N!”

You and your husband, Bakugou Katsuki, knew what you were both getting into when you decided to become heroes. It was through this profession that the two of you met one another in the first place.

“What about her?” Bakugou’s own breaths were labored as he restrained the villain below him, digging his boot further into the criminal’s back to keep them docile.

Years upon years of intense training would never prepare Bakugou for the emotional turmoil his sidekick was about to throw in his direction.

“She’s- she’s…” The young hero mumbled, cowering at the harsh glare directed at him.

Bakugou narrowed his eyebrows further and gritted his teeth, “Spit it out!”

“She’s been taken to the nearest hospital-”

The moment the word hospital was uttered from his sidekick’s lips, Bakugou’s face visibly dropped along with his palpitating heart.

“Keep this fucker on the ground until the cops come. Are there anymore villains not restrained?” Bakugou waited for the young man to shake his head, “Good, if anyone asks where I went tell them to fuck off.”

It was on this day that the heroes reigned triumph once more in the fight against the villains, but Bakugou no longer cared about basking in his glory. His primary concern was finding out why he was receiving sympathetic glances from the nurses when he rushed through the hospital doors.

During your battle with one of the villains, you had noticed a small family huddled up hopelessly clinging to one another as the front of their apartment had been entirely decimated. You did the one thing Bakugou had always admired about you, which was rushing towards the family and aiding them in their evacuation.

Though you abandoned the fight for your sidekick to handle in your place, you failed to notice that they had fallen unconscious. It was then that you were promptly tossed into the nearest building by the mutation quirk-handling villain. The last thing you could remember was the agonizing pain your body suffered from the impact before you passed out, too.

Once Bakugou reached the door that held you inside, the doctors informed your husband that you suffered severe injuries to both of your legs along with shattered ribs and collarbone. It would take extraneous amounts of physical therapy and rest for your legs to properly heal from the emergency surgery, putting you out of commission for anything hero-related indefinitely.

The sobs that wracked through your aching chest were sounds Bakugou wished he could burn from his memory. Although the moonlight casted beautifully into your hospital bedroom on most nights, it did nothing but expose your tear-stricken complexion and bloodshot eyes to the ash-blonde who spent every night by your side.

After many weeks isolated in a hospital room, you had finally received approval from the doctor to finish your recovery in the comfort of your own home. Your husband was more than thrilled to bring you home; he hoped that a new environment would aid in your healing.

“Welcome home, baby.” Bakugou murmured as he held you close to his chest, pressing a delicate kiss against your temple. The wheelchair he had ordered for you hadn’t arrived on time, but he was more than content carrying you wherever you asked of him.

The first thing you noticed when the two of you entered your home was how pristine it was, “You cleaned up.”

“Yeah...” Bakugou shrugged, “The place was an absolute shithole and I’ve had some free time when I’m not at the hospital with you.”

When his agency got word of your incident, they insisted he step away from hero duties for a short while until you got back on your own two feet. It infuriated the hot-headed blonde at first, but he also refused to abandon you when you needed him the most.

“What do you want to do?” He asked while setting his car keys on the nearest table.

You took a moment to contemplate, “Can you draw me a bath? I still feel gross from the hospital...”

So he did just that as he stepped into the bathroom, setting you down on the counter and allowing your legs to dangle over the edge. Bakugou took his time in unraveling your bandages, remembering the strict instructions he was given from the “annoying” nurses.

“Katsuki?” Your voice was so hushed he nearly missed it, “Do you think my legs are ugly?”

He wanted to laugh aloud at the absurdity of your question, but harshly bit his tongue to keep you from getting the wrong impression. Sure, your legs were swollen with excess water retention and now scarred from surgery, but he didn’t find you any less beautiful than you were before.

“How the hell can legs be ugly? They’re beautiful, just like you.” The last of the bandages collapsed into a puddle below you as he returned to the tub to make sure it wasn’t too hot for you. You watched as he stepped back over to you and aided you in removing the rest of your clothing, gathering you in his arms to slowly set you into the large white tub.

The warm water instantly relaxed your muscles, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss, “Thank you, Katsuki.”

“Tch, it’s not a big deal.” He brushed your gratitude off, “I’m going to start on dinner, yell for me if you need me.” Before he truly left you to your own devices he pressed his lips to your forehead again and made sure you could reach anything you needed.

While preparing your favorite meal, Bakugou hoped that returning home would help bring back the normalcy you desired from your time in the hospital. He himself desperately craved to see the sparkle in your eyes that had undoubtedly vanished since the incident.

He had gotten so swept up in his thoughts and finishing his cooking that he didn’t originally hear you crying from the bathroom. When your sobs finally reached his ears though, the large spoon he had been using clattered to the ground and his legs rushed him over to your aid.

“Hey, what the hell happened-” Bakugou slammed the ajar door fully open, his own heart crumbling at the sight of you so distraught.

Tears streamed down your cheekbones, mixing into the soapy bathwater. Your bottom lip trembled at the sight of your husband until your sobbing transitioned into broken wails of anguish. Collapsing onto his knees next to the tub, Bakugou ignored the dull ache from the impact and gathered your face into his large palms.

“Y/N, it’s okay, come on, I got you baby…” His voice was the softest you had ever heard in your entire life, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze met yours, “Come on, tell me what’s wrong, please?”

Your cries slowly silenced, dulling into small hiccups as you tried to catch your breath. Bakugou waited patiently for you, using one hand to caress your tear-stained cheek and the other to rub comforting circles into your shoulder.

“S-Sometimes…” You stammered, trying to collect your abundance of thoughts into words, “Sometimes my mind...it brings me back to being tossed into the building and I just feel all of that pain again and- and holy shit it hurts so bad…”

If you had continued to maintain contact with Bakugou rather than stare into the tub, you would have noticed the tears that silently rolled down his own complexion. Being empathetic wasn’t something Bakugou was known for, but seeing the woman he loved with his entire being so broken and traumatized...it was almost too much for him.

Following a brief silence, Bakugou stood back up as you watched him wipe his eyes and begin to disrobe his tank top and sweatpants. Once bare he gently nudged you forward so that he could slip his large figure behind you. He curled his muscular arms around your middle, your back now comfortably pressed into his chest.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again, you’re safe with me.” Reaching for your hand, he began to toy with the wedding band on your ring finger as a silent reminder of his vows to you only six months ago.

You brought your now intertwined fingers up to your chest, holding his hand close to your heart, “The doctor’s warned me that I may not be able to return to being a hero...I don’t even know if I could…”

“Listen, you can do whatever you want, baby.” Bakugou took his hands back, but only to begin massaging shampoo into your damp scalp, “I’ll support the fuck out of you no matter what choice you make.”

“B-But being the top heroes was our dream…” Your bottom lip trapped itself between your teeth, feeling as if you failed both yourself and your partner.

You were slightly surprised to hear Bakugou scoff, “You want to know my other dream? Starting a family with the love of my goddamn life.”

“Katsuki-”

“I know I’m awful at romance, alright?” You went to protest but he interrupted you for a second time, “I know the kind of person I am, but I also know that somehow you still chose to marry me and support me. If you’re no longer a hero, that doesn’t change how I feel about you because I also made that decision to support you...until death do us part or however the fuck the saying goes.”

He began to rinse out of the suds in your hair when you leaned further into his chest, “You mentioned starting a family…”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a little mini-me causing a bit of chaos in our life one day.” You could sense that he was smirking at the concept, one of his large hands pressing against your stomach as if he were imagining it already.

It was uncomfortable, but you tilted yourself back far enough so that you could look into Bakugou’s vermilion eyes, watching the way his gaze softened when they met yours.

What was meant to be a tender moment between the two of you was promptly ended by your next words, “You’re pretty soft, Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I’m not soft! Shitty fucking woman.” He sunk further into the tub behind you, sulking childishly as your laughter rang out through the room. Even if your giggles were a direct result of teasing him, he’d let you do it forever just to keep that vibrant smile from never leaving your lips again.

It would be a rough while for you to fully heal from both the mental and physical trauma you endured, but you knew that you could take on anything as long as you had Bakugou by your side.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #phasm.writings

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tamorasky · 3 years

Text

Rise to Me Chapter 8 - July 1943

Summary: 1947. It had been nearly four years since she had received a letter from her sister. Now with the end of the war and her impending wedding, Anna Rendelle is more determined than ever to find her sister.

1943. All her life Elsa Rendelle had been told to be good, know her place and to marry well. When an opportunity arises to make something of herself, finding herself in Occupied France as a part of a larger network of secret agents.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Elsa/Honeymaren, Anna/Hans (Briefly)

AO3

It is the same every morning since she arrived six weeks ago; 5 miles up the hill and back, around the loch and then the dreaded incline where Elsa had twisted her ankle during her first week at the lodge. Her feet have never been so blistered in her life resulted from the damp runs every morning, seemingly to be on the verge of infection.

However, as she washes her hands after using the toilet, Elsa reflects how she no longer lingers in the back during the morning runs any longer. Never in her life had she ever thought she would have the stamina to run every morning. Elsa wonders if she could beat Anna now; as children, the younger Rendelle sister always was much faster.

Wiping her hands on the starched towels, Elsa glances at herself in the mirror, ensuring her issued shirt was tucked neatly into her khaki trousers. Her hair braided into a single plait as always, whisps already escaping from the tight braid.

The young woman makes her way to the dining hall, avoiding eye contact with the men passing her in the corridor. They are not allowed to engage with the other male recruits. In the dining hall, every woman is situated in their usual spot, a single empty space beside Honeymaren for Elsa.

The brunette's eyes drift to where Elsa stands in the doorway, offering a smile at the blonde woman. Elsa reciprocates the gesture, ignoring the pounding in her chest as she moves towards her spot.

Honeymaren and herself had become fast friends during Elsa's time at Rhubana Lodge. Despite Elsa's initial reluctance to become close with the other woman, Honeymaren remained insistent.

A week after her resolve to stay away from Honeymaren. Elsa had been alone in the dormitory, changing into her nightgown quickly before the other women flooded into the room from the shared bathroom. The door to the dormitory swung open to reveal Honeymaren, still dressed in her uniform.

Without a moment, the Haudenosaunee woman strode across the room towards her bed. Unbraiding her hair Honeymaren huffed, unable to take the silence any longer. The brunette woman walked to Elsa's bed, capturing the other woman between herself and the two beds.

"Whatever I did to you, I'd rather you tell me than go on acting like a couple of adolescent girls." Honeymaren snapped, standing only inches from Elsa.

"I-um… I'm sorry?" Elsa asked, taken aback by the other woman's outburst, her thighs pressed against her nightstand. Honeymaren glanced over Elsa slowly. With a sigh, she stepped back and sat on her own bed.

"Listen, I get it." The brunette sighed, her gaze dropping to her knees. "I can be…a little intense, and I apologize. I just…I felt like we were really connecting."

Elsa stared at Honeymaren, unsure what to say. The blonde stepped away from her nightstand, sitting on her bed across from the other woman. "It isn't you. I just… I've never really had a friend before. Not since I was eleven years old."

"I mean…if you'd rather continue the way you are, I'll respect that an-"

"No!" Elsa's head snapped up as she interrupted the other woman. The two women’s gaze met, eyes wide and surprised. "I-I just mean, after nine years i-it would be nice to have a…friend."

Honeymaren smiled at the blonde, reaching across the gap between their beds to take Elsa's hand into her own. "I'd like that too."

Since that night, the two of them completed everything together, they ran together, which became Elsa's motivation to speed up. The morning runs with Honeymaren was becoming her favourite part of the day.

Elsa takes her seat next to Honeymaren, glancing around the table to get some indication of what the girls were discussing. The blonde unfolds her napkin, neatly placing it on her lap in a manner that would not get her in trouble with Madame Bisset, who watches over the girls.

Eating meals is a constant lesson throughout the day. Leftover gravy is sopped up by bread and they are to never ask for butter as it was no longer served in France. A small mistake could get you into trouble with Madame Bisset. She recalled an evening they were given wine with dinner- an obvious test by the command to see if the girls became reckless when inebriated. Three girls were sent home the next morning.

She doesn't bother to grab a piece of baguette that morning, only drinking her coffee instead, rather quickly. As a university student, Elsa had grown accustomed to not eating breakfast, opting instead for black tea or coffee in the morning.

Honeymaren cocks a brow at her friend, observing her. "You're in an awful hurry."

"I have to retake codes." Elsa huffs, taking another short sip of her hot coffee. Honeymaren groans in response, rolling her eyes.

"Again? How many times is this now?" The brunette asks, picking up her porcelain coffee cup.

"Twice now." Elsa sighs, placing her coffee cup down. "I have to pass this round, or they'll send me packing."

"Well, what are you struggling with? Maybe I can help you." Honeymaren offers, reaching out to her friend. Elsa resists the urge to inch her hand closer to the other woman's but keeps it still on the white tablecloth.

"No, this is something I have to do myself. I just need to prove I can transmit." Elsa explains, reaching for her coffee once more.

"I'm sure you can do it. God knows you're clever enough." Honeymaren comments, tearing another piece of her baguette. Elsa finds herself smiling at the compliment, tucking her hair behind her ears with both hands.

In her first week, Elsa would have been at peace with the idea of being sent home. She could have returned to Oxford, work in the shop over the summertime and reschedule her visit with Anna in London.

But now, after 6 weeks of the morning runs, intensive training from morning until night. Most of her time is spent in front of a radio and studying to be a wireless telegraph operator. There were things she had learned never imaged, how to set up dead and live letter drops and the difference between the two, how to establish suitable rendezvous sites.

Much to her surprise, after a few weeks of training, her hands no longer shook when setting an explosives charge—her shooting and grappling slowly getting better every day with Honeymaren's guidance and help. Elsa would not have gotten far in the program without her. Lying and maintaining her cover story had come naturally to her. After years Elsa had gotten accustomed to lying to herself and others.

The only thing she is failing at is codes.

"Headquarters is here." One of the girls who shares a dormitory with the two women, Alexandra, announces abruptly. "Something must be wrong."

Honeymaren and Elsa's gaze follows Alexandra's to the balcony, overlooking the dining hall where a short woman stands, looking down on them. Elsa recognizes her immediately. Yelana.

"You've met her?" Marie asks Alexandra.

The raven-haired girl nods. "She found me in a typing pool in Bristol. You?"

"At a library in Essex," Marie responds.

It dawns on Elsa then, Yelana had selected each girl personally.

"Yelana decides everything for us," Honeymaren states, drawing the surrounding girl's attention. "She designed the courses and decides where we are deployed and what our assignments are to be."

The girls finish their breakfast quickly before meandering towards the lecture hall, where each desk had a radio sitting on the surface. Their instructor had the assignment printed and placed on each desk, a code to be deciphered and sent. Yelana stands in the corner of the room, watching all of the girls intently. Elsa takes her seat next to the window, taking a deep breath as she settles herself, immediately putting on her headset.

The radio in front of her is similar to one which a person could listen to music or the BBC on, only this one laid flat inside a suitcase with more knobs and dials. A small unit is at the top of the set for transmitting, another below it for receiving. The socket for the power adaptor is on the right side, and there are spare kits, a pocket containing extra parts in case anything were to happen. The pouch also includes four crystals, with the ability to be inserted into the slot on the radio to enable transmission.

Elsa closes her eyes, trying to calm her pounding heart from nerves. She has one last chance. Glancing down at the piece of paper, carefully scanning the retest. It was a text of a Shakespeare poem:

From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remember'd We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile.

The message has to be first coded through a cipher containing a small satchel, each printed on an individual square of silk, one inch long and wide. Each silk held a key, a printed one-time cipher to change each letter to another: in this specific one, a became m and o became w. Each cipher was to be used to code the message, then be discarded. Lighting a match, Elsa burns the silk cipher as she had been taught.

She begins to type out the message, trying to recall the key in her head as she types. Elsa spent weeks learning to tap out letters in morse code, practicing to the point that she taps her fingers against the table at mealtimes. She struggles to keep her fist print consistent, which she needed to perfect to pass security checks.

Radios could be interchangeable. If someone has the coils and crystals to set the frequency, they could send and receive messages. One's fist print and security checks are the only way in which headquarters can confirm the other person.

Elsa's fist print is light on the first part of each word with pauses between sentences. Each agent had a security check unique to themselves, a quirk in which a reader could identify the typist. Elsa is to make a "mistake" and typing r on the thirty-fifth letter in the message. Her second security check was substituting k where a c belonged every other time a k appeared.

With shaking hands Elsa finishes her retest, hoping to God she will have passed this time. For the first time since arriving, she feels quite pleased with herself, noticing Yelana watching her closely.

The older woman rips the teletype's transmission, scanning over the paper as she marches towards Elsa. "You've gotten better. But it's still not good enough."

Elsa huffs in frustration, but before she has a chance to ask what Yelana meant, the older woman reaches over and pulls the telegraph key from the wireless. "What are you doing?"

Yelana does not answer her, picking up a screwdriver to further dismantle the set. Elsa watches in confusion as it is torn piece by piece, screws and bolts clattering on the floor. The other girls watch in silence, stunned by the older woman's actions.

Without any instruction, Elsa stands from her desk, beginning to collect pieces from under the table as Yelana tears apart the machine Elsa had worked with from the beginning. As the older woman finishes, she glances back at the blonde.

"Put it back together."

"I-I'm sorry?" Elsa stutters, her brows furrowing in confusion and anger.

"You have ten minutes to put it back together again." Yelana walks away from the young woman without another word. Elsa stares at the pieces of the wireless, tears threatening to form in her eyes in humiliation. She sits back in her seat, not wanting to cry in front of the various girls staring at her.

She tries to recall the manual she studied at the beginning of her wireless training. But is unable to remember any of the instructions to place the machine back together.

"You need to start here." A voice startles Elsa out of her trance. Honeymaren is by her side, holding up a panel so Elsa could reattach the baseplate.

"You don't have to help me," Elsa says, noticing Yelana staring at the two of them with interest.

"I do. If you were to leave this place, I'd go insane." The brunette insists, her eyes boring into Elsa's. "Screw the piece back into place."

Elsa nods, screwing the baseplate into place. As she works to reassemble the machine, Honeymaren hands pieces back to her, instructing the blonde how to put together the radio again. Humiliation floods through Elsa as she puts together the device, but it helps with Honeymaren by her side.

With the Haudenosaunee woman's help, the machine is fixed within the time-limited set by Yelana. Elsa glances at Honeymaren, offering the woman a small smile in thanks. Her eyes drift back to the radio, hoping to God it would transmit.

Holding her breath, she taps the telegraph key. A quiet click resounds through her ears, much to the young woman's relief as the code she entered registers. It works.

Elsa looks up in a moment of triumph. For the first time in her life, she can prove someone wrong, that they are wrong about her. But Yelana is no longer in the room. Glancing back at the radio, Elsa feels tears in her eyes once again.

"Why does she hate me so much?" She whispers, clenching her fists on her thighs. Her face hovering over her lap, her chest constricts. It was a question that she frequently asked herself as a child.

"Hey," Honeymaren calls, placing her hand on Elsa's back. "It's not personal. Come on, sweetheart." The brunette woman guides Elsa out of her seat, offering excuses to the instructor as they leave the room.

The two women ignore the curious looks of the men they pass in the corridor as they meander through the hall towards the washroom. As they enter the women's bathroom, Elsa leans against the wall, burying her face in her hands.

Honeymaren rushes towards the sink, grabbing a towel and wetting it with warm water. She rings out the cloth, ignoring how the water burns her hands as she brings the fabric back to Elsa.

"Look at me," Honeymaren commands, but she doesn't touch Elsa, allowing the other woman to pull her hands away from her face. As Elsa's hands fall from her face to her sides, Honeymaren steps forward, wiping the blonde's face with the warm cloth.

"Y-you don't have to." Elsa hiccups, suppressing the urge to sigh as the warm cloth touches her face. Honeymaren offers the other woman a small smile, continuing to wipe at Elsa's face.

"I'm sure it isn't personal," Honeymaren states, pulling the cloth away from the blonde's face.

"W-what?"

"In class, you asked, 'why does she hate me so much?" The brunette explains, walking back toward the sink to warm the cloth once again. "I don't think it's personal. It's her job to be harsh with us and ensure we know what we're doing."

"But we don't know what we are doing!" Elsa snaps, not noticing the way Honeymaren flinches at her outburst. "I don't even know why I'm being yelled at because I don't know what it is I am supposed to be doing."

"I know." Honeymaren quietly responds, the warm cloth still in her hands as she stands by the sink. "None of this makes sense, and I know you want to return home. But I believe that whatever it is we are doing here is important."

"I…I just know if I can do this anymore. This morning I was certain of myself, and now…I just don't know." Elsa sighs, hanging her head once again.

Honeymaren chokes back the urge to yell that every woman in this program feels the same way; no one knew what they were doing and always seemed to disappoint themselves. Huffing in frustration, Honeymaren throws the cloth in the hamper under the sink.

"I understand if you feel that way. Excuse me." The brunette walks towards the door, glancing over her shoulder to Elsa. "I should be going back to class."

Elsa watches in shock as Honeymaren pushes through the door, leaving the young woman alone. Watching the door, Elsa's brows furrow in response, wondering what she could have said to send the other woman away.

Wiping the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, she pushes away from the wall to stand in front of the sink. She turns on taps, holding her hand under the running water until it becomes warm. The young woman splashes her face with water, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

It is still an odd sight to see her face bare, having not worn makeup since she arrived in Scotland. Her eyes are rimmed with red and puffy, indicating she has been crying. She reaches for a new cloth, wetting it with water before pressing the towel against her eyes, hoping to reduce the evidence of her tears.

She wonders if she should pack up now and return home without another word. Leave this place behind and return to everything she knew. Elsa hadn't felt this way since her first week in her training. Back when she was alone and afraid of all that was to come.

Glancing up at herself, Elsa recalls that lonely girl she has been since she was eleven years old. The girl who had to do everything herself and never rely on others because they would always reject or disappoint. Just like her past friends, schoolmates, guys she went on dates with, her parents.

Everyone…except Anna. And now, Honeymaren. Honeymaren, who had spent so much time making sure Elsa endured and succeeded in this place. Yet…she had never done anything for the brunette. She owed it to her to continue. With a deep breath, Elsa discards the towel as she decides it is time to return to class. Her eyes are still puffy from her tears as she withdraws from the sink, uncaring about it at this point. She steps towards the door, slowly crossing the threshold as she looks down at herself.

"It isn't personal." A voice beside the ladies' washroom nearly startles Elsa out of her skin. The blonde glances to the right, Yelana standing against the wall with a cigarette held between her fingers.

"Then, why me? I know for a fact that the girl next to me is doing worse." Elsa huffs, frustration building up inside of her once again.

"Because I know you're capable of doing better," Yelana explains, taking a drag of her cigarette. The younger woman watches the smoke bellow towards the ceiling, almost casting a fog over the lighting. "I spent two weeks in Oxford watching for you and talking to your professors about you. You're smart, Miss. Rendelle, I know you can do better."

"You're not going to ask me to leave?" Elsa inquires. She had been certain only moments ago that she would be dismissed.

Yelana shrugs, "Not unless you want to leave. You would be free to, no more training early in the mornings, no more ciphers. Go home to your sister and work in a shop for the rest of the summer."

Elsa doesn't respond right away. Instead, her gaze goes to the ground, examining her military issue boots. "I want to stay."

"Alright." Yelana comments, her tone giving no indication of the small smile crossing her features. "Go back to the lecture hall and complete your lessons for the day. I'll talk to your instructor, but I want you to stay behind, and we'll work on your wirelss."

"Why?"

"You need more practice. From everything that I've seen in your reports, you're nearly excelling in every training aspect except the wireless. You need to excel with the radio. Any mistake could immediately jeopardize the SOE and forfeit your own life." Yelana explains, taking another drag of her smoke.

"Honeymaren says that the average life expectancy is 6 weeks for a wireless transmitter. Is that true?" Elsa questions. Forgetting the rule, Yelana had snapped at her during their first meeting: never ask questions.

Despite this rule, Yelana nods with a sigh. "We thought that perhaps sending women into the field would be less conspicuous. The men tend to be shot on sight."

"And the women?"

"We don't know yet. We've only had one woman die in our operations; her ship was sunk in the Atlantic." Yelana explains, dropping her cigarette to the hardwood to butt it out. Elsa stares at the action, slightly horrified that the older woman had dropped the smoke onto the floor.

Elsa nods, deciding she had asked enough questions, not wanting to agitate the woman in front of her. "I'll see you after lessons."

"Good luck," Yelana calls as the young woman begins to walk away from her. Elsa meanders down the corridor towards the lecture hall, confident that she can do this.

Everything hurt, her head, stomach and hands. Yelana had drilled her on the wireless all evening. They had even skipped dinner until Elsa got everything correct. The blonde meanders down the hall, exhausted, as she makes her way back to the dormitory.

Elsa pushes open the door to her dormitory, expecting everyone to be settling in for nighttime. As she opens the door, laughter echoes throughout the room. She quickly enters the room, closing the door behind her to avoid the girl's laughter to be heard.

Four of the girls and Honeymaren sit on the ground in front of beds in the back right corner. They sit in a circle, with Honeymaren resting her back against the wall. At the sight of the blonde, the Haudenosaunee woman beams, waving her over to them.

"Elsa! Come join us!" Honeymaren calls across the room. Slowly, Elsa steps towards them, her brow rising as she inches closer.

"What's going on here?" Elsa asks, staring at the girls on the ground, all of them holding mugs. The youngest girl, Beth’s, cheeks are flushed while Diana slowly sips from the cup.

Marie stares up at Elsa with a grin, reaching behind her pulling out a clear bottle filled with a clear liquid. Elsa's mouth nearly falls open at the reveal. "I got us a bottle of gin!"

"How?" The blonde gawks, excitedly stepping into the middle of the circle and taking a seat next to Honeymaren against the wall as she grabs the bottle.

It isn't good gin but is probably better than most can get in these current conditions.

Marie takes the bottle back, whistling at one of the other girls, Joy to hand her the last empty mug. The dark-haired girl stretches across the circle, passing the white cup to Marie. She uncorks the bottle, the pop echoing through the room, before pouring two ounces into the mug.

"You're rather generous." Elsa comments, taking the mug into her grasp.

"It will probably be the last time we can do something like this, so why not splurge a bit." Marie shrugs, pouring herself some more liquor.

Elsa takes a sip, enjoying the taste of pine in her mouth as the liquor trickles down her throat; she hadn't had gin in a very long time. Honeymaren brushes her index finger against the back of Elsa's hand, slowly and lingering for a moment.

"How did things with Yelana go?" The brunette inquires, barely above a whisper as the other girls begin to converse.

"Good, I nearly expected her to take out a ruler and hit me across the knuckles. But it went well. I think I've gotten the hang of it." Elsa states, smiling at her friend. "Thank you for taking me down this afternoon. And I’m sorry, I'm going to stay."

"Of course." Honeymaren leans in, touching her shoulder to Elsa's briefly. "And I'm glad you're staying."

"I am too." Elsa's gaze remains locked in Honeymaren's, resisting to urge to lean against the other woman. She clears her throat, glancing back to her drink before taking another sip.

As the night continues, the women get slightly tipsier as Marie becomes more liberal with her pours, having cut Beth off at round three. The women chat about their lives back home, although they are not supposed to.

Alexandra turns to Elsa, having noticed that neither the blonde nor Honeymaren have spoken about their lives. "What about you two? Any guys for you back home?"

Elsa hesitates to answer, unsure what to say. But Honeymaren speaks first, "Nah, I don't have time for any of that back home." Everyone looks to Elsa, waiting expectantly.

"Well, um…there is a guy back in Oxford who I went on a date with," Elsa explains, not noticing the way Honeymaren's eyes widen and brows rise slightly at the information.

"What's his name?" Marie asks, rather eagerly due to non-existent her romantic life.

"His name is…. David. He was in my civil law class, and we've only been on one date, but I-I don't know." Elsa shrugs.

"Is he handsome?" Beth leans forward, bumping against Alexandra on accident, earning a glare from the ebony-haired woman.

Elsa hesitates, unsure how to answer that, but everyone stares at her with undivided attention. "Y-yes, he is rather handsome, I suppose."

"So, what are you unsure of?" Honeymaren asks, her gaze downcast to her bare feet and voice flat. Elsa glances at her friend, her chest tightening at the other woman's disassociation of this conversation.

"Well…it was something he said on our first date." Elsa's brows knit together as she recalls the memory. "He implied that I was only in university to get a…MRS degree."

A series of groans emit from each of the girls, Joy and Marie throwing their heads back in exasperation. Only Beth stares at Elsa with some confusion, cocking her head slightly.

"W-what is that?" The slightly inebriated girl asks.

"An MRS degree," Alexandra states, pronouncing every syllable for the youngest girl to clue in.

The blank look Beth responds causes Joy to sigh. "It is the idea that women only go to university to find a husband."

"Oooooh, I get it." Beth throws her head back, causing her to lose her balance. With a yelp, the young woman falls onto her back. Alexandra rolls her eyes at the 18-year-old, clearly growing frustrated with Beth.

"If I were you, there wouldn't be a second date upon your arrival home." Marie takes a sip of her gin, finishing the contents of her cup. A groan escapes from her as she attempts to pour herself another helping, only to find the bottle of gin now empty.

"Yeah, I don't think there will be." Elsa shrugs her shoulders, trying to seem disappointed but ultimately couldn't find it in herself to care.

"Well, ladies." Marie sighs, slapping her thigh. "it seems we should turn in for the night before Madame Bisset enters the room to check on us."

Elsa glances at the clock hanging over the door, 10:15. Bisset would be in the room to call lights out in nearly 15 minutes. By that time, every girl in the room would be required to be ready for bedtime.

Joy and Alexandra help Beth from the ground, escorting the girl to her bed on the other side of the room before retreating to their own. Each girl carries their mugs to their bedside tables. It was the only piece of dishware they were allowed in their rooms for water.

Elsa opens her trunk, grabbing a clean nightgown from the chest and discarding the garment at the foot of her bed. With her back turned against the other women, Elsa slowly unbuttons her issued shirt. She tosses the shirt into the truck, rolling her neck as she stands in only her khaki pants and bra.

She had gotten over the fear of changing in front of others in her fourth week, it was a frigid night, and Elsa had been exhausted. She hadn't cared to even think as she stripped down into her undergarments and her nightgown in front of everyone. Elsa hadn't looked back since.

Her pants and socks join her shirt in the truck, closing the lid as they fall to the bottom of the chest. She slips on her nightgown, shoving her arms through the long sleeves before reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. Shimmying the support off her shoulders and reaching up into her sleeves to free her arms of the bra.

The undergarment falls to the ground as Elsa bends to grab the garment, her locket swinging away from her chest as she bends over. She places her bra on the top of her chest as she stands back up.

With a sigh, she settles herself on her bed, leaning back on her hands while looking up at the ceiling. The mattress sinks next to her, pulling the blonde's gaze from the roof to the figure sitting beside her.

Honeymaren sits next to Elsa in her nightgown, her chestnut hair free from its braid and hanging freely to her lower back. As if it hadn't been cut in a long time. Elsa resists to urge to reach out and touch it, despite wanting to; she doesn't trust herself.

The brunette's gaze rests on the locket around Elsa's neck, staring at it curiously with furrowed brows. "Is there a photo of your beau in there?" Honeymaren points at the silver heart with her forefinger.

Elsa looks down at herself, placing her hand over it. "No, it isn't. I don't have a beau. As I said earlier, it was only one date."

"You would be surprised how forward many men can be," Honeymaren states, leaning back on Elsa's bed with her mug in her hand. "Whose photo is it?"

The blonde smiles, reaching behind her neck to unclasp the necklace to hold it out to Honeymaren. The brunette places her cup on the bed, resting it against her thigh as she takes the locket, inspecting the roses engraved on the outside.

Upon opening it, Honeymaren sees a photo of a girl, freckles spattered across her face and hair braided into two plaits, her eyes wide as she smiles for the camera. "She's beautiful."

"My sister, Anna," Elsa explains, watching closely as Honeymaren examines the photo of her sister. "She lives away from me in London. Last I heard, she had gotten a job working in a factory."

Honeymaren reaches over, handing the necklace back to Elsa. "You must miss her."

"I…" Elsa trails off, unsure how to answer. "I really do miss her. We haven't been close since we were children. But I was hoping to mend that the week I was called away."

"Perhaps when all of this is over." Honeymaren offers her a reassuring smile, placing her hand on Elsa's thigh.

"I hope so." Elsa nods, staring at her sister's photo once more before clasping the necklace on once again. Honeymaren slides to the edge of the bed, standing abruptly and reaching across her bed towards her nightstand. The brunette opens the drawer grabbing an item.

Honeymaren sits on her bed across from Elsa, glancing down at the item in her hand as she hands it to the other woman. Elsa takes the flat object inspecting it closely. A photograph of a tall, slim young man, grinning ear to ear as his dark hair falls into his eyes.

"My brother." Honeymaren offers with a smile, staring at the photograph.

"He looks like you." Elsa comments, handing the photo back to the brunette.

"Not really," Honeymaren shrugs. "I'm much better looking than he is." The two women giggle at the comment, staring up at one another once again

"Is he involved in the whole racket as well?" Elsa inquires.

"No. He's only seventeen. I know he'd like to be, but if anything were to happen to him, I don't know what our grandfather would do." Honeymaren explains, her gaze falling back to the photograph.

"Your grandfather relies on your brother?"

Honeymaren nods in response. "He does. But I know Ryder would take any opportunity to leave the reservation. He's been trying to leave since we left school."

"My sister's always been like that too." Elsa comments. "After our parent's died in '41, she was to remain with a close family friend in Harrogate. It's where we went to boarding school, but instead, she packed up and left for London. She's only seventeen and hasn't even finished secondary school."

"Ryder almost dropped out, but the government demanded we attend. We went to a boarding school…at least that's what they called it, but he hardly could manage the militaristic style of it all."

"Yet he wants to enlist?" Elsa inquires, her brows knitting together.

Honeymaren shrugs, her brow rising slightly. "He wants an adventure, leave the place controlled by a government that stol-required us to leave home for their schools. Being paid to go to Europe doesn't seem like a horrible option."

The door to the dormitory bursts opens, revealing Madame Bisset on the other side of the door. Her hands on her hips as her eyes scan across the room.

"Au lit maintenant!" The older woman's voice resounds throughout the room as she flicks off the lights. Elsa shifts her legs onto the mattress, slipping under her woollen blankets as she settles in for the night.

"Goodnight, Elsa," Honeymaren whispers to the other woman. Elsa turns her head toward the other woman, staring at her in the dark.

"Goodnight, Maren," Elsa whispers back, staring at the outline of Honeymaren's figure. As she reflects on their conversation, Elsa can't help but be more curious about the woman's upbringing. Wanting to learn more about her closest friend's life.

Author’s note: So the entire thing about the wireless radios was something I read from a novel over the summer, the issue is I spend a lot of time reading novels like this over the summer so I need to go back and find which it is from. But just wanted to state that isn't my own knowledge it came from a book.

The Shakespeare poem is actually used in that book as well for ciphers and I was gonna change it but was like FUCK The St. Crispin's Day Speech is perfect (Band of Brothers)

Thank you for reading!!!

#kristanna #elsamaren #anna #elsa #kristoff #honeymaren #Rise to Me #WWII AU #frozen #myfics

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Text

the shape of you

(aka, Jake and Amy’s first night *together*, post-Mac) - rated NSFW. 💗

the shape of you

With her fingers gripped around the base of a washcloth Amy Santiago wipes her bathroom mirror clear of all remaining condensation, casting a discerning eye over the reflection that stares back at her as she drops the towel into the nearby hamper.

It feels like it was only yesterday - but realistically, had been close to six years ago - since she had stood in this very position and prepared for her first date with Jake. It was a lapse of time that felt as though it had passed in a blink, and tonight there was a part of Amy that longed for the simpler times; when her biggest concern had been how to style her hair, second only to which of the two recently purchased dresses she should wear.

(Her final decision to wear her hair down, based purely in the hope that Jake’s fingers may end up running through her curls, had clearly been an excellent one - and one that she definitely thanked herself for making later that evening.)

She still remembers the nerves she’d felt that night (that kind of thrumming that seems to run through your veins when you just know you’re on the verge of something amazing), remembers the feeling of the kiss he gave her outside the restaurant. The way the scent of him had filled her senses as he moved closer, pushing her gently against the exterior with careful hands on either side of her hips. The scratch of the brick against her lower back until his hands moved between her and the stone, simultaneously protecting her from harm and drawing her into his arms. The soft sigh she’d let out as their tongues brushed up against each other … the way her body felt like it was melting into his embrace.

It was the kind of kiss that made Amy forget all the rules (made her forget anything other than how hard her heart was beating against his ribcage) - the kind of kiss that confirmed for her, even if she wasn’t completely ready to admit it - that this thing between them was more than just ‘like’. The rest, as one would say, is history - and while Amy knows that her and Jake’s love story may never compare to the works of Austen or Brontë, theirs will always remain her favourite.

And now, two toothbrushes live in their holder by the sink, her perfume sits comfortably beside the same brand of cologne from that evening, and a series of colourful turtle decals are stuck to the side of their bathtub (supervised from above by the requisite rubber ducky). Clearly, a lot had changed - but the one thing that seems to have made a return appearance from their first night together, is the kaleidoscope of butterflies that have taken up residence in her stomach.

Tonight was Date Night for her and Jake - their first since she’d given birth to Mac close to seven weeks ago - and in true Santiago style, Amy had spent what free time she’d had over the past few days researching the topic of postpartum sex. Standing in front of the mirror now, with her favourite black lacy underwear hiding underneath her robe and far too much awareness of the dark circles under her eyes, Amy was - for the first time in her life - regretting all the studying she had done.

It had been hard not to get lost amongst it all - articles on episiotomies (a side effect of childbirth that, thankfully, she had managed to avoid), scores of medical advice on when is the right time and endless testimonials from other new mothers, most talking about their total loss of sex drive or lack of primal response to their partner’s advances. And even though logically, Amy knows that there is little to no chance of that happening to her and Jake (their sex life pre-baby, by all accounts, had always been healthy - especially so during her pregnancy), it had been enough to plant a seed of doubt in her mind - one that seems to have flourished into something far greater as the hours wore on.

It had, after all, only been a few weeks ago that her underwear had been made of mesh, and housed icepacks to aid the healing of her nether regions. Even less since her bra had needed to fight for space amongst the lactation pads that held court, replaced on the regular as she and Mac tried to figure out some kind of routine when it came to feeding. For a while there, the sexiest thing that either her or Jake could say to the other was ‘you keep sleeping, I’ll take this round’; and now there was a dress hanging in their wardrobe that was a size larger than normal, and a set of stripes on her stomach that remained a constant reminder that things were not as they used to be.

Amy’s hands fiddle with the contents of her makeup bag, toying with the curved edge of her favourite shade of lipstick as her mind continues to race. It was insane, to think this way: and if Jake’s attentiveness to her since giving birth to Mac was anything to go by - his clear attraction to her at all stages of their relationship, actually - her doubts were going to be unfounded.

It had, in fact, only been three days ago that both she and Jake had miraculously woken up before their son … and sleepy morning cuddles had turned into a heavy makeout session, evolving into something a little more before Mac’s indignant ‘I’ve just woken up’ cry filled their apartment and pulled everything to a stop. (Their plans for this evening had been made that very afternoon, with both of them agreeing that perhaps a little bit of ‘Mommy and Daddy time’ was needed.)

Deep down, Amy knew that the bond that she and Jake shared was stronger than anything either had ever known - but the doubts still lingered all the same, and there was only one person she wanted to talk about them with.

As if on cue, “Amy Santiago! Date time! Time to date!” cuts through their previously quiet apartment, and Amy grins into the mirror as she hears her husband’s keys land in the bowl next to hers, finally returning from dropping Mac off at Grandma Karen’s for his overnight visit. Already, she can feel the tension begin to leave her shoulders, calling out a greeting in return as she listens to his footsteps move around their kitchen.

Their home seems strangely quiet without Mac’s presence - largely, because Jake wasn’t singing or talking out his actions as he went, like he did so often when carrying Mac around - and she’s just about to call Jake into the bathroom when his singing voice begins to float down the hallway.

“I think we’re alone now …” the somehow still familiar melody of the 80s song builds in volume as Jake makes his way towards her, and Amy lets out a giggle. It’s a song that a 10 year old version of Amy, resplendent in some version of taffeta, would have absolutely danced to at a cousin’s quinceanera. And while her younger self might be disappointed that her husband didn’t turn out to be a version of Magnum P.I., the Amy that looks back at her in the mirror today, laughing loudly at the man walking towards her, knows that there couldn’t ever be a man better for her than Jake Peralta.

(Moustaches are overrated, anyway. They’re a treasure trove of crumbs, and leave you with a permanent pash rash. Great in theory, but a little morning stubble is much more enjoyable.)

His smile is beyond bright as he passes through the bathroom door, a glass of wine held high in each hand as he hums the last few bars of Tiffany’s greatest (and perhaps, only) hit. “Hey babe - wow, good lord you are gorgeous.”

Feeling the tip of her ears heat up at Jake’s statement, Amy smiles at her husband through the mirror, busying herself with a tube of mascara and quickly changing the subject. “How did Mac go?”

Moving further into the room, Jake leans in to drop a kiss to Amy’s shoulder before placing her glass of wine on the counter. “Uh, it seemed to go okay?” Leaning his weight against the wall beside him, he takes a sip before continuing. “Is it weird how much I missed him, like, the instant I closed Mom’s front door?”

Pulling away from her reflection, Amy turns to face her husband with an understanding grin. “Not at all. I felt like a part of me was missing the second the two of you left an hour ago.” Shrugging, she gives him a sheepish look. “Almost texted you to bring him home immediately, coz I wasn’t sure I could actually go without seeing him for a night.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes total sense, because I literally almost turned the car around twice.”

“Ugh, we really are just lovestruck parents, aren’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely. But, I have to say … I’m also really glad we’re getting to do this.”

Amy’s responding smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and the knots in her stomach tighten as she notices Jake pick up on the difference.

His gaze is careful, holding onto the silence for a beat. “Ames?”

Her fingers fiddle with the lid of the mascara, lifting and dropping the wand exactly the way she’d been taught not to do, and suddenly all the words she wants to say have jumbled up at the tip of her tongue. Leaning forward, Jake stretches out his hand to reach for her wrist, and she drops her cosmetics back into the bag without hesitation - the need for her husband’s reassurance too strong to ignore. The warmth of his palm, tied in with the coolness of his wedding band, is a welcome distraction from the uncertainty running through her mind.

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

Amy nods, knitting her eyebrows as she lifts her shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. “I … might have spent a little time the last couple of days, researching into what sex can be like after having a baby.”

Dropping his bottom lip slightly, Jake nods in understanding. “It wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t. But, babe … you know that we don’t have to do anything like that tonight if you don’t feel ready, right? We can just go to dinner, and fall asleep on the couch if you want to.”

Squeezing his hand, Amy is quick to nod in response. “I do know, and I also know that I’ve been looking forward to tonight. Like .. a LOT.” Throwing a wink, Jake squeezes her hand in kind. “I just …” Pulling her fingers out of Jake’s grip, Amy pulls the already closed lapels of her robe tighter. “There are still so many things happening to my body that I don’t have a lot of control over, and I can’t help but worry a little that it’s only a matter of time before …”

“Before?”

Amy’s chin falls to her chest, folding her arms in front before resting her weight against the bathroom sink. Despite all of the reasons why she knew these fears to be irrational, they weren’t showing any signs of going away - and if there’s anyone that can help clear her mind, it’s Jake. Slowly, she raises her head to watch his reaction. “We’ve always had such a great relationship when it comes to being open and affectionate, and the sex - well, you know how good the sex is, but … I don’t know, what if .... what if things happen, and that changes?”

Jake’s reply is so quick - so factual that it makes her heart quicken at the simplicity of it all. “Then we work at it.” Pushing himself off from the wall, Jake comes to stand in front of Amy, tipping one finger underneath her chin and lifting her face towards his. Bright brown eyes stare into hers, so full of sincerity she wants to cry. “We grow, and we change with it. There’s nothing that we can’t overcome, Ames. Nothing.”

It’s everything that she already knew to be true, but felt far more authentic when coming from her husband. She’d felt a little ridiculous to be saying any of it, but it would seem that even the securest of relationships needed a little reassurance now and them. Trying her best to ignore the tears that are threatening to fall from behind her eye, Amy raises her brows. “You really think so?”

“I know so. Babe.” His hands move smoothly, wrapping themselves around her waist and locking at her lower back. “You’re my best friend, the greatest person I’ve ever known - and the most sexiest, might I add - plus, the mother of my child. It’s just not possible for any single universe to exist, where I won’t love you forever.” Leaning in, Jake rests his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath. “We’ve had to overcome so many obstacles, and nothing has beaten us. You’re the love of my life, Amy Santiago, and there is literally not a chance that anything will ever change that.”

It’s all it takes for the threatened tears to begin to fall, and Amy tries her best to blink them away as she stretches onto her toes, lifting herself up to meet Jake’s lips for a kiss. “I love you, Jake. And I’m sorry for all the crazy talk, I just - ”

“Ames.” Jake interrupts, a solemn look falling onto his face. “I’m always going to want to hear how you’re feeling. I know you’d do the same for me, and I don’t want you to think there’s anything that you can’t tell me, okay?”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Amy affirms with a kiss, sighing softly into Jake’s mouth as it deepens. It’s felt like so long since they’ve been able to do this - to just stand and kiss for no other reason than to be close to one another. His eyes are glazed by the time she pulls away, and it’s enough to spark a tiny fire in her heart, and so she leans in for another.

Jake’s voice is muffled slightly when he speaks, waiting for a break in kisses to speak. “We’re going to be late for the restaurant if we’re not careful.”

In what is perhaps the easiest decision she’s had to make in a long time, Amy tightens her grip around Jake’s neck, pulling him in for another hot kiss before whispering against his supple lips - “Fuck the restaurant. And please, fuck me.”

She feels Jake’s hands grip her butt in an instant, digging in as he lifts her with ease. Her legs wrap around his waist, a move that has been done a thousand times before but tonight feels so new, his responding moan sending a wave of shivers up and down her spine as he shuffles them towards the doorway.

There’s a crib half adorned with muslin wraps and a colourful play mat on the floor near their bed for Jake to dodge, but he moves their joined bodies with a practiced ease, never pausing to adjust his grip until Amy can feel the softness of their pillows beneath her head.

The smile he gives her as he hovers above is so soft, the adoration clear as she moves to shove his hoodie from his shoulders. It falls to the floor as his nimble fingers work on the knot of her robe, letting the silk slip through with ease, and Amy can feel her heart begin to race as the material falls away. She knows that it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before - between marriage and motherhood, there literally isn’t a part of her body that Jake doesn’t know like the back of his hand - but she’s still conscious that the bra is a little tighter than it used to be, and the softness of her post-birth tummy remains.

And then Jake sighs, his eyes raking over her body as he whispers, “You’re so goddamn sexy, Santiago,” and suddenly, Amy doesn’t feel like a new mother with formula in her hair and suitcases under her eyes. Suddenly, she feels like a woman - a beautiful, desirable woman who somehow managed to capture the heart of the sweetest man to ever walk the earth. His hands wrap around her waist, lifting her middle towards his as his legs slot in between hers, and the feeling of her husband’s passionate kisses is something that Amy never wants to go without again.

It doesn’t take long before the rest of their clothing has landed on the floor - a sense of urgency to their movements is something they’ve gotten used to, now that the likelihood of being interrupted has become so high - and it isn’t until Jake begins a trail of kisses down Amy’s jawline that she takes a calming breath. She feels giddy, like it’s been far longer than seven weeks since they’ve been able to be together like this (eight, if you counted the last time they had sex before Mac’s early arrival), and the feeling of her husband’s hard dick nudging against her thigh was making her crave more, and she wanted it NOW.

The scent of Jake washes over her as his head dips lower - same as it did all those years ago, only now the scent felt less like cologne and more like home - and her fingers dive into the curls of his hair as his tongue circles the outside of her nipple with the careful consideration of a man who has watched her wince in pain some early mornings. His teeth scrape along the underside of her breast, the feeling of his breath hot against her skin as he moves to her left to repeat. With her free hand, Amy traces the length of his back, holding him close as her fingers run over the dips and scars that she knows oh so well, feeling her hips thrust up instinctively towards her husband as his reverent kisses move further down her body. She can feel the warmth of her arousal pooling in her folds, and it genuinely feels as though she might combust if something doesn’t happen soon.

Jake lifts his head on the way down, the desire in his eyes obvious as he settles himself at the end of their bed, caressing the outside of her thighs as they settle on his shoulders. His voice is gruff, the rough sound of a turned on Jake making a welcome return to her ears, and Amy grins. “Okay, babe?”

Her heart is racing with both anticipation and nerves, but Amy nods anyway. She knows that things might be a little different (pushing a tiny human out of your body kinda has that affect), but she also knows the way she’s feeling right now, part of her might just fall apart completely if she doesn’t get to feel Jake’s mouth work it’s magic on her.

Thankfully, he doesn’t make her wait any longer.

He starts by rubbing the tip of his nose against her clit, a slow and deliberate up-and-down motion that ends far too quickly, looking up at her with a devious grin as he turns his head to place a tender kiss on the inside of her thigh. Amy huffs in dissatisfaction, narrowing her eyes in silent reproach, only to throw her head back into the pillow as Jake immediately relocates to where she needs him the most. His gentle tongue sweeps over her clit with each kiss, lapping up her arousal as the tip of his finger circles her entrance.

“Ames,” Jake whispers, and if it wasn’t for the feeling of his voice vibrating against her over-sensitive body, Amy would swear she’d imagined it. “Ames, look up for me.”

His fingers, now moving in a circular motion around her folds; are making it very hard for Amy to concentrate on anything right now, and it takes another breath or two before she can lift her head. Jake smiles as their eyes lock, holding her gaze as he speaks.

“I love every single part of you, Ames. This right here?” He pauses, dropping a kiss on just the outside edge of where she’s craving him before looking up again. “It shows me how much you want me. How much you want to be with me, and it's so hot, it drives me crazy.” His tongue flicks out, drawing a long, thick line against her folds, and her pelvis arches up towards his touch as his fingers slowly enter. “You’ve literally spilt yourself open to give birth to our child, and you’d do it all again in a heartbeat.” Carefully, they begin to pump in and out of her, settling into a gentle rhythm that sets all of Amy’s nerve endings on fire. “You’re a goddess, Amy Santiago. And I love you more than I can say.”

“I - unhhh! - I love you too, Jake.” Her reply is breathless, broken in two as Jake’s tongue returns to her clit, settling into a pattern that increases in intensity - the way he does whenever he knows Amy is about two seconds away from losing all control. Her left hand travels down until her fingers are running through his hairline, holding him in place with her gentle grip.

“I’m never not going to want you, babe.” His breath is hot against her skin, the tiny stubble of his five o’clock shadow ticking her inner thigh as he deviates to place a series of kisses before leading straight back to her centre. There’s a slight crook to his fingers now, as they continue to move in and out at a steady pace, and it’s enough for both of them to moan their assent. “So good, Ames.”

“Oh god babe, right there - yes!” Jake’s mouth returns to her clit, suckling on her nub as his tongue continues its assault, and its all Amy needs to feel before her mouth falls open in ecstasy, a silent scream of satisfaction falling short in her mouth as her right arm flails up to grip their metal headboard, desperate for something to ground her before her entire body begins to convulse. It had been so. long. since she’d been able to feel like that … so long since there hadn’t been anything between them, and she’d (almost) forgotten just how damn hard it made her heart race.

(From his position at the base of the bed, Jake wraps his hand around his erection and gives himself a few solid strokes at the sight of his wife in post-orgasmic bliss, already certain that the image is going to stay in his memory for a long time to come.)

Amy’s left hand digs into Jake’s hair as she comes down from the high, her fingers carding through the messy half-curls in that way that seems to relax both herself and her husband every time. “You’re always going to want me?”

His gaze grows soft, and after leaving another kiss against her thigh Jake raises up, the comforter around Amy shifting slightly as he moves towards her. The familiar feeling of his bare skin against hers calms Amy’s to no end as Jake hovers above, all the love in the world shining in his eyes as he leans down and presses his lips to hers. “Always.”

Shifting slightly underneath her husband, Amy moves to grip his hard cock in her hand, following the length of his shaft with her palm as Jake moans above her. She watches as his teeth dig into his lower lip, biting down harder as she increases her pace, and she tightens her hold before releasing him completely as his hips lift slightly away.

“Don’t wanna come until I’m inside you,” he whispers, pulling her in for the deepest of kisses before settling in-between her thighs and lining himself up. Amy feels herself tense up, the tiniest sliver of apprehension remaining as her legs widen slightly, and Jake rests his weight on his forearms above her before entering just the tip, pulling out and waiting for her cue to return.

Lifting her pelvis in invitation, Amy holds onto Jake’s gaze as he enters another inch inside her; holding for a moment this time before pulling out completely, returning again with another longer stroke. It’s something that he’s never done before, but was actually the perfect way for Amy to feel reacquainted, and as he repeats the process inch by inch, she gradually feels the last tendrils of tension begin to fade.

Finally, their bodies are hard up against each other, and Amy can’t help but let out a heavy breath as the intimacy of it all envelops her.

“Hey.” His thumb traces her cheek, following the contour of her cheekbone, and it’s definitely not the hormones that are going to make her cry. With eyes so soft Amy could almost dive into them, Jake gives her a tender smile. “I’ve missed you.”

Amy’s hands trace the subtle lines along his arms and shoulders before resting on either side of Jake’s neck, dipping her fingertips into the base of his hairline as she returns his smile. “I’ve missed you too, babe. I love you.”

Jake responds with a kiss, the press of his lips against hers so loving and familiar that Amy cranes her neck to chase for more when it ends. He gives her a knowing smile, nudging the tip of his nose against hers before diving in for another, moving his hips in careful thrusts as his tongue sweeps gently against hers.

Logistically, Amy knows that the feeling of togetherness and completion is what making love is all about - but still, as Jake moves above her and she finds her body responding to his steady rhythm, she finds herself overwhelmed by the emotions washing over her. There were times as a new mother when her body had not felt like her own - like she was merely a walking vehicle for any and all of her son’s needs - but laying here with Jake, feeling all of the other parts of her body awaken at his touch, made her feel so alive.

In her husband’s arms, Amy feels incredible like an irresistible woman, like the goddess he’s always insisted she is. And, most importantly - she feels loved.

Jake’s pace increases, his crazily sexy eyes locking onto hers as he lets out a breathless moan, and Amy feels her lower body instinctively lifting towards his to meet his thrusts. “Oh god, babe … you feel incredible.” Amy’s shoulder blades dig into the mattress as she presses her chest against her husband’s in response, elongating her neck and letting out a satisfied sigh as Jake dips down to lick the sweat off her skin.

It’s his breathless version of her name a moment later that makes Amy break out into a grin, tightening her grip around his lower waist and digging her fingernails into his butt. Jake takes the cue, speeding up again as Amy’s legs tighten around him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder before shifting her weight and rolling him onto his back.

The movement makes his cock slide almost completely out of her, a situation Amy is quick to rectify, throwing him a sly grin as she sidles down. Jake’s teeth sink into his lower lip as their bodies join back together again, a reaction to the sensations that Amy finds herself mirroring, stretching out her spine as she flips her hair back and settles her weight on her husband’s thighs.

It was a moment just like this that she had been afraid of - being in front of her husband in all her naked glory, highlighting all the newly marked curves of her body with no chance for cover. But one look at his face - at the sheer amount of adoration and attraction she finds there, made it clear that when it comes to being loved by somebody like Jake Peralta, there was never going to be anything to fear.

And so she moves, clenching the muscles in her upper thighs as she rises and falls, dipping her pelvis back and forth so that she can really feel every part of him. Jake’s hands fall to her legs, fingertips digging into her soft flesh as he moans beneath her, sliding up to her stomach as she leans forward to rest one hand on his chest. He grins up at her, tracing gentle circles against her skin with his thumbs as he pumps his hips up to meet her every time, and maybe this is the hormones but Amy swears she’s about to either laugh or cry. It’s only taken a moment, but one smile from her husband, and all of her apprehensions are gone completely.

Amy feels the stretch of her ribcage with every staggered breath she takes, gripping Jake’s lower legs from behind as she sets their movements into a steady rhythm. “Babe … Jake. Ohh, I’ve missed this.”

She lets out a moan as she feels Jake’s hand slide up her slick skin, moving towards one breast and cupping her there, carefully circling her nipple with his thumb while his other hand moves to replicate on the other side. It feels incredible, her husband’s touch - especially when coupled with the feeling of his erection inside her - and there’s a breathless affirmation of the same bubbling out of her throat when his hands move to her lower ribs, holding her steady as he lifts his back off of the mattress and pulls Amy in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy, the messy kind of kiss lovers give each other when their bodies are moving at too steady a pace for it to be anything but, but Jake takes the chance to bend his knees behind, silently encouraging Amy to lean back slightly as her own legs stretch out behind him. She can feel the pulse of blood rushing back to her upper thighs as her feet join together behind Jake’s back, holding him in place as she leans against his knees and lifts her pelvis up and down at this new angle. It’s perfect - it’s tantalising, especially once her husband’s skilled fingers reach down to play with her clit - and it’s definitely going to make her come.

“I love you so much, Ames. I’m so lucky to have you, you don’t even know,” Jake’s voice is strained, a surefire sign that he himself isn’t far away from completion, and Amy cannot resist the chance to lean forward - looping one arm around his neck and puling him in for another kiss. She loves this man, with everything that she has, and it’s the thought of what they have together that finally pulls her over the edge, crying into his mouth as her second orgasm of the night washes over her. It’s clearly all that Jake has been waiting for, the sound of his own moans mixing with Amy’s as he makes one final push towards release.

It takes a while for either of them to disentangle themselves from their upright position, their mixed gasps for breaths the only sound in the room until Jake pulls himself out of his sex-induced haze, covering the section of Amy’s neck he has access to with kisses as she lets out a satisfied sigh. Her legs tingled (as did some other places), and part of her cannot wait to write her own (highly positive) account of postpartum sex on the forums she’d visited earlier in the week. But there was something she wanted more than that; and as Jake falls back onto the mattress below she follows suit, tucking herself into the juncture of his neck and shoulder - and just like that, things were exactly as they should be again.

There’s still a latent note of exhaustion in Jake’s voice when he speaks, but his tightened grip around Amy’s naked body begs her not to move as he turns slightly to glance at the clock on her nightstand. “You know, if we moved quickly, we could probably still make our reservations … just blame it all on a flat tire or something.”

Sighing into Jake’s chest, Amy shifts impossible closer before shrugging her shoulders half-heartedly. “We could … or, we could order takeout. Eat, talk, have more sex … whatever.”

Twisting his neck slightly, Jake ducks his head down to meet Amy’s lips with a chaste kiss. “It’s official. My wife is a genius.”

In an hour, there will be an extra blanket laid out on top of the bed, and Jake and Amy will alternate cartons of takeout as they talk about everything that’s happened over the last two months. It’ll be another hour before their meals have been cleared away completely; another again before Jake lifts his head off of his resting place on Amy’s abdomen, leaning in for a kiss that definitely leads to Round Two. They’ll end up sleeping the rest of the night away, curled up into each other’s arms as they relish the silence - yet already dreaming of picking their son up in the morning and looking for all the ways he might have grown during his one night away.

But for now, Amy will rest in her husband’s arms, basking in the feeling of his fingertips as they trace lazy patterns on her bare skin. Change, after all, is inevitable. But the world that she and Jake have built - for both themselves and their family - is strong enough to take on anything.

And truthfully, that is all she will ever need.

#this took forever to write ... but I hope you enjoy!#peraltiago smutfic #peraltiago fanfiction #peraltiago fic #post-baby bangin'#my writing #b99fanfic #b99 fic

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minuteminx · 3 years

Text

Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Five: Old Appalachia

Chapter Summary: Charlie's not sure she's cut out for the Commonwealth, but fate thinks otherwise.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“By being natural and sincere, one often can create revolutions without having sought them.” ― Christian Dior

Outskirts of Concord, December 2287

Charlie had always been somewhat of an idealist. She had to be, growing up in bumfuck Appalachia in a family just high enough above the poverty line that the government wasn’t legally required to offer financial assistance. Her dad was an overworked, underpaid line worker in some automotive factory, and despite never once stepping foot in a coal mine, he carried his ancestors’ resentment toward anything and everything “nucular,” as he called it. He’d always pop off with these wild conspiracy theories about atom bombs and the end of times. It seemed laughably prophetic now.

Her mom had stayed at home, reading books to her and her little brother, and promising them they could change the world if they wanted to. It was those words that kept Charlie going, pushed her towards that Ph.D. that had seemed so monumental back then, so important. Now, as she stomped around an irradiated wasteland, caked in blood and aching from head to toe, she realized how fruitless it had all been. All those years training to help other people only to spend over two centuries in cryostasis and wake up unable to even help herself.

Thank God for Preston. She didn’t know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t almost died trying to help him at Concord. She really had no business in a suit of power armor or holding a minigun and fighting a fifteen-foot tall lizard. Even nearly two months later, she couldn’t come up with a single logical reason why she volunteered so readily. Was she now going to throw her life away just because a friendly face asked her to? She laughed at herself. Probably.

Charlie found herself doing a lot of things simply because Preston asked her to. Grueling, difficult tasks like “eating enough,” “staying hydrated,” and “getting a good night’s sleep.” He drove a hard bargain, that Garvey. What did he take her for anyway? Someone stable?

In the past month, he’d been taking time away from the laundry list of other things he had on his plate, just to teach her some excruciatingly basic Commonwealth survival skills. She’d learned the names of all the things that could possibly kill her: Raiders, Gunners, zombie-like creatures called feral ghouls, supermutants, various types of wildlife threats, and radiation. Everything was irradiated, from the food to the water to the thunderstorms . At this rate, she just figured she was either going to die or grow an extra ear on her forehead. It was a tossup.

She’d also asked Preston to help her learn to protect herself. She didn’t like the idea of guns or violence or any of it, but it was foolish to walk through Hell defenseless. He tried so hard to teach her to shoot one of those god awful laser muskets, but it took too long to ready a shot that she was inevitably going to miss anyway. He had eventually given up on trying, and instead placed a 10mm in her hand. It was nicer than the one she’d used in Concord, with glow sights and an extended mag. Apparently Sturges had fixed it up for her. She was beginning to believe there was nothing that man couldn’t do with a roll of duct tape and half an hour.

“MS. CHARLOTTE!”

Charlie jumped as Codsworth abruptly hovered in front of her face. She’d almost forgotten the Mr. Handy unit had accompanied her on an assignment for Preston, out in Lexington. Once she’d shown some proficiency with a weapon, he thought it would be good practice for her to take out a “small” band of Raiders who were troubling a nearby settlement. It was not small, and while she dealt with the issue and convinced the Tenpines settlers to throw their lot in with the Minutemen, Codsworth knew she’d not gotten out of the ordeal unscathed.

“What, Codsworth,” she asked, more annoyed than he deserved.

“Mum! Oh thank goodness you responded,” the robot exclaimed giddily floating about in front of her, “You have been staring off into nothing for the past hour of our journey despite my efforts to entertain you with conversation.”

She had not noticed him speaking once, well, at least not since he’d mentioned Nate and Shaun when they’d passed by the rusty remains of a playground. Maybe she’d tuned him out after that. “Sorry Codsworth. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Are you aware that you are bleeding?”

“What?” Charlie glanced down to the large tear in her vault suit, and the blood pouring from a bullet wound in her thigh. She hadn’t even felt it since she used one of those stimpak syringes. She’d almost forgotten she had it. “ Shit. ”

“Such language, mum! Hardly befitting of a lady of your stature.”

“Find me a lady of any stature who doesn’t curse when she’s been shot in the leg,” Charlie quipped, grunting as she sat down to redress the wound, “Do you still have that gauze you picked up at the plant?”

“Yes, of course,” came his quick reply as he produced a bundle of cleanish gauze in one of his metal arms, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,�� Charlie said, taking the cloth from him and beginning to work, wrapping it tightly around her leg. She just needed something to stop the bleeding until they made it back to Sanctuary. They weren’t too far now, maybe a mile or so from the bridge.

Once she found her amateur wound dressing to be suitable, Charlie continued on back to the settlement, Codsworth prattling on endlessly about the bliss of pre-war life. She understood where he was coming from. That didn’t mean she wanted to hear it.

She stopped suddenly in her tracks when she spotted movement ahead of them, off to the side of the dirt road. It looked like a man in raider leathers, digging for something.

“What is it, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked loudly and without an ounce of tact.

Charlie shushed him, but it was too late, the man had already heard them, rising to his feet and moving his hand to draw his weapon. She didn’t let him have the chance, firing several rounds into his chest before he could. She hated that she was getting good at that.

She approached the body, prone and lifeless, and knelt down, beginning to rifle through his pockets for anything useful: ammo, stimpaks, caps . Yes, caps . If anyone had told her that in the future the formal currency would be Nuka Cola bottle caps, she wouldn’t have tossed so many of them in the recycling bin.

It wasn’t until she looked up that she noticed that there was another body, a young woman lying in a shallow grave also donning the signature raider attire. Her arms were crossed ceremoniously across her chest, hubflowers scattered across and around her body. Charlie looked down at the man she’d just killed and remembered that he had been digging.

She felt sick. In her mind, she conjured an entire tragic scene in which a poor, mourning raider had simply been trying to bury a loved one and was startled by the obnoxious shouting British robot. When he reached for his gun, just a reflex, he’d been shot in the chest by some cagey redhead with an itchy trigger finger. If she’d only paid more attention, she might have noticed sooner and she and Codsworth could have taken a wider arc around the man. He wouldn’t have had to die.

Pocketing her looted items, she holstered her gun and bent down to pick up the shovel, starting first by filling in the grave of the lady raider. It was the least she could do.

“Pardon me, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked, attempting to be gentle, “What are you doing?”

She sniffed her nose, fighting back the tears she wanted to cry, and pointed the shovel at the woman. “He was just trying to bury her.”

Charlie swore she could hear the gears in Codsworth’s massive metal head clicking and smoking as he tried to make sense of her behavior. After a moment, he spoke. “Need I remind you that these scoundrels would have murdered us on sight?”

She shook her head and stuck the shovel into the dirt. “Doesn’t matter.”

As she worked, her memory was flooded with painful, frozen flashes from the vault. Images of the callous man who killed Nate and stole her baby, of Nate’s stiff, frozen body that still lay in the cryochamber, perfectly preserved with the exception of the fatal gunshot wound in his chest. Charlie had opened the chamber, hoping she could save him, or at the very least say goodbye, but he was already gone. She’d slipped the wedding ring from his finger and left him there, entombed along with the rest of her neighbors who unwittingly signed themselves up for a sick science project. When Preston learned what had happened in 111, he offered to help her lay everyone to rest properly, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t stomach the idea of walking back into that frozen hell.

She could, however, offer some absolution to this Raider.

“I’m going to bury him next to her,” she announced, looking at Codsworth before moving over several feet and beginning to dig a new plot.

The robot protested with an exasperated huff. “I applaud your sentimentality, mum, but it is getting quite late. At this rate it will be completely dark before we return to Sanctuary Hills.

“If you want to go on ahead, you can,” Charlie said with a dismissive wave up the road, “Tell Preston I’ll be along shortly.” “Perish the thought,” Codsworth retorted, properly offended. “I will not abandon you to the wasteland at night. Just… do please hurry.”

Charlie worked as fast as she could, but her body was weary from her days of journeying and fighting, so digging and filling in the grave had taken longer than it should have. When she finally finished, the clock on her PipBoy read “23:00,” and the sky was completely dark, well except for the stars. They, at least, had survived the apocalypse.

It was after midnight before Charlie hobbled across the bridge and into Sanctuary Hills, Codsworth zooming past her, a cacophony of buzzing and whirring and shouting for Preston. At this rate he was going to wake up the entire settlement. She managed to make it over to the home where Sturges had set up his workshop, and flopped herself down on the concrete with a grunt. The effects of the stimpak had worn off, and with the bullet still lodged firmly in her leg, it hadn’t healed entirely and it throbbed like a bitch.

There was a hurried rustle of footsteps, accompanied by Codsworth’s voice complaining about how she’d “foolishly buried some raiders against all good judgement.” If anyone needed a chill pill, it was that robot.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Codsworth,” Preston said, a gentle laugh falling off the ends of his words, “I’ll handle it from here.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Garvey. I apologize for my mistress’ recklessness.” His words were pointed and Charlie couldn’t believe she was being tattled on by her own Mr. Handy. He zoomed off to busy himself with the fruitless task of trying to restore their old home.

Preston shook his head, and continued to laugh as he approached Charlie, “Man, that machine is something else.”

“No joke,” came Charlie’s weak reply, as she attempted to adjust herself to sit more comfortably.

“Whoa,” Preston exclaimed and rushed to her side. “You okay?

He hadn’t noticed the wound, and for whatever reason Charlie didn’t want him to. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He frowned, warm brown eyes flicking down to the blood seeping through the gauze on her leg, and then looked back up at her. He smiled, but she could tell he was worried. “That’s funny, ‘cause you don’t look too fine.”

“I beg your pardon,” she bantered. Deflection. She couldn’t stand the way his concerned expression made her feel. “I know I’m not a supermodel or anything but--”

“Charlie.”

She faltered under his gaze, tears immediately bubbling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath and fought them back before speaking. “There were more Raiders than we thought. Codsworth and I got overwhelmed and I got shot in the leg, but I’m fine. People get shot around here all the time, right?”

“We try to avoid getting shot,” he remarked, his exasperation not quite as shrill as Codsworth’s, “How many raiders were there?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty.”

“Jesus.” He rose to his feet and walked over to the metal cabinets just past one of the workbenches. He knelt and opened one of the doors, reaching far back inside. He emerged with a full fifth of Old Appalachia and a medical kit that was, like everything else in the world, held together by duct tape. He returned to his previous position at Charlie’ side and sat down making an almost concerted effort to make eye contact. “You know I wouldn’t have sent you out by yourself if I’d--”

“This isn’t your fault, Preston.” She lay a hand on his arm, and offered him a smile. “If anything it’s mine for rolling in the front entrance, guns blazing.”

He laughed. “Man, you’ve got to be more careful.”

“No promises.” Charlie lifted her hand from his arm and pointed to the bottle of whiskey. “What’s that for?”

“You,” Preston answered, picking it up and handing it to her, “We have to get this bullet out of you before it gets infected, and you’re going to want something to dull the pain. So, start drinking.”

“Say no more.” Popping open the bottle, she kicked back a long, burning swig. The whiskey tasted like home and two-hundred years ago. She watched as he opened up the medical kit and dug through the items inside. “Have you ever done this before?”

“What? Dug out a bullet,” he asked, bitter smirk on his lips, “Yeah. More times than I would have liked. Like you said, people get shot around here all the time.”

Charlie took another drink and swallowed hard, the alcohol not working fast enough to keep her pulse from jumping at the sight of metal tweezers and rubbing alcohol. “How bad does it hurt?”

Preston laughed again, glancing over at her this time. “Bad.”

“Well… that’s comforting.”

“I’m just being honest,” he explained, positioning himself so that he had a good look at her affected leg. He took his gloves off and looked up at her, “May I?” She nodded nervously, and watched as he unwound the bandage and cut away the remaining pieces of vault suit. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the injury until now, and she was thankful that the bullet seemed to be of a small caliber, like those that turrets fired, and wasn’t lodged too deeply. Under the bright lamplight, she could see it’s dull metal reflection. Preston sighed in relief, most likely noticing the same thing.

That it would hurt “bad” had been an honest understatement. Even after several shots worth of whiskey, the sharp burning pain of alcohol and tweezers pulling the bullet from her thigh was enough to make her light headed. Even Preston’s gentleness couldn’t spare her that much, and she squirmed and held her breath just to keep from screaming and waking up the others. When it was all said and done, she was trembling, out of breath, and sobbing like a child.

“Congratulations,” Preston said softly as he began to dress the now clean wound, “You survived your first Commonwealth surgery.”

Charlie let out a weary laugh and let her head fall back against the wall behind her, looking up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. “Thanks, doc.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There was a long pause in which she heard him inhale as if he were going to say something, and then exhale as if he thought better of it. She brought her eyes down to him, effects of the alcohol really hitting her, along with the endorphin high. “Something on your mind?”

He stopped what he was doing to meet her gaze. “Why’d you go to all that trouble to bury those raiders?”

“I…” She began, but hesitated, worried that he’d disapprove of her compassion for members of a group that’d terrorized him for days on end at Concord, who killed some of his friends. “I thought it was the right thing to do. When we walked up on him he was in the middle of burying a comrade. He’d spread flowers over her and everything…”

She choked on the last words and trailed off, but Preston seemed to understand, as he nodded and went back to dressing her wound.

“I feel sorry for them sometimes too,” he admitted, as he tied a neat knot in the bandage, “They might be messed up, but they’re still people.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded.

“You’re a good person,” he stated, eyes fixing on hers. “I’m… I’m glad you decided to stick around.”

Her face became hot. It must have been the whiskey finally getting to her, she told herself. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for her to get all flustered over a compliment. She carelessly let her hand fall on his arm again. “Me too.”

Charlie awoke the next day, more afternoon than morning, tucked neatly into a bed that she could scarcely remember crawling into. In fact, everything from the time Preston had finished dressing her wound was blurry and she made a mental note to avoid the Old Appalachia from now on, or at least to refrain from drinking half a fifth in one sitting. She crawled out from beneath the thin blanket and sat up, leg aching more than it had since she’d gotten shot. Damn.

Glancing down, she noticed she was wearing a pair of faded jeans that were too short for her and an old white tee that exposed her navel when she raised her arms to stretch and yawn. They were not her clothes, and she’d no idea whose clothes they were, or how she got out of her vault suit and into them. She snorted out a laugh at the thought of poor Preston fumbling around in the dark trying to help her change. She doubted that’s what happened, but her memory was too fuzzy to say it hadn’t.

Across the room, folded neatly atop her dresser was a familiar blue and yellow fabric, and she hopped up-- too quickly, wincing at the pain in her leg-- and limped over to take a look. Picking it up and unfolding it, it took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t her whole vault suit anymore, missing an entire bottom half, and split open down the front. She also noticed that there were neatly stitched seams along the edges. A jacket? Someone had gone to the effort of making a jacket from her vault suit and she didn’t even know who to thank.

She slipped one arm in and then the other. It fit like a glove, a much more comfortable, less skin-tight glove than it had previously. A quiet knock on the doorframe nearby drew Charlie’s attention and she darted her head up to see Marcy standing in the doorway, smirk in place of her signature scowl. Suddenly, Charlie remembered.

“I’m glad it fits,” Marcy said as she looked Charlie up and down. Preston had woken the other woman up the night before to ask if she had anything Charlie could wear. Marcy had cursed and complained, but ended up shooing him away and helped her get changed and into bed. Apparently she was also the culprit behind Charlie’s new jacket. “Couldn’t salvage the whole thing.”

“You did this,” Charlie asked, examining the sleeves.

“Yep,” Marcy stated, looking down at the ground as if she was embarrassed, “Couldn’t get back to sleep after Garvey woke me up, and figured it might be good to have. Considering none of my clothes are quite long enough for your beanpole ass.”

Charlie laughed, and tugged at the bottom of the t-shirt. “Thanks, Marcy.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. I still think you’re useless,” Marcy retorted with a huff, but it was clear she didn��t mean what she said. “And I want my clothes back as soon as you find something else to wear.”

Charlie nodded, and Marcy turned to walk away, but stopped and pivoted back around on her heel, pointing an index finger at her. “Mama’s been waiting for you to wake up. She found some Jet this morning and is off her rocker talking about some bright glowing heart shit. Just a heads up.”

Before Charlie could even say her thanks, Marcy was gone. Turning her attention back to herself, she realized she had no clue where she’d left her PipBoy. She scanned the room, and saw it sat on the floor near her boots. Picking it up and examining it for damage, she fastened it to her wrist and then slipped on her boots before heading out into the hallway.

It was a bit disorienting at first. She wasn’t in the place where she normally slept, instead she stood in the house that had become the common area for all of the settlers. She must’ve been too woozy and injured to make it farther into the cul de sac. She turned to her left and spied Mama Murphy in the open living room, sitting in her specially crafted chair, feet dangling happily just a few inches from the ground.

“Hey kid,” she hollered, motioning for Charlie to come closer, and Charlie obliged, secretly hoping that her doped up insight would give more answers about where Shaun had been taken.

“Mornin’ Mama,” Charlie answered and made her tedious way over to the old woman and sat down on the sofa near her.

“The Sight,” Mama croned, “It’s shown me more about your boy, your sweet boy.”

Charlie winced, unsure if she wanted to know now, but leaned forward and took the old woman’s outstretched, weathered hand. “What is it,” she pleaded.

Just as Marcy said, Mama Murphy recited a prophecy about Diamond City, and people with chained up hearts refusing to provide Charlie with answers about her son’s whereabouts. With the exception of one. One heart that would lead her way, “so bright against the dark alleys it walks.” It didn’t make sense, but she’d never been to Diamond City, didn’t have enough information to even begin to decipher it.

“What does that mean,” she asked clumsily

Mama smiled, and shook her head. “Beats me, Kid. I only know what the Sight shows me. Maybe you get me some mentats, maybe I--”

“Now, Mama,” grumbled a familiar voice nearby, Charlie followed the old woman’s gaze to where it had been preemptively fixed on the door Sturges had just entered, face covered with smudges of oil, “You know Ms. Charlie’s not gonna fall for any of that nonsense.”

She shrugged. “Meh, you never know, Sturge. Seems like she wants to find her boy.”

“Not sure the boss would like it too much if he knew you were abusin’ her good graces,” Sturges scolded her playfully as he popped open a bottle of Nuka Cola, and sat the cap in a pile with others on the counter.

“Preston's not my boss,” Mama scoffed, and then turned back to Charlie, “He’s waiting for you though, kid.”

“Preston?” Charlie asked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “Me? Why?

Mama and Sturges exchanged a glance before Sturges spoke up. “Don’t really know to be honest. He doesn’t really say much about how he’s feelin’, but he’s been worried ever since you left.”

“He sees your promise,” Mama chimed in, “He sees what I see.”

Even with the analgesic effects of a newly injected stimpak, walking the length of the neighborhood had proven to be a slow, awkward process for Charlie. Her leg was weak, throbbing, and numb, but at least it still worked. At least she was still alive.

The more time she had to think about her escapade at Corvega, the more she realized how she’d survived on nothing but pure, unadulterated luck. She’d seen it in Preston’s eyes the night before, his bewilderment that she’d managed to take down a raider gang of that size. She’d also seen his guilt, as if he intended to blame himself for something that had not happened. For all she knew of him, that was normal. Whatever had happened before she ran into him and the others in Concord really did a number on the guy.

Charlie heard him before she saw him, humming and making an effort to tune a two hundred year-old guitar. A smile twitched on her lips, heart warming at the sight of him sat on a rusty patio chair, surrounded by an audience of lawn flamingos. He had his hat off and laying on the table. In her two months of knowing him, she’d never seen him so relaxed.

“Your G’s a little sharp there Garvey,” she called out to him playfully as she made her way over and sat down in the chair across from him, propping her good leg up on the table. He didn’t flinch or show any other signs of surprise at her approach, and continued to fiddle with the guitar.

“I know,” he answered, tearing his eyes away from the instrument to look up at her, “I can’t get the damn thing to cooperate.”

“It is at least a couple of centuries old.”

He sat the guitar down and turned to face her more squarely. It was the first time she could remember getting a good look at him with his hat off. Objectively, of course, he was handsome, with soft features and a smile that he definitely knew how to use to his benefit. Preston was nice. He wasn’t naive. How could he have been, growing up in a world like the one she’d woken up in? The scar that ran from temple to cheekbone on the left side of his face was more prominent than it had seemed before, masked in shadows. It looked like an old wound, and she wondered how he’d gotten it.

“Well,” he said, amusement plain on his face, “Being a couple centuries old hasn’t stopped you.”

“It certainly tried,” she replied, ignoring the knots in her stomach and back of her mind telling her it might have been better if it had stopped her. “Damn near got the better of me at that plant.”

Preston nodded and let out a breath. “About that… how are you feeling?”

Charlie looked down at her injured leg and then back up at him. “Like shit,” she stated, “But I suppose that’s better than the alternative.”

“That’s for sure,” he said, sort of absentmindedly, gaze seeming unfocused and off in the distance. There was a long, heavy pause before he spoke again. “I don’t think I ever got around to saying thank you last night. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us since Concord. Without your help...well, I’m not sure we would have made it.”

“I…”Charlie began, but trailed off, “You’re welcome, Preston.”

There was another pause and he leaned forward and grabbed his hat, tracing his fingers across the brim. “I know that I told you I’m one of the last Minutemen, but I don’t think I ever mentioned how it ended up that way.”

She shrugged. “I figured you would tell me when you were ready to talk about it.”

“I’ve started calling it the Quincy Massacre,” he said somberly.

“Quincy. That’s where you and the others are from, right?”

“That’s right,” he answered, “Sturges, Mama Murphy, and the Longs all lived in Quincy when the Minutemen got a call for help dealing with some Gunners who’d been scouting the area. I went with Colonel Hollis, my commanding officer at the time, and several others to answer the call. It all went downhill after that.”

Unsteadily, Preston opened up to her, explaining how his contingent had been the only to arrive, and their numbers were too few to handle an assault by the much more heavily armed Gunners. Colonel Hollis had called for help, only for a traitorous Minutemen veteran named Clint to show up and lead the Gunners right through the gates. Preston told her how he had to watch settlers and his own comrades die, helpless and running through the streets. He’d made a knee jerk decision to evacuate, and take as many survivors with him as he could along the way. Apparently, that wasn’t where the trouble had ended though. He and his group traveled for over a month without finding anywhere safe to settle, facing disaster after disaster until finally getting trapped up in the museum at Concord.

The story was heartbreaking, but to watch Preston tell it was even more so. Charlie could tell that he blamed himself for each and every loss that happened under his leadership. He wore his guilt all over his face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said softly, “And I’m glad that I showed up when I did, although I really have no idea how I managed to do… all of that.”

“It’s almost like it’s fate... or something,” he muttered. His words were followed by an embarrassed laugh and a shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe his own mouth. “Sorry. I’ve been spending too much time around Mama.”

“Hey.” Charlie laughed, and slid her leg off the table, leaning forward to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Hope’s addictive. Just like the chems.”

Preston sighed. “Damn it if that’s not the truth.”

“Also, I think the old loon might be onto something,” she added, tapping a finger to her temple, “The only reason I limped out to this end of the settlement to see you was because Mama said you wanted to talk to me, something about you seeing my promise?”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said appearing genuinely surprised, as if Mama Murphy’s clairvoyance was something new, “She’s out here stealing all of my thunder.”

The way he looked at her, as if she held the entirety of his hope in her trembling hands, made her shift uncomfortably. The weight of Mama Murphy’s words now settled on her shoulders like a lead blanket. She had never been one to believe in coincidences, but it was hard to accept that any of this was her destiny.

She cleared her throat, attempting to be nonchalant. “So, what’s this promise of mine everyone is so certain of?”

“The Commonwealth desperately needs the Minutemen,” Preston explained, “Now more than ever, and I plan to rebuild them stronger and more organized, without all of the petty squabbles and infighting that have plagued our history.”

“Sounds like you just need to find a good leader,” Charlie remarked, feeling helpful.

Preston eyed her intently and she suddenly regretted her words. “Exactly,” he said with a grin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she protested, waving her hands in front of her in a panic, “You’re not suggesting that I should lead the Minutemen, are you?”

“I am.”

“On what qualifications?” She was nearly shrieking. “I know next to nothing about the organization, it’s history. I can barely hold my own in a fight. I--”

“Charlie,” Preston remarked, rather directly, “The Minutemen aren’t an army. We’re citizen soldiers, people of the Commonwealth banded together to protect ourselves and decide our own futures. We fell apart because our leadership forgot what we stood for, but you could bring us back together, bring the whole Commonwealth together.”

“Why me?” Charlie was flattered at his faith in her but so confused. “Why not you, or anyone else?”

“You helped us at Concord and every day since, without anything in it for you,” he explained, “You had your own problems to deal with and you helped us anyway. Hell, you even won Marcy over. That kind of compassion and selflessness has been in short supply around here for a long time.”

“Preston, I am flattered by all of this, but I’m not sure I can take on that kind of responsibility right now.”

“Listen,” he said, offering her a reassuring smile, “If you really don’t feel like you’re up to it, I’m not going to twist your arm. I get that it’s hard to deal with other people’s problems when you’ve got your own.”

Charlie pondered for a moment, and asked, “What would I have to do?”

“Just what you’ve been doing,” he answered as if it were obvious as day, “Help people. Recruit. Spread hope. And I’ll be behind you every step of the way.”

She couldn’t deny that it was tempting. As much of a mess as she was herself, she was compelled to help others. If anything, it could give her something to focus on, a sense of purpose, a way to use her skill set. She brought her eyes up to meet his, chased away the nagging doubts in her head, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

“Well, the leader of the Minutemen has always held the title of General, and since I’m the last of the Minutemen, there’s no one here to argue with me when I say it belongs to you now.”

“So I’m General Smart now?” Charlie laughed at the complete absurdity of the situation. Leading a bunch of neo-colonials to resettle Massachusetts wasn’t exactly how she pictured her life turning out. “Does that mean I get a cute little hat?”

Preston returned her laughter, relief washing over his face at her decision. “If you want one, General, then absolutely.”

Perhaps her mother had been right all of those years ago. Maybe she really could change the world.

#preston garvey #fallout 4 #preston garvey x sole survivor #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #revolutionary #fanfic #my writing

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broadmoored · 3 years

Text

Final Take | Chris&Will

“A few times in my life I’ve had moments of absolute clarity. When for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. It’s as though it had all just come into existence.

I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.”

― Christopher Isherwood, A Single Man

Christian Broadmoor sat imperceptibly still on the park bench he’d frequented many times in recent months. He’d chosen the location because the train of thought he always allowed himself to fall into in the solace offered to him there taught him to associate the spot with the person for whom he waited. With the dandelion-apricot tones of the sky bathing his overwhelmingly graying hair and gingerly creased features in light, Chris closed his eyes for a moment.

Instinctively, his fingers played with the wedding band on his finger, a once permanent placement that he knew would soon become a thing of his past. Still, it served as an outlet for his ever restless touch for now as he passed it over his knuckle and slipped it back to the base of his left ring finger. Words swam in his mind from a variety of conversations he’d unafraidly carried out spanning a few days at best, ones that opened his eyes further than they had already been and offered him insight he didn’t think he’d receive from people he thought he would be hurting irreparably.

A spring breeze rushed by him in a way that made the hairs on Chris’s arms stand and he opened his eyes slowly, peripherals drawing right away to the man who had just approached at his side. The gentlest smile fell upon Chris’s lips, creasing the corners of his mouth. He thought about saying hello, about thanking Will for meeting him, but none of it felt quite right as Chris felt the warmth of Will’s arm come to press to the side of his own.

He couldn’t remember when exactly that had become acceptable between them, to simply share the same space, the same breath if given the chance. There was a time when Will might not have sat down at all when given the invite, but one day he did and never went back- and Chris held on to that moment, used it to tug Will closer and closer until the years had gone by like a flipbook in the hands of a child and they were not-so-suddenly sharing body heat on a cooler evening.

Chris’s smile ticked up slightly thinking of how he’d poured over this moment for hours, days even, yet he knew the right words wouldn’t come to him until he opened his mouth and simply fired. It seemed like an arbitrary starting point, to observe the swirling palette of colors of the sky reflecting off the bridge in the distance as he stated with an underlying confidence in his throat, “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?”

The nostalgic gaze he fixed ahead was apparent, as was the calm within him. Sure, he had slowed down with age, but there had always still been a ceaseless energy to him. Now, there was only serenity, a steady beat.

“You know, the older I get, the less tolerance I have for people.” Chris chuckled low, because Will had always been so in sync with him that there were parts of him wondering if Will somehow knew these things already. If he was simply repeating himself.

“There are days when I don’t want to see anyone but you. It reminds me of being a kid. When I would get so angry and frustrated with growing up that sometimes I wouldn’t want to look at anybody, listen to anybody but you. I’m not angry now...I haven’t been that kid in a long time but I still value you so much more than anybody else.” Chris blinked the orange hue from his eyes but still kept his eyes outward, now on the waterfront, small waves lapping against the rocks in the same manner as his thoughts. “I’d listen to you over anybody else, Will. You could tell me to dive off that bridge there and I would assume you knew something about me that I just didn’t myself. I’d do it; there’s a part of me that’s always been yours to have and to command.”

Chris licked his lips and shook his head. “Not just a part of me.” And then quieter, “Not just a part.”

“And it’s not fair to you. For me to say all this now,” Chris took a deep breath, feeling the burden of his words, finally turning his chin again to look at Will. “For me to understand now, when all this time you’ve been kind and patient and you’ve taken care of my heart even when you should’ve rightfully taken off, never looked at me again.”

His eyes narrowed on Will’s features, the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, the slightly longer hair than what he’d spent his entire youth tousling with joy. Too many times in the last years he’d thought, he’d be alright if the time they spent together never ended. He knew he could very well be jeopardizing that time if he opened his mouth again, but the words that prickled at the tip of his tongue made him anything but afraid.

“I don’t deserve what we could’ve had the very first time we spoke about this- when it scared me how much we cared about each other but could still lose each other anyway. But I need you to know if nothing else…” His hand moved off his own lap so his palm could cover the back of one of Will’s. He squeezed tightly before pulling his hand back, knowing it would be entirely justified for Will to reject every last thing he was saying now. Not only would it be justified, it might only be right for how Chris himself had influenced their story in past years.

“There are a lot of things I wasn’t meant for in life, but what I am meant for is a short list.”

You.

#WELL YOU ASKED AND I DELIVERED IM SIMPLY RABID I CANT SEE OR FEEL ANYTHING ELSE EXCEPT UNCERTAINTY /GOD/#GOD CANT HELP US NOW #FKC #final take #c: Chris Broadmoor #o: William Yaxley #yaxmoor

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thewarriorandtheking · 3 years

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A Winter Tale

Imagine spending a winter night with Thorin in a cozy cabin deep in the woods...

One of the first Warrior and The King stories I wrote and still one of my favorites

Pairing: Thorin x oc

The Warrior and The King Masterlist

********************************************

The snow was falling more heavily now, swallowing the sound of the horse’s footfalls. The trees bent their branches over the path, heavy with their wintry burden. The quiet of the forest was almost palpable, as if holding its breath. The afternoon was wearing on, it would be dark soon. Thorin Oakenshield was about to ask Kaylea Wolf if she was sure of the direction when a little cabin appeared in front of them. It looked well-kept and tidy, firewood neatly stacked in the shed on the side, the windows shuttered. Snow was drifted against the door, no one had been here recently.

Kaylea gave Thorin a hand down and dismounted her horse. Hector appeared out of the woods, carefully sniffing around. Thorin kicked the snow away from the door and opened it, gave the interior a quick glance. Low bed, table and chairs, woodstove with kindling stacked beside. He grabbed a broom from inside the door to sweep the snow off the little porch.

“I will get a fire started, if you want to see to your horse,” Thorin said, putting aside the broom to grab an armful of firewood. Kaylea nodded and led her horse under the shed. When she opened the cabin door a short time later Thorin had a fire going, the stove already beginning to radiate heat. Kaylea added her coat to the rack next to Thorin’s, dropped her saddle by the door. Her wolf followed her in and curled up next to the bed. Kaylea took a bag of coffee out of her saddlebags and put the kettle on to boil, then stood beside the stove warming her hands. Thorin came up beside her, he took hold of her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“It is funny,” Thorin said. “For most of my life I dreamed of the halls of Erebor, I swore when I returned I would never leave. Now when I am there I dream of being in a cabin in the woods with you.”

Kaylea laughed. “I am quite sure that is not true! There is no Dwarf who prefers the woods to his halls of stone.”

“I prefer to be with you, my love,” Thorin drew her close, he moved a wisp of hair off her face. “One day I hope you will join me in my stone halls.”

“Why must we always have this same conversation?” Kaylea rolled her eyes. “You already have a Queen who has given you two beautiful children, you have no cause to release her from her vows. And I cannot remain in Middle Earth with you.”

“I have cause to…” Thorin began, but just then Hector gave a low growl, his eyes focused on the door. He stood up, his hackles partly raised. There was a swift knock. Thorin and Kaylea looked at each other, Kaylea put a hand on her sword and moved within striking distance of the door. Thorin lifted the latch and opened it.

On the step was an old man, wrapped in a heavy brown cloak, his hood pulled low against the weather. He was wearing a mantle of snow and carrying a soft satchel, in his hand was a long wooden staff.

“Good evening! I am glad to see you are here,” The strange figure said. “May I impose to warm myself by your fire for a little while?”

Thorin stepped aside so the man could enter, “Of course,” he said politely. “Please take a chair. We have just arrived, we should have coffee in a few minutes.”

“That would be splendid,” said the man. He threw back his hood and shook his cloak, what Thorin had taken to be snow on his shoulder was actually a white owl, which also shook itself, then looked around blinking its yellow eyes. As he went to shut the door Thorin caught a glimpse of a large animal in the trees.

“There is a bear outside,” he said to Kaylea.

“Do not worry, she is with me,” said the visitor. He was quite tall and lean, his brown beard streaked with grey. He wore a felt hat with a narrow brim and a sprig of holly stuck in the band. Although there was much grey in his hair he seemed somehow young, his green eyes sparkling. The man turned to Hector and bowed,“I am sorry I startled you, Master Wolf.” The wolf lowered his head in response. He took a seat by the stove, smoothing his cloak. An ermine poked its head up out of his hood and looked around, then disappeared. “Well, this is very nice!” The stranger exclaimed. “It is good to know that there are still some who know how to treat a fellow traveler in these dark times.”

Thorin looked the man up and down appraisingly. “The old ways are not yet forgotten. With whom do we have the pleasure of sharing our fire, if I may ask? And why are you travelling around with a bear?” Bears always made Thorin think of Beorn, the shapeshifting woodsman he had met on his journey to the Lonely Mountain.

The man smiled at Thorin, his eyes twinkling. “A better question is what is Thorin the King of Erebor doing in a trapper’s cabin in the forest?”

Thorin frowned at him, but before he could answer Kaylea spoke.

“My king, this is Radagast the Brown. The bear often travels with him”

‘The Brown wizard? I thought he was a myth,” said Thorin.

Radagast looked offended, but then shrugged. “Just because I do not spend my time meddling in the affairs of Men like others of my order...ah, well! Perhaps it is better to be a mystery.”

Kaylea took three mugs off the shelf and poured the coffee. She offered one to Radagast who took it gratefully. He held the mug in both hands, sipping at it cautiously.

“This is very good. Thank you!”

“Do you know your bag is squeaking?” Kaylea asked, looking at the bag in the wizard’s lap that was moving in two different directions.

“Yes, yes,” said Radagast, putting down his cup to reach into his bag and draw out two tiny brown kits. “Their mother was killed by a hunting party yesterday. They are too young to make it on their own, they are the second reason I am in this part of the forest tonight.” He cradled the kits in his arms, speaking softly to them in a strange language. They fussed and wined but soon fell asleep. The wizard sat rocking the tiny creatures tenderly, a soft smile on his lips.

“The second reason,” said Thorin, looking at the wizard questioningly. “What is the first?”

“That would be you, your majesty,” said Radagast, carefully placing the wolverine kits back in his bag. He picked up his coffee again and sipped at it. “This really is very good!”

Kaylea chuckled at the wizard. “What business do you have with the King Under the Mountain? The Dwarves are a bit outside your purview, are they not?”

“Yes, thank the Goddess,” Radagast reached into his robe, searching his pockets. “I prefer to have as little to do with them as possible, such odd people. Only interested in metal and stone. But I do have something that belongs to the King, when I heard you were in the forest I could not miss the chance.” He brought out a heavy gold ring and presented it to Thorin. “I believe this is yours.”

Thorin was scowling at the wizard’s words but when he saw the ring his eyes went wide. He took it almost reverently, inspecting it carefully. “This was my grandfather’s,” he said softly, almost to himself. “However did you come by it?”

Radagast took a deep breath. “A crow brought it to me years ago. Found it in the rocks before the gates of Moria, they do love shiny things. I have been meaning to return it to you. I set out several times to do so, but something else always seemed to come up. And I do so hate to travel outside the forest.”

Thorin wanted to give the wizard a piece of his mind, How could he have kept this ring? But Kaylea spoke first. “Thank you, Radagast,” she said. “The King is very happy to have this returned.”

“Well, now that I have delivered it I must get on,” the wizard said. “I am already very late to be on my way home.” He drained his coffee cup. “Thank you for allowing me to warm up a bit.”

Radagast rose and walked to the door, he put his hand on the latch and was about to open it when he turned, looking from Thorin to Kaylea and back. He had known Kaylea Wolf for many years, a deadly fighter with the grace and golden hair of the Fair Folk. The King was not at all what the wizard had expected. Taller than a Dwarf should be, with his close-cropped beard and fine features he looked quite different from most of his people. They seemed an odd couple, but they definitely were one, judging by the matching braids.

“Why are the two of you here in the forest?” The wizard asked.

“We were just out for a ride and were overtaken by the weather,” Kaylea said lightly.

Radagast raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “I suppose it is no business of mine, you are quite right. Congratulations, by the way,” he looked at Thorin closely. “I thought you were older.”

“Congratulations for what?” Thorin asked, suddenly remembering why he hated dealing with wizards. Talking to them always made you feel as though you were having two unrelated conversations at the same time.

“On your wedding, of course,” he looked at Kaylea, touching the front of his ear where her braids fell. “Are you not the Queen of Erebor?”

Kaylea gave Thorin a sideways glance. “I am not. It is rather a long story.”

Radagast cocked his head, as if the owl on his shoulder was speaking in his ear. “I am reminded not to speak about things which have not yet happened, I do sometimes get ahead of events. I wish you a very good evening.” He opened the door and vanished into a whirlwind of snowflakes.

Thorin and Kaylea looked at each other. “I wonder what that was all about,” Kaylea mused.

Thorin shook his head, chuckling. “I cannot imagine,” he said. But his mind went to the vision he had seen in the Mirror of Galadriel. Kaylea in a wedding dress, jeweled beads in her hair, the matching rings. It was a good sign if the wizard had seen it as well.

They busied themselves preparing dinner. Thorin skinned the two coneys they had surprised earlier and cut them up, Kaylea set to work on the potatoes and vegetables. As in everything they did together the two of them worked in harmony, knowing intuitively when to give the other space on the small counter.

“Is he always like that?” Thorin asked Kaylea, turning to toss the scraps to Hector.

“Radagast cares little for the worlds of Men, his interest is in the beasts and the birds and the living things of Middle Earth,” she replied. “He does not talk much to people, so he is a bit less polished than Gandalf.”

“I do think I like him better,” said Thorin. “He seems a bit less self-important.”

Some time later, when the dishes from dinner were put away Thorin and Kaylea were sitting on the floor by the stove. Kaylea had found a bearskin under the bed and spread it out against a bundle of blankets, Thorin sat down and patted the hide in front of him. As she settled down he stretched his legs out on either side and started to take out her braids. Kaylea always did them carefully before coming to Erebor but they never passed Thorin’s inspection, he always looked at them disapprovingly until he could redo them himself. He had finished the first one and was braiding the second when Kaylea asked to see the ring Radagast had brought. It was heavy and looked quite old, plain gold with the sigil of the house of Durin on it.

“You have one like this,” she said, handing it back to Thorin. He nodded.

“I made another when I thought this one was lost. This is the King’s signet ring, the original one, handed down from Nain himself. I am very glad to have it back.” He tied the bead to the bottom of Kaylea’s braid and sat back, drawing her close against him. She leaned back, watching the fire dance through the window on the stove and feeling very content in his arms.

“When Radagast brought that ring out I thought for a moment it might be a different one,” she said.

“I confess, I thought the same,” Thorin replied. He was silent for a time. “If it had been that one, I would have told him to keep it.”

“You do not desire it?”

“I saw what it did to my grandfather, what the gold created with it did to me. I still remember waking after you healed my wounds from the Battle of the Five Armies and thinking what a complete idiot I had been. No, I do not want it.” Thorin sighed. “It is out of my reach now, and good riddance.”

“This is why you are a better King than your grandfather, than your father would have been,” Kaylea said. “You are stronger, your vision is unclouded.”

“You have made me a better king,” Thorin replied. “Taught me how to look at problems differently, how to play the larger political game...and a few other things,” he kissed her neck, then gently nibbled her ear. Kaylea squirmed, smiling, her hands squeezing his. “Did I find a sensitive spot?” Thorin nibbled at her ear again, Kaylea turned in his arms and put a hand behind his head bringing her lips to his. This was one of those moments she wished she could just stretch out forever. The dark winter night, the cozy cabin, alone with the man she loved. If only life were so simple.

#fanfiction #thewarriorandtheking #thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #thorin fanfic #the hobbit #lord of the rings #middle earth #tolkien fanfic #true love

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #421

“hunted by hundreds and never to be caught / descent to wander, bring terror and take 'em all beyond”

Which do you prefer, donut holes, jelly filled donuts or normal donuts? Normal donuts. When you get old, are you going to make a will? I mean probably. Ever made your own definition for something on Urban Dictionary? No. What do you call your grandparents? "Grammy" and "Grampa." Do you like weddings? Not especially because I'm a bitter fuck. Do you want to live in a dorm in college? I never wanted to, so I never did. Have you ever had your tonsils taken out? No. Are you single/taken/crushing/confused? Single/confused. Is your best friend single? Yes. Is your first real best friend still there for you? I mean we have one another on Facebook, but that's the extent of it. Do you still care for your first love? Very much. I hope he's doing okay since his mother passed. What color is your blanket? Navy with black swirls. Are you listening to music right now? Yes. I am obseeeeeessed with Alissa White-Gluz's cover of Powerwolf's "Demons Are a Girl's Best Friend." Have you ever felt as if you lost your one true love? I feel like that all the time. But I should add that I don't believe there is JUST ONE person designed for you. There are way, way too many people on this earth to have just a single, perfect match. Which do you like better: Bowser, Mario, Luigi, or Princess Peach? Well I mean I always picked Luigi in Mario Kart, so I got a bias, ha ha. How many tattoos do you have? Six. Plenty, PLENTY more to come, though. Would you ever consider getting a mohawk? No. What do you like to do most in your free time? Do random shit on the computer. What’s your work title? Unemployed. Do you pay rent? I don't. What was the reason behind the last time you wore a bandage? I cut my finger opening up a cup of yogurt. Yes, I'm serious. What music artist have you listened to a lot lately? Powerwolf, lately. And Motionless In White. Who is taller, you or your best friend? Me. When was the first time you ever listened to your favorite music artist? Well, as a little kid, Mom would play some Ozzy in the car occasionally, and I actually loved "Perry Mason" so much that I would ask for her to play it. Growing up I'd obviously heard "Crazy Train" through random things, but I never truly listened to him until I got into middle school and went through my mother's CD case, discovering new music as I got into rock and metal. Do/did your siblings cause trouble? Nah, not really. If your siblings are old enough, what do they do for work? I honestly don't remember my half-siblings' positions, but my immediate younger sister is a children's social worker, and my older sis is a mammographer. Have you ever been jealous of your siblings? Jealous, no. Envious, extremely. They know what the hell they're doing with their lives and making shit happen. Do you still live with your parent/s or do you live alone/with a partner? I live with my mother. What feeling do you have the most difficulty in expressing? Jealousy. How do you think you would handle yourself in a crisis situation? Freeze up and probably die lol. Does any particular season make you happier than others? Why/why not? Yes, autumn. It's not hot as fuck, the air always feels so fresh to me, and I love the many colors of fall. It's just... chill. Can you adapt to change easily? Any examples? FUCK. NO. Do you see yourself as worthy of love? Why/why not? This answer can change from "yes, because I'm a good human" to "fuck no because I'm worthless" in 0.5 seconds. Do you think you are competitive? Do you really dislike losing? Not in general, but I can be in some areas. What would you be famous for? Fuck if I know. If you had to, would you rather dye your hair red or black? Red. I loved my hair when it actually took red dye well. What do you typically do on Easter Day? Go to my older sister's house. Have you ever viewed the moon through a telescope? No. Do you normally finish one book before starting another? Always. If you were given the chance to be immortal, would you take it? Heeeeeell no. Would you pierce your nipples for $100? Almost certainly yes; I mean that's $100 for something I can just take out if I don't like it. Have you ever dated someone who had a child? No. Would you ever consider adoption? Even if I wanted a child, no. I know I would need either the blood connection or for the child to be my partner's that I truly love. Do you tend to go for guys/girls with certain eye/hair colors? No, I really don't care how you look on the outside. Do you know anyone who plays guitar? Yes. Do you live within an hour of the ocean? More like two hours. What are you currently sitting/laying on? My bed. Have you ever dated a friend of one of your siblings? No. Did you have an imaginary friend as a child? An imaginary wolf, yeah. Which parent do you look most like? My mom, I think. Ever failed a test? Yes. That's all I did in algebra during my last college attempt. Do you have any friends who are famous? No. Your most recent ex breaks down and tells you they love you, what do you do? Well I know she loves me as a friend, but idk if she still does romantically, but either way, I'd tell her I love her too and ask if I can do anything for her. You and your last ex: who should hate who? Neither of us. We have a perfectly fine relationship. Do you believe you pick who you fall in love with? Definitely not. Last thing you ate? I had a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. Are you obsessed with someone? *discreetly eyes Markiplier* If you had to write a brief message on a dollar bill that many people would eventually see as the currency circulates, what message would you write? I'd have to think longer on this, but definitely something about not putting so much worth into the money and not allowing greed to rule the individual. What serves as the greatest motivation for you in your daily life? The hope for a happy, prosperous future. If you were a multimillionaire, what do you believe you would be doing at this very moment? Well, it's morning and this is my prime time to really just chill and do my first scope of the Internet, so I'd probably be in a beautiful house in the woods of the mountains by a beautiful waterfall. I'd have the windows down to listen to nature, make sure via AC if necessary that it's cool... Damn, that sounds nice. If you could have a cookie jar full of anything you wanted, except money or cookies, what would it be full of? Hm. Perhaps a very motivational quote that I'd draw each day, kind of like fortune cookies, but actually good and applicable, ha ha. If someone were looking for you in a bookstore, in what section would they be most likely to find you? YA or fiction. If your ex came up to you and asked you to take them back, what would you say? Anyone but Jason or Sara would be an automatic "no." Jason would have to really prove himself. Sara, I'd be willing, but would ask her if that's what she really wants given our positions right now. Do you think Ke$ha is annoying? I don't know anything about her personally. I actually liked her music back in the day, even when I was all about metal. Last time you were hit on? No idea. Do you ever write in pencil any more? I always do if I have that option. I don't like that you can't erase with a pen. If you HAD to get a piercing (not ears) what would you get? At this current time, my right nostril again. What do you wish you had more knowledge about? Politics. Would you ever get someone's name tattooed on you? Noooo. Do you have a lot of scars? Yes. I scar very easily. Have you ever had stitches? Twice. Have you ever dealt with a divorce or parents fighting or any kind of abuse at home? Before my parents divorced, there was a lot of fighting. Do you remember the person you first kissed? Of course I do. Have you ever kissed someone you weren’t dating? No. Who was the last person you fell asleep with? Sara. Have you ever listened to music you hated just to fit in? "Hated," no. I just tried to get into bands that I just couldn't, but didn't hate. Ever been called babe? Yeah. What is your favorite Pop-Tart flavor? Chocolate sundae. Have you ever made your parents cry? Yeah, sadly. Do you wear glasses? Yeah. And yet I'm still blind with 'em. Have you ever made out with somebody on a bed? Yeah. Are you tan? Most definitely not. How did you meet the last person you texted? She kinda like, gave birth to me. Next big event? My nephew's fifth birthday. Ugh, how is he getting that old. Do you think you have to be skinny in order to be beautiful? Fuck off, no. There are some gorgeous/attractive plus-sized people. Have you ever made out on a couch? Yes. Has the last person you kissed ever seen you cry? Oh god, she witnessed me sob once. Would you ever get gauged ears? I want very small gauges in my bottom earlobe piercings. What is your favorite sushi? Ew. Have you ever been in a school talent show? What for? Noooo sir. What were you like at 17? Oh god... so sad and yet so happily, madly in love at the same time. I both love and hate that era. Tell us about your worst date. Haven't really had a bad one. I had one with Tyler that was an adventure that most would consider awful (flat tire, had to walk in the whipping wind), but I had fun, ha ha. What should be illegal that isn’t already? I dunno. What’s the song you most wish you had written? Probably John Lennon's "Imagine." What is the worst break up you have experienced? Y'ALL KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW. Do your parents wish you were more successful? Oh, I am CERTAIN they do. They'd never admit it, I'm sure, but I know I'm disappointing. I had so much promise in school. Has a significant other called you unattractive before? WOW, no. Has a significant other ever called you by the wrong name? omg no Have you ever caught someone doing something bad? Cheating on their bf, yes. Has a dentist ever screwed up on anything when working on you? No, I don't think so. What is the worst birthday you have ever had? My 16th. I felt very, very unloved. I don't even like going into it. Have you ever been spit on by a llama? No. Have you ever locked yourself out of your car/house? The house, yes. With my elderly dog with arthritis, in the middle of winter after a good snow. I was freezing, sitting on the front porch and eventually crying. My phone was inside so I couldn't reach my mom, who was at work. As night came, I finally broke and went down the street knocking on my neighbors' doors, and probably the worst fucking one opened. With a gun in his hand. He was apparently an ex-sheriff, and he clearly didn't trust me. He was kind enough to let Teddy, who was incontinent and marked territory, inside (thank fuck he didn't pee in the guy's house), and he gave me a jacket, but Christ, we played 20 goddamn questions to see if I was legit, I'm assuming. I was beyond thankful when Mom finally got there when I used his phone to call her. And as it turned out? The door wasn't even fucking locked, our old dog just jammed the hell outta it by jumping. I was so, so pissed.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''beast of gévaudan'' by powerwolf

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years

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A Forest Interlude Chapter 26 An Audience with the King

Summary: Eleonore (OFC) discovers a wounded man in the woods near her home and seeks to heal him. Little does she know that it is none other than the heir to the throne, Prince Hal of England.

Chapter: 26 of 27

Rated E

Warnings: smut, sex fluff, angst, oral sex, fingering, hand jobs

(spoiler - don’t worry, it will all work out okay in the end)

In this chapter: Henry give his verdict on their marriage

Read the entire story on AO3

@nrthmnsplbnd09 ; @nonsensicalobsessions @yespolkadotkitty@just-the-hiddles @from-hel-i-with-love livviedoo@hopelessromanticspoonie @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen@dangertoozmanykids101 @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @vodka-and-some-sass @shiningloki@hiddlesholic @isitmadnessrpg

It was something of an understatement to say that Hal was not having the best day. Between his embarrassing scene at the palace and his confrontation with his former companions, he was having to take a good, hard look at his behavior, and he was not enjoying what he saw. His youthful indiscretions were fine when it had only been his safety and good name that were at risk; he could fend off any affronts on either flank, he knew. But today those indiscretions had put Nell and their unborn child in harms way, and that he could not abide.

Hal had loved others in his life of course. He still remembered the devastation he felt when his mother had passed away, for instance. He felt a filial affection for Jon and, to a lesser extent, his other siblings. In his own way, yes, Hal loved his father. It was sometimes a bitter, self-mocking love, but it was love nonetheless. He even, deep down where he blushed to look, love that old rascal Falstaff.

None of that had prepared him for the sweeping emotion he felt for the beautiful woman now seated in the circle of his arms on the saddle before him. If any harm should have befallen her, he would have burnt the Boars Head to the ground with all of those thieving reprobates inside. Add to that the fact that she was giving him the greatest gift a man could hope for - a child, heir of his body and product of their love for each other - and that the japes of careless fools had also put the well being of the babe at risk. Hal felt his blood begin to boil again just at the thought.

It was not, all things considered, the state of mind best suited for a second audience with his royal sire. Hal tried to keep to a minimum his interactions with Henry. It seemed best for both their sakes since conversations usually left them both in states of heightened agitation. Two in one day was a disaster waiting to happen. At best Hal knew he could expect a dressing down over his actions earlier that day, at worst... well, just let Henry try to take Nell away from him! He would learn that Hal was not a tame cat to be ordered about at will, but a Lion in his own right ready fight to defend his own.

In this mood he rode into his father's courtyard, helped his obviously anxious wife to dismount, and handed his reins to an expectant groom. Nell looked up at him with eyes clouded with anxiety and he smiled at her, hoping to shield his own worry from her.

"All will be well my love, I give my word," he told her softly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Tis not the way I hoped the time would come when you and I would once more meet the king," she sighed, giving him a shaky smile.

"Why no? How could we e'er improve on this?" he laughed, brushing her hair back from her face.

"For one, I might perhaps have worn a dress," she groaned.

"You look divine, my goddess, as you always do. Let any man say otherwise to me, and I will teach him better with my sword."

"Aye, that will ease our entrance to the court," she said with an eye roll. "Well, best to face the music and have done. Shall we proceed then to the lion's den?"

"Your bravery doth quite put me to shame. Onward, dear wife, to victory obtained."

Hand in hand, with a silent Renaldo shadowing their heels, they made their way down the twisted halls until they reached the entry to Henry's audience chamber. With a curt nod of his head, Hal signaled to the attendant to announce them. He would not repeat his faux pas of that morning and barge in unannounced. Better to pick his battles.

"His Royal Highness, Henry, Prince of Wales," the man intoned, "And Princess Eleanor to see you, Sire."

Well, Nell had been given her proper title. He supposed that was something. Wrapping his arm around her protectively, Hal sauntered into the room. A quick glance around showed it to be surprisingly empty of functionaries. Henry would of course have had advanced word of their arrival, the court was full of spies. Apparently it was a private audience with his wayward son that he desired.

"My lord and father, health be with you sir," he said by way of greeting, dipping his head in salute.

Nell stayed silent but dipped an elegant curtsy, prying herself free from his arm to do so. Henry slouched on his throne, eyes hooded as he looked over the pair. Renaldo, ever the vigilant servant, quickly dropped to his knee and then, at a wave from the king, took up his place beside and slightly behind the throne. As the silence stretched on, Hal let a small, ironic smile play about his lips, the one he knew Henry hated. His father sought to play power games, fine. He would wait the old bastard out.

"I am most sorry for the trouble, sire," Nell blurted out, stepping slightly forward. "I promise that I had it well in hand, but was yet grateful that you gave Hal help."

One of the king's eyebrows raised itself at her nervous outburst, and Hal closed his eyes briefly, unable to blame her. She did not have his years of sparring with the cold king to draw on. At last his father lifted his head and met Hal's eye.

“I see you managed to retrieve the girl,” Henry groused. “I can’t say that is an unmixed delight.”

"I am as always left quite humbled sir, by your enthusiasm for my joy."

"Presumptuous cub, who gave you leave to speak?" the king snapped as Nell elbowed Hal in the ribs. "Well now you know us guiltless in the crime, who was it then that took the girl from you? Or did she come at last into her wits and seek to fly from you all on her own? Tell me, Renaldo, where you found her out?"

"A drinking house in Eastcheap, good my lord," the guard said, with a quick glance towards Nell and Hal. "It seems the patrons of the public house did seek to make acquaintance of her grace."

"I do suppose it serves no good to ask if this be the same house that often times her loving husband hath been known to haunt?"

"It is the one, my king, I must confess. And that same rascal Falstaff, as he's called, did look to be the author of the prank."

"For which offense, too great for me to bear, I have henceforth exiled him from my life. If he or any of his merry band do seek me out then all that they will find shall be my door shut firmly in their face."

"He told the knight as much before we left," Renaldo confirmed when the king looked over at him, "in terms so stark they could not be misheard."

Henry rose from his throne and crossed to the window, staring out of it for some time. Once again time seemed to stretch on in silence. Hal could tell Nell was getting antsy again, and gave her hand a squeeze. She darted her eyes up to him and he shook his head slightly. He could understand her anxiety, he was feeling it himself. Unfortunately, any attempt to rush the king would only end in pushing him into anger. Finally Henry turned and walked back over, stopping to look penetratingly at Nell.

"For years God knows how I have strove to find a way to free him from the fat knight's sway. It seems instead of guards and royal writs I should have sent a pair of pretty eyes. If it is true that he has turned away from all these gross and undesirable ways, not just myself but all of this our realm would seem to be indebted now to you."

"I did no more than love him, majesty," Nell replied simply, blush staining her cheek.

"And if we are to talk of gratitude," Henry went on, ignoring her statement completely, "it seems mine must not end with this today. I hear from doctor Hobbs that it was you who cared for me when I was last beset."

Ah, there it was! The reason that there were no others in the room. He would not want any more people knowing of his seizures than absolutely necessary.

"I am right glad that I could be of help," Nell said. "Though Dr. Hobbs was not too long absent. I chanced to have seen something similar when I was learning to care for the ill."

"Your mother also, if I be correct, knew much of lore pertaining to the sick."

"She did my lord, and still knows more today."

"She and my younger son do think me blind, that I see not their shameful goings on. But I suppose at least in that one case I need not fear a wedding in the end. Which brings us back to you and the crown prince."

Hal, uncharacteristically quiet up until now, snapped to attention. His father met his eye and held it with an open appraisal. What he was looking for Hal was uncertain, but he seemed to find it at last, as he gave a nod of his head.

"I do not like the way you two were wed, in clandestine a manner gainst my will. I sometimes think your only goal in life is but to mock my wishes and my name."

"Oh do not think it father, tis not so. I seek to bring no shame upon our house, or any other way disgrace our name. I am a man full grown, my will's my own. But tell me, would you wish it otherwise than that the future king of this our realm, refuse to dance to any other's tune?"

"There maybe something there in what you say. When it doth comes to choosing your revolts, I must admit I greatly do prefer you to defy me for noble lass who bringeth out your chivalry and grace than for a brace of mottle pated fools who seek only to lead you into sin."

"Oh fear not sir, for this my lady wife doth lead me into heady sin enough!" Hal could not resist saying.

"Must you vex me thus you willful boy?" Henry growled, eyes flashing. "Tis pain enough to speak what I must say without you making matters harder still."

"And what, good father, is it you would say?"

"That since you have been married in the church, and Lady Eleonor is of fit rank, kin to the royal families of name, and seeing as she has in some small ways been of good use already to our throne..."

"Come, out with it sir! Say what you would say!"

"Keep silent, Hal, and let your father speak!" Nell snapped at him, with a glare to equal Henry's.

"I only hope that there will come a day when some of her wit doth rub off on you. But being as it may, know you my son, that I will to your marriage make no cross."

"Your Majesty, you have my deepest thanks!" Nell said, sinking once more into a curtsy and shooting Hal a speaking look.

"And mine, as well, my father, add to that," he hastened to say, the specter of fear at last lifting from them. "But tell me father, ere your fit did come, do you remember aught of what we spoke?"

"But little Harry, if the truth be told," Henry admitted, sitting back in his throne. "And that I do is shrouded in a haze."

"Then let me tell you once again, good sir. There is another reason to rejoice. For my beloved, clever little wife is even now expectant with our heir. And so you see, the marriage hath been blessed, and God as well as you do smile on it."

"I will not count the days upon my hands that you two have been married under God and in union have conceived this child," Henry remarked dryly. "I only will say that it pleases me."

"It pleases me as well, I must confess," Hal said with a cocky grin, embracing Nell and making her squeal. "And now, if you'll excuse us, majesty, it has been quite the day for my dear bride. If we may have your leave sir to depart, I wish to take her home and tend to her."

Only on the last words did he let his eyes go hot as he looked at Nell.

"Well, do so then. And god go with your both. But one last thing that I would ask of you. The lady is a princess now by right. See to it, would, you, she be properly dressed. The bills for this you may all send to me."

"Why father, there is naught would please me more!" Hal grinned, bowing his exit.

When the reached the courtyard, he tossed her up onto his horse.

"Well, lovely wife, is seems the day is one! How doth it feel to be a true princess?"

"A bit unreal, if I am speaking true. But Hal, how I do wish I'd worn a dress!"

"Think not of that, for I shall see to all," he told her, a glint in his eye. "And when I have a wardrobe made for you appropriate for my own sweet princess, you will not need to fear his grace's ire, for none but me will ever see it worn!"

Nell blushed and he grinned wider, imagining just what he would have made for her at his father's expense.

#The Hollow Crown #Henry V #Prince Hal #Prince Hal/OFC #Romance #Historical Romance #Historical AU #Fan Fic #Tom Hiddleston #Smut #Love #Angst #Fluff

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kingsten · 3 years

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CELINE: So often in my life I’ve been with people and shared beautiful moments like traveling or staying up all night and watching the sunrise, and I knew it was a special moment, but something was always wrong. (...) But I’m happy to be with you. You couldn’t possibly know why a night like this is so important to my life right now, but it is. I think this is a great morning.

JESSE: It is a great morning. Do you think we’d have other mornings like this?

@cir ——— 14.) The timeline in which they took a chance they didn’t in canon.

Brian traces the silver band on Peter’s ring finger.

It’s an unpretentious piece of vintage work with an engraving of a mostly worn away rose. Peter shifts, pouting even in his sleep from the sunlight hitting his face. Brian watches quietly, curious of what Peter’s reaction will be when he wakes up. Brian can hardly remember most of what transpired the night prior but it’s coming back to him in hazy fragments but mainly the crumpled 77$ receipt from a wedding venue with their vows messily scrawled out on the back is the main indicator that last night was not a dream.

Peter, after sleeping in for a few more minutes stirs again. He groans, rubs his eyes with his hands then freezes in that position. Brian holds his breath as Peter pulls his hand away to inspect the cold metal while still half asleep, half hangover. It takes a minute for the significance to register then his eyes cut suddenly to Brian who holds up his own hand to show off the near identical ring on his own hand.

———

“We met at a party” Peter states but Brian shakes his head. “or it was the cafe?”

“I think it was in that one class— remember?” At least that’s when he thinks is the first time he saw Peter. “Business fourteen something. I showed up for three classes but couldn’t understand french so I dipped.” Jae’s eyes roll so hard the wired frames slip down to the bridge of his nose and he slides them back up. “I don’t care about how you met I just want to know why you got married? Who the fuck gets married after knowing each other half a year?”

“Actually, we’ve known each other five months and a half. I know because we met after Peter’s birthday and— ” Jae and Peter both give Brian a hard look and his voice falls but he finishes his thought. “and It’s...uh, now... december.” then sits back in his chair. Jae holds the look longer than Peter before he turns back to his cousin and shakes his head. “RIP to your taxes.... have you even told your mom yet?” It’s a valid question and Brian’s ears perk up though he doesn’t expect that he has given Brian hasn’t mentioned it to his own parents either.

It’s a bridge they’ll cross once they get to it.

Now, regardless of the time and date of their technical first meeting. Brian likes to think that their official meeting was in the metro, while waiting for the last train to come. He remembers this clearly because it was the first time he’d seen Peter outside of the cafe or rather, to be more specific, without a laptop in front of his nose. Sure, even in this case it was tucked safely beneath his arm to be opened on the chance that there’s a free seat available.

“What are you always working on?” Brian asks, sitting down without invitation in the seat across from Peter. The fact Peter is distracted enough by the question to leave his laptop closed is a small victory in Brian’s book.

“Excuse me?”

Brian is used to Peter’s blunt speech. In the cafe he quietly says his order then goes back to being silent unless he’s on a business call. The lonewolf silent type is kinda Peter’s thing even when in the midst of a group of coworkers. But there’s something about him that catches Brian’s attention and he’s been working slowly to chip away at that outer exterior by bringing him extra sweets on the side in an effort to get to that other side of Peter that Brian’s yet to see but knows is there. And tonight he’s got a few minutes to kill. They’re not exactly strangers— at least not by Brian’s definition. They both have a few stops before they part ways. What better time than now? “Are you a business man? My dad is always working on finance stuff on his laptop too.” Peter remains silent. Brian takes it as his sign to continue. “He owns a shop. A cafe bookshop in Jersey.”

“So you are American.” Peter speaks up and it catches Brian by surprise. “I thought you might be Canadian.”

The fact Peter thought about him makes Brian grin a little before he nods.

That’s the subject that breaks the ice and gets them to talk, so much so that Brian misses his stop but pretends that he’s getting off at the same station as Peter where they both get off then talk even more. Brian’s able to draw out interesting thoughts and commentary from Peter and vice versa. Things like what Peter does on his laptop to discussing their biggest fears, observations of their surroundings and their shared experiences of being only children are brought up. They even touch on the topic of love and how it impacted Brian’s recent breakup and Peter’s long past break up.

It’s in the middle of that that his phone vibrates, cutting them both off mid-sentence.

“Oh, I’ve kept you for too long.” Peter says apologetically as he glances around their surroundings, uncertain of what time it is but Brian shakes his head. “Honestly, I could’ve stayed on that subway until...forever. I like talking to you.” He says before taking another glance at his phone. “It’s just. There’s this thing I promised a friend that I’d— “

“It’s ok.” Peter interrupts. “It’s late and we should both head home.”

Brian nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. I know you said that you had work to do and God, It’s so late— I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.”

“No, no, no it’s alright. I don’t eat after 7.”

“Is that like a french culture thing?” Brian asks, curious. He doesn’t get it but he can begrudgingly respect it. It tells him Peter’s very disciplined or likes schedules which he could’ve guessed. Peter laughs, and it still strikes Brian how much his whole face changes with it even as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” Peter replies, eyes still warm. Brian almost forgets to answer the question. After a beat he finds his words. “Oh,uh, I sometimes wake up at like 2 AM to make ramyeon. Don’t tell my roommates but it’s the only time i don’t have to share with them.”

“You should get going then. Is it your roommates wanting to know where you are?” Peter comments, nodding to Brian’s hand when the phone goes off repeatedly. “It’s the group chat. Nothing important.”

Just Jae asking where the fuck is Brian. Kate wondering why the hell hasn’t Brian shown up yet. Angelina wondering when more drinks are coming and the inevitable: who is going to kick these people out of the house after their social filters take a nosedive after the clock strikes midnight in, roughly an hour to thirty minutes.

Yet, Brian is still hesitant to say goodbye. Peter doesn’t move either and it’s almost as if he’s waiting for Brian to make the first move to end their time together.

“So there’s this party over at my place tonight. I — I say that like it’s not going on right now but you should come over and we can have a few drinks, talk about uh what did you say you’re reading Fred....?”

“Friedrich Nietzsche.”

“Wait, like, for fun?” Brian has to take a minute to let that information sink in and almost reconsiders his previous invitation because frankly he can’t think of anything more boring than Nietzshe. Peter shifts his weight, waiting for Brian to get back to the point. ”Ok, maybe we won’t talk about that but do you want to go? I’m sure by now you’ve figured out I’m not a psycho.”

"What if I am?” Peter smirks. Brian gives him a once over, standing back like he’s truly considering the possibility then leans in close, too close. “I don’t know what if I’m into that?” Peter grows quiet again, blinking a few times and uncertain of what Brian’s about to do before the other leans away again.

“Come to the party with me.” Brian turns up the charm voice low, warm and inviting. ”It’ll be fun.” Peter knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s clear by now that he’s hinting for him to at least stay the night. He could say no, tell him that he’s not interested in parties but then he gives a small nod and the rest of the night moves in a blur. That tends to happen when Brian is involved. Time seems to blur from one minute to the next in the way that:

One minute they’re in the park, then the vague familiarity of Brian’s place — loud music, flashing lights, pushed closer by a crowd of dancing people. And a few drinks in it’s Peter who breaks the tension between them and throws caution to the wind when he kisses Brian.

Time and everything else moves entirely too fast after that. Some days they both have to take a seat and remind themselves that it’s ok to go slow, but it’s hard when the clock is ticking down and they both know Brian graduates in December and after that? Where do they stand?

Six months after their chat on the subway they wake up in some shit hotel in Vegas. Bed hair, hung over, admiring the vintage silver on their ring fingers together that Brian picked up for cheap in a pawnshop in L.A. Peter, who always finds ways to surprise Brian is more calm than he anticipated. Brian takes advantage of the slowing in time to make Peter laugh just to see his face transform in that way that made him infatuated before they move onto the next chapter.

It is the start of many good mornings.

#cir #i got the idea for this randomly #obv based of before sunrise but i wanted to write you fluff since i haven't written fluff for them in so long #idk why i just love the idea of them getting hitched in vegas during a road trip or something right before brian is supposed to graduate and #go back to margate in the canon timeline #and they just move fast but like fall in love just as fast

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oforamuse · 4 years

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fucked for life

the heavily requested follow up to 'unexpected thanks'

or, the one where ian tells mickey about bumping into kash and how he took the news that they are now married.

read and comment on ao3

They’re lying in bed together hours later when Ian suddenly remembers. Mickey’s fingers are softly tracing up and down his arm, every now and then stopping on his wedding band momentarily before continuing their journey. He’d knocked together a delicious chilli earlier, as well as some delicious homemade cornbread to go with it - Mickey was pretty proud of it, as was Ian. He didn’t hold back his enjoyment as he ate it, allowing the moans of satisfaction to fall out of his mouth as he scoffed down his portion. Mickey truly had an unexpected talent and Ian feels like flying every time he sees Mickey’s small proud at himself smile. Now they’re lying together, both types of hunger satisfied, basking in the time they have just to be. It’s safe and warm. They’re content.

Then, Ian remembers.

‘Mick.’ Ian whispers, and Mickey grunts a reply from where he’s lying splayed across his chest. ‘Guess what happened earlier?’

‘What?’ He says, it comes out more as a groan than an actual sentence, given the way he’s pressed into Ian’s body. He makes no move to readjust himself though, instead shuffling even closer into Ian’s side.

‘Guess.’

‘Fuck you.’ Mickey says sleepily, but there isn’t any bite behind it. It’s affectionate. Ian knows Mickey’s love language well enough by now.

‘Guess.’ Ian says again, silently taking enjoyment out of irritating his husband just that little bit. He knows Mickey isn’t seriously annoyed, he’s just being lazy.

‘You discovered the fuckin’ merry old land of Oz.’ Mickey says, absolutely uninterested and deadpan, causing Ian to chuckle softly. He’s never failed to be taken aback by Mickey’s obscure references to classics, they seem so foreign for a boy that grew up scrounging for scraps on the South Side. It only makes him love him more. He brings a hand to run softly through Mickey’s hair and he hums in an appreciation, practically preening. They sit there for a moment, listening to each other’s soft inhales and exhales, reminding each other that they are alive and present.

‘What happened earlier then?’ Mickey breathes against Ian’s chest, the curiosity clearly winning him over though he still keeps his voice steady and uninterested. ‘You’ve got me on the edge of my seat.’

‘Shut up.’ Ian says, flicking Mickey lightly on the head and Mickey responds with a low laugh. He continues, ‘I bumped into someone.’

‘Who?’

This makes Ian pause for a second. He knows Mickey’s never liked Kash, quite rightly so too - the guy did shoot him once because he was jealous over him, plus the entire creeping on underaged kids thing never rang positively. He doesn't exactly know how Mickey will react, knowing that Kash is back in town - let alone that they bumped into each other. His husband is one to hold a grudge, especially when it comes to people who treated Ian like shit.

‘Who?’ Mickey presses again, sitting up so he can look at Ian’s face properly. Mickey’s eyebrows pull together in a scowl at Ian’s hesitancy.

‘Kash.’ Ian says, Mickey tenses in his arms and Ian instinctively pulls him closer to ease his held muscles. His name hangs there for a second, heavy.

‘Who?’ Mickey says dismissively, though both men know he’s just playing dumb.

‘Kash, come on. You remember him- Kash and Grab?’ Ian says exasperatedly, except the corners of his mouth turn up softly with fondness. ‘You know.’

‘Oh sorry, you mean the asshole who liked to touch little kids and shoot teenagers?’ Mickey snips, the distaste crystal clear in his voice as it comes out through clenched teeth. Ian brings a hand down to cup his jaw, stroking with his thumb softly. Mickey’s stubble feels nice under his skin, it’s comforting and strangely intimate.

Ian rolls his eyes affectionately, ‘Mick, you did rob his store.’

‘Not the point, asswipe.’ Mickey grunts, before sitting up again on Ian’s chest. ‘He say anything to you?’ He asks seriously, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

‘He asked me if I was married-’ Ian starts, but quickly Mickey interrupts him, cutting him off by sitting fully up with a sudden building temper. His face is twisted with anger, Ian places his hands on either side of his face to calm him. It doesn’t help.

‘What, why?’ He snaps protectively, which definitely shouldn’t interest Ian’s dick as much as it does. ‘He better have left you the fuck alone.’

‘He spotted the ring, chill.’ Ian says, attempting to both sooth and chastise his husband for the sudden blow up - despite his horniness, he’s not a damsel in distress. ‘No need to go all crazy on me.’

He definitely appreciates it, though. Time and place, time and place.

‘He’s the one that was creeping on you when you were a kid. Fuckin’ jealous pedophile.’ Mickey spits, his tattooed knuckles whitening as he balls his fists. ‘Did he say anything else? He try and touch you or anything?’ Mickey eyes him protectively.

‘No, Mick- Jesus.’ Ian says, looking at Mickey pointedly. ‘You know I would’ve socked him if he tried anything.’ Mickey nods knowingly - Ian can throw a decent punch, his hands coming up to rest gently over Ian’s.

‘Don’t need that asshole sticking his head in here, fuckin’ bitch.’ Mickey mutters irritably, his eyes possessively roaming Ian’s face. ‘He was always pissed that I was a better fuck than him.’

Ian laughs, though not denying it since it was true. ‘Mick, I was crazy about you as a kid- you know he never held a candle to you.’

‘He doesn’t get to have this.’ Mickey says, and it comes out low and guttural. His hands come down to rest by Ian’s hip bones, gripping ever so slightly into the skin.

‘Down boy’ Ian replies, shifting himself up against their headboard to be fully on the same level as Mickey. ‘He was surprised.’ Ian continues, His hands still stroking softly at the sides of his face, Mickey draws back, confused.

‘Why?’ He asks, his voice hard and suspicious. ‘Cause if he’s jealous- he needs to back the fuck off- ’

‘About you, actually.’ Ian says, looking Mickey pointedly in the eye. ‘I mean, not jealous about you, necessarily. I mean he definitely was at some point...’

‘Good.’ Mickey grunts, shifting his face to press a kiss against Ian’s palm. It’s marking and possessive. ‘He should be. You’re mine.’

Ian raises an eyebrow, ‘You need to piss on my leg too?’

‘Fuck you, Gallagher.’ Mickey says, his hand coming to cup the back of Ian’s head. ‘He always wanted you, but he didn't get you. Just makin’ sure everyone knows.’

‘I’m pretty sure everyone knows, you know, given the fact that we’re married.’ Ian rolls his eyes but pushes forwards, pressing their lips together softly. Mickey's possessiveness makes something in him race, it's a quiet thrill he'll never grow tired of. Their kiss is firm and closed mouthed, but they bask in it for a moment before Mickey pulls back.

‘What was he surprised about then?’ Mickey murmurs against his lips, his breath hot and airy. Ian shifts himself back, allowing there to be more than a few inches between their lips - he knows they’ll get carried away otherwise. He draws a breath in, hesitantly.

‘He was surprised I was married to you…think he expected you to end up in prison for the rest of your life.’ Ian explains, earning himself a light punch in the shoulder from Mickey. ‘Hey!- he’s only partly wrong.’ Ian yelps out in protest, grabbing Mickey’s balled fist.

‘I know that, bitch.’ Mickey bites, shaking him off, and well, Kash wasn’t wrong. They both ended up locked up in the clink at some point - not to mention the whole breaking out and being on the run thing on Mickey’s part. Pretty textbook Milkovich. He wonders how Kash would’ve taken it to learn that Ian also had ended up behind bars - both of them in the same cell at one point. ‘Fuckin’ thought I was fucked for life, that dickface.’ He murmurs, his face drawn with tension and Ian wants to kiss his worried creases away.

‘You used to say that about yourself too.’ Ian says steadily, though unable to hide the melancholic tone that creeps into his voice. He wishes both of them were really given a chance at life, that Mickey wasn’t forced to steal from the store when he was younger, that he wasn’t written off as lost causes practically from birth. He remembers how he used spend hours trying to convince Mickey to go back to school or learn an applied skill after he got out of juvie, only to be met over and over with a middle finger and a resounding fuck you. ‘You were both wrong though.’

‘You don’t think I’m fucked for life?’ Mickey asks, his eyebrows raised in a way that says come on, you know I am. ‘Multiple prison sentences before 25 plus a Mexican cartel hot on my tail…’

Ian rolls his eyes at his husbands dramatics, before smirking.

‘Oh no, you’re not fucked for life.’ Ian replies, grinning. ‘You’re married to me. You're gonna be fucked for life.’ He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and it’s so out of the blue that Mickey’s tension breaks almost instantly and he shakes his head fondly.

‘Shut the fuck up.’ Mickey laughs lightly, his hand coming up to rest affectionately on Ian’s cheek and Ian presses into his palm, preening. Mickey sighs, ‘That guy was a fuckin’ pig.’

‘Yeah.’ Ian agrees, surprising himself at how there’s not even a single part of him that feels remotely sorry for Kash. Sure, it sucks the guy wasn’t able to be who he truly was (plus, being married to Linda must’ve been hell on earth.) but at the bottom line, the guy was a pedophile - plus, he knowingly shot a kid over jealousy - they all know it was never about the robbery. That shit doesn’t sit right, even if he was convinced when he was 15 years old that he was in love with the guy. He wasn’t, he knows he wasn’t. He knew as soon as he pressed that tire iron into Mickey’s back and they fucked desperately, he wasn’t in love with Kash. ‘Fuck him, it’s you and me, Mick.’

Mickey grunts in agreement, his head falling onto Ian’s shoulder, tucking itself in his favourite spot in the curse of Ian’s neck. It sends a shiver up Ian’s spine - there’s only one person he’s ever been in love with, one person he ever will be in love with.

‘Do you want me to show you how wrong he was?’ Ian whispers, his breath hot in Mickey’s ear. Mickey draws in a sharp breath and suddenly he’s being flipped down onto the bed, Mickey shoving himself on top of him. Their hands are already reaching down to shove down their sweatpants, frantic and wanting. ‘You’re gonna be fucked for life.’

And if Ian has his way about it, he definitely will be.

#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless fic #shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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Highland Destiny Chapter 19 ~Lallybroch Part 1~

Claire was sat on the pew in Abercorn Parish Church waiting for Jamie to sort out the papers for their nuptials. She was wearing a simple pleated cream dress belted at the high waist with matching heels, bought earlier in the day. It was merely two days ago when they were talking about marriage, and she didn't wholly believe that it would be possible to arrange everything in such a short time. The Scottish law required twenty-nine days of notice to be submitted to the registrar before a legal wedding can take place, and somehow, Jamie was able to circumvent the rules. With the help of his lawyers and connections, the paper works and licenses were expedited when he called in past favours owed.

"How did you manage that?" Claire had asked, not fully understanding how much influence Jamie wielded in Scotland.

Jamie, extremely reticent about his charity work, hesitantly and shyly explained that he had helped the Hamlet of Abercorn restore its parish church and its other causes in the past. And in return for his generosity, they were turning a blind eye on the procedural requirements and red tape.

Still, it was hard to believe that she was actually getting married, considering the circumstances how they had met. What she had thought was a fleeting romance and attraction at the start, had turned into a roller coaster ride of mixed emotions, soul searching and introspection all within a short time. She had known men like Jamie before, men who have women falling at their feet and women at their disposal lured by their charm. After Frank died, she had guarded her heart in pursuit of her medical career, her life navigated with control, discipline and restraint, and she thought she had everything in grip until she met Jamie. Although not to be characterised as naive in the matter of the hearts, Claire was under the notion that sleeping with Jamie would have ended her fascination and draw towards him. She thought she could play the same game what Claire perceived Jamie was playing without getting hurt, safe in the knowledge that she was confident and open-minded when it came to love affairs. But the opposite had occurred and never in her life had she expected to fall hard for him. So it was astounding to believe that a man like him could love her in return, let alone wanting wholeheartedly to marry and start a family with her.

Looking now at her engagement ring, she couldn't help but smile at the memory it stirred. It was a simple amber stone, set on a plain white gold band, and it had belonged to Jamie's mother. Ever since Jamie had slipped it onto her finger, she hadn't been able to remove it no matter how much lubricants and soap she used. It wasn't as if her fingers were swollen, but the ring had remained stuck. Jamie had joked that his deceased mother must have insisted on her wearing it and that it was a sign of her approval. Well, it must be the case, she had thought because it looked more than ever, brilliant on the day of their wedding.

"Sassenach, are ye ready? We're about to be married," Jamie said softly. Claire hadn't heard him approach, so engrossed she was in her thoughts. Kneeling beside her, next to the pew, he smiled tenderly, his sky-blue eyes translucent as the light from the window touched his face. Although still bruised, Jamie looked achingly handsome with his three days bristles and longish hair, the golden-red locks curling at the nape of his neck. He wore a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, forgoing a tie. "Looking forward to being Mrs Fraser?" he grinned boyishly, raising her hand to his lips.

Claire's heart swelled, and her eyes glistened, as she felt the sting at the back of her eyes began to burn. Instead of answering, she leaned forward to kiss him gently, afraid if she spoke, tears of joy would spill.

"Sassenach, ye ken when we get back to Inverness, we can have another wedding if ye want. A grander one. I know this isn't..."

"Ssshh...Jamie, this is perfect," Claire smiled as she put a hand on the side of his face. "Just the two of us. Maybe we can have a small party for close friends when we get back...I'll be more than happy with that."

Pulling Claire to her feet, he gathered her into his arms, to hold her tight. "Ye're a very unusual woman, Sassenach," Jamie murmured in her ears. "I want to give ye so much, deck ye in jewels and place the world at yer feet, but ye'll no' have any of it. Ye only need to tell me what yer heart desires..."

"I have you, Jamie, that's all I've ever wanted." She then stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.

..........

The wedding ceremony lasted fifteen minutes. With the church's caretakers as witnesses, they had exchanged vows from their hearts, a lone tear escaping Jamie's eye as he smiled broadly, like a child receiving all his Christmases' presents wrapped into one.

"Weel, hul-loh there, Mrs Fraser," he said, giving her a lopsided grin after the priest announced he may kiss the bride.

Jamie kissed Claire long and thorough, almost forgetting that the witnesses and the priest were still there and Jamie had to be gently reminded with a slight tap on the shoulder that there were still papers to be signed.

After everything was signed and sealed, they left the parish church and headed for Queensferry for some celebratory macaroons and herbal tea at a local cafe. They weren't far from Lallybroch, but they wanted this special moment for themselves away from people they know and away from big crowds who might recognise Jamie. Although they felt slightly guilty for not telling their friends and family about their impromptu wedding, they couldn't stop grinning as they tucked into their sweet treats. Claire hadn't wanted any fuss, and knowing her luck after the last few weeks', she thought it would be best to stay away from people who might know them, at least until after the wedding.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie, I'm going to get fat before your very eyes if I continue to eat like this. I feel like eating for three instead of two," Claire remarked in between popping her fourth macaroon into her mouth and sipping her fennel tea. "I just can't stop eating anything sugary."

Jamie laughed and looked lovingly at his new bride. He wasn't overly concerned about her change in eating habits, simply because he was too happy beyond words. "Dinna fash Sassenach. As soon as we're back in Inverness, I'll start cooking for us some healthy meals. We're on holiday, and importantly, the baby seems to have an appetite. That must be good, aye?"

"I guess so...it must be a good thing my body has all the hallmarks of a healthy pregnancy, but I don't know how a fetus could have so much appetite. At this stage, our child is about this big," Claire explained, as she showed Jamie with her thumb and finger how big the embryo was. "The fetus is about the size of a pea."

To her amusement, Jamie had been surprised at this revelation and Claire couldn't wait to see his future reactions and responses as she progressed into the later stages of pregnancy. He had read so much about this subject from the internet and books given by Geillis, but Claire knew, no amount of reading will prepare him for fatherhood.

"Sassenach, are ye ready to go and see Lallybroch and meet my family?" Jamie said as he reached out to squeeze her hand after Claire polished off both their plates

She nodded with a slight hint of a frown. "I hope she'll like me, Jamie. She's your only family, and I'm really looking forward to having a sister. I've grown up wishing I had a sibling, especially when uncle Lamb and I were isolated from civilisation. I was always surrounded by adults growing up, so I've never really had anyone near my age."

"Dinna fash Sassenach. If she dinna like ye, remember, ye're married to me and not to her. Besides I'm quite sure she will love ye like her own...weel... after she's done lambasting me for all my misgivings these last few weeks," Jamie reassured but cringed at the thought of what's to come when Jenny finally gets her chance to harangue him in person.

..........

The drive to Lallybroch from Queensferry was a short one; nevertheless, picturesque and charming. It was quintessential Scottish countryside with open fields full of wildflowers in bloom and mounds of green hills in the background. The lands they passed were dotted with ancient manors and castles, and working farmhouses and Claire couldn't help but think of Frank. He had loved Scotland, and the history that shaped the country, and they had often visited ancient sites before they were married many years ago. Thinking back now, her times and marriage to Frank seemed like from another lifetime.

Jamie slowed down as they drove through a small unpaved road, lined with wooden palisades that led to a grand grey-stoned manor house. The stone building was surrounded by trees; there were oak, hawthorn, juniper, elder, and a few wild cherry trees scattered about. On the far side, away from the residence, was a paddock with three horses grazing in the field, and as she opened the window to breathe the fresh air, she could hear dogs barking from afar. She couldn't see the front of the house, but instead there was an arched-entrance that led to what she presumed was a front courtyard.

"Welcome to Broch Tuarach, Mrs Fraser," Jamie announced smirking in amusement, seeing her face looking in awe at his childhood home as they approached nearer to the driveway.

"Oh my, Jamie...your family home is grand! It's like a bloody castle if you don't mind me saying so. You could fit in three families there," Claire gushed, not taking her eyes away from the looming manor.

Jamie chuckled. "Aye, that it is, but at the rate, Jenny and Ian are breeding, they will need all the rooms in the house. They have four children at the moment, and my uncle had informed me, another one is on the way."

"Wot?" Claire's hand automatically went to her stomach, silently praying that their own child would be safe and healthy. "Your brother-in-law must be a hard-working man to have so many children and maintain such a large home."

Jamie smiled. He couldn't wait to see Ian. He was like a brother to him even before he married his sister, and he was his childhood best friend.

As they finally stopped, Jamie reached out and squeezed Claire's hand. "Ye ready, Sassenach? Mind ye, my sister...she is a tad feisty with a mouth like an army sergeant, but really, her heart is pure gold once ye get to know her," Jamie cautioned as he braced himself to introduce his new bride.

Claire simply nodded, itching to see the grounds of Lallybroch and meet Jamie's family.

As they stepped out from the van, Claire heard children squealing and shouting, and little feet running towards them.

"Uncle Jamie! Uncle Jamie!" A small boy with brown hair about the age of seven or eight threw himself at Jamie who picked him up and twirled him around laughing. "We missed ye loads, and I heard ma saying to da that ye're a clot-heid and a coof."

"Sssh...ye better no' let yer ma hear ye say such things or she'll wash yer mouth with lye," Jamie gently admonished, laughing as he hugged his nephew. Turning to Claire, he introduced the bairn. "Sassenach, this is wee Jamie. He was named after me, and I'm his godfather. Wee Jamie, meet yer auntie Claire."

The wee boy warily extended his hand, squinting his eyes as he looked up to her. "Hallo auntie Claire."

"Nice to meet you, wee Jamie," Claire smiled as she got down to her knees, eyeing the other shy little ones behind the boy who were waiting for their turn to be greeted by their uncle. "And are they your sisters and brother? Can you please introduce them to me," she coaxed.

One by one, the children came forth and introduced themselves shyly, with an amused Jamie looking on. She learned the eldest girl was Margaret, maybe around five or six, then came Katherine, who was four and a toddler learning to walk, Michael.

"Jamie, me lad!" It was a man's voice. As she stood up to take a better look, the children suddenly scurrying away to inform their ma of Uncle Jamie's arrival in high shrill voices, wee Michael tottering behind his siblings. Claire presumed he was Ian and noticed immediately that he had a prosthetic right leg. He had a kind smiling face, and like wee Jamie, he had dark brown hair.

"Ian!" Jamie hugged his brother-in-law, laughing and slapping his back good-naturedly. "Good to see ye, pal! Come meet my wife, Claire."

Ian still smiling, raised an eyebrow at Jamie before stepping forward to squeeze Claire warmly in an embrace. "Och, the lady in red!" Ian grinned much to Claire and Jamie's mild discomfort as they both remembered that calamitous evening at the ball. "I've read all about ye Claire in the tabloids - what did it exactly say...mmm let's see...the Sassenach that stole Jamie's heart, but I never read anything about a wedding. I'm quite sure that would have been impossible to miss." Ian turned to Jamie for some answers.

"Och, we only got married today. Ah ken Jenny won't be too pleased to hear that part, her only wee brother marrying so..."

"James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser!! At last, the prodigal son has returned!" interrupted a woman's high-pitched voice, not sounding very friendly at all.

They all turned around, and Claire observed a very petite woman stomping determinedly towards them. It's Jenny! She had the same blue eyes as Jamie, but her face was more delicate and porcelain-like, and she didn't inherit her brother's height - she must be around five feet tall! Jenny was wearing a plaid shirt over loose linen pants that were folded at the bottom hem, and it was evident that she was expecting a child. Her head was covered with a straw hat, and Claire saw wisps of black hair that was tied back in a knot, escaping.

Jenny dropped the wicker basket that was hitched to her waist, sending the freshly harvested potatoes rolling to the ground. Then she pulled her garden gloves from her hands one by one, angrily, throwing them aside. Not noticing Claire, she walked towards her brother, her one arm ready to slap his left ear, but Jamie was quick to duck as if he knew already what to expect.

"Jenny, what the fuck!"

"Aye, ye wee prick...what the fuck!" Jenny screamed, one hand on her hip and the other waving about madly. "Why did ye not answer my calls, eh? Yer head is so stuffed deep in yer arse ye have forgotten about yer family. The fucking paparazzi were all over our grounds nosing aroond looking for ye and scaring yer nephews and nieces off their wits. Ye have nae care in the world but yersel', so engrossed in yer own shit. I told ye countless times, I dinna want paparazzi hanging aboot here...this is our home, and we have our lives...and what's this on the newspaper I hear..."

"Jenny, please," Jamie gritted his teeth, trying to suppress his mounting anger and the urge to shake Jenny. Claire could see rigid cords forming on Jamie's neck as he glared down at his wee older sister. "Will ye button it for a minute till I introduce ye to my wife."

Jenny spun her small frame around towards Claire's direction, noticing her presence for the first time and then quickly turned back to Jamie. "Yer wife? Ach, ye married a Sassenach...aye, I heard all about ye chasing a Sassenach in Inverness," Jenny suddenly turned to Claire, and in a milder tone, she apologised, "Nae offence, lass." Then turning back to Jamie, she continued her rant. "Ye dinna think to include yer family...yer only family with yer happy news? Me...us worried sick...those newspaper people sneaking aboot like wolves..."

Jamie has had enough and pulled Jenny towards the house, half dragging her, his grip digging into the flesh of her arm, leaving Ian and Claire to stare in wonder as the siblings continued their screaming matches. As they disappeared through the large entrance door, Claire turned to face a smiling Ian.

"Claire, dinna fash about those two...it's always the same when they don't see each other for a long time. They'll scream and shout until they tire and eventually hug and make-up. Ye canna get between the Frasers when both are in that state..."

Claire smiled weakly, not quite sure what to say. Jamie did say his sister was feisty, but that was more than feisty. The woman was raving mad! "Well, I hope we're not intruding your peace here. It seems so tranquil until we arrived..."

Ian laughed. "No, not at all. It may sound weird to ye, but hardly anything ever happens around here so this with Jenny and Jamie is a welcome respite from the peace and tranquillity."

"But the children...and all that screaming..."

"Ach, we have a nanny, Lizzie. She kens what Jamie and Jenny are like. I'm quite sure Lizzie has already lead the bairns away to the back garden, and the walls are thick...I dinna think the wee ones will hear," Ian assured her as he guided her near the opened entrance door.

Claire expected to still hear screaming as they stood near the steps, but it was eerily silent. "I hope they haven't killed each other. It sounds too quiet in there."

Ian laughed. "No...that will be them done now. They're probably apologising to one another right this very minute. Anyway, I hope ye and Jamie will be staying long. I'm pretty sure Jenny is looking forward to getting to know the newest member of the family."

Claire was unsure about staying after witnessing Jenny's wild rant, but before she could reply, her sister-in-law suddenly burst out of the door, running down the steps towards her. "Claire!" Jenny beamed, both her hands on Claire's shoulder, before pulling her for a surprise hug, as if the incident earlier never happened. "Welcome to the family. I'm so glad to have a sister...I've always wanted one since I was a bairn."

Wide-eyed and shocked, she could only stand there and return Jenny's hug, indecisively at first, not quite sure what to make of her sister-in-law's sudden change of demeanour. Then, Claire saw a grinning Jamie leaning on the entrance doorway. "Welcome home Sassenach...welcome to Broch Taurach."

#melodyheart #highlanddestiny #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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