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ijustwant2write · 4 years

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His Protector-Fred Weasley x Reader

(GIF credit to @winter-and-zombies)

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Summary: At the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred is saved by (Y/N), a close friend of the twins. Both have always had feelings for the other, and in true cliche fashion, neither have admitted this. Years after the battle (where things are somewhat back to normal), the twins have remained friends with her, but it’s only at a Weasley family party does (Y/N) finally say something.

Characters: Fred Weasley x Reader, George Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, injuries, blood, lots of fluff

(A/N: This is quite long! And also the first time I’ve written for Harry Potter, blame it on my FYP on Tik Tok)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were no dry eyes from anyone gathered in the Great Hall. It was full of students, resting from the battle and treating injuries, or mourning over friends who didn't make it. Some were huddled together as they sobbed, others keeping to themselves as they tried to stop the horrifying images keep playing in their minds.

The Weasley’s were gathered around Fred, who was laid out on a makeshift stretcher, tears streaming down their faces as they waited for some sign of him waking up. He had dried blood on his face and partly in his hair. When he was first carried in, their immediate thoughts had been he was dead, because he seemed so lifeless. They were extremely grateful when they realised he was breathing, and he had a heartbeat.

Molly stroked back her son’s hair, trying to calm herself down as to not alarm her children. Never in her life did she think they would have to go through something like this, especially at such a young age. These were her babies, and she was going to protect them with her life like any mother would. George sat beside Fred opposite his mum, praying that his brother's eyes would soon open. Although it had been confirmed that he would be alright, albeit with a few injuries, seeing him lying there made it feel like he wasn’t with them anymore. Suddenly, Fred began to stir, scrunching up his eyes and moaning as he felt the pain throbbing through his body.

“How you feeling Freddie?” George quickly asked as the family got closer.

Fred mumbled something, but no one could understand.

“What was that Fred?” Molly quietly said.

“(Y/N)...”

“Who? Who are you talking about?” Molly was sure she had heard the name before, perhaps when the boys were still at school.

“(Y/N), where is she?” Fred moaned.

“I don’t know Freddie.” George replied.“I haven’t seen her since you were brought in.”

“Is..is sh-sh-she a-alive?” Fred was still weak, struggling to speak.

“Fred, please, just rest for now.” Molly begged, not wanting to see him in pain any longer.

“Sh-she’s d-dead?”

As the family struggled to keep Fred still and stop him from panicking, Ginny backed away, knowing the only way Fred would settle was if she found (Y/N). When Fred was carried in, (Y/N) had also been brought him right behind him, but they were separated. She was taken off towards her friends, and in the heat of the moment, Ginny hadn’t questioned if she was alright, making her feel awful.

Although (Y/N) had been close to the twins, she hadn’t been as mischievous as them, not wanting multiple detentions or to get in any trouble as much as they did. It was a surprising friendship between them, especially when (Y/N) was so nice to Ginny, despite the age difference; she was always surprised that the boys never invited her round to their home during the holidays. Because she saw how Fred would sneak glances at the girl, always rolling her eyes at how obvious he was being with his feelings, yet neither one did anything about it.

Ginny ignored the calls from her dad when she set off in the hall to find (Y/N), bombarding her peers with questions, desperate to find her as quickly as possible. Luckily amongst everyone, she spotted (Y/N)’s friends huddled on the floor, holding onto the unconscious girl’s hands. Ginny startled them as she rushed over.

“Is she...” Ginny started.

“She’s alive. But she’s weak.” one of her friends sniffled.

“We need to move (Y/N).” Ginny demanded.

“What?”

“She needs to be beside Fred.”

“Why?”

“She just does! Come on, help me move her. Please!”

The girls glanced between each other, and they knew Ginny wouldn’t be requesting such a thing for no reason. They struggled to navigate her body on the stretcher through the people, Ginny going ahead and commanding that they move out of the way. All eyes were on (Y/N), wondering why they were moving her. Ginny gently ushered George and her father out of the way, the men helping lay (Y/N) down on the floor. Fred also watched, slowly turning his head to look at her, expecting to see her beautiful eyes staring back. But when he saw they were shut, he panicked. He shakily reached out for her hand, struggling to find it as they were crossed over on her stomach. George took on her hands, placing it in Fred’s, smiling at the size difference.

Molly and Arthur looked at each other, wondering why this girl was so special to Fred and also why they hadn’t been told much about her.

“This is (Y/N). She saved Fred’s life.” Ginny explained to her parents."She's alive Fred."

Fred didn't reply, still staring at her and grasping onto her hand. His mind flashed back to seeing her save him, hearing how angry and upset she was as she shouted out her spell, somehow defending him from his death and saving herself. He had blacked out before he could see if she was safe. Although he heard Ginny, it didn't make him feel any better. He just wanted to see her eyes open. That was it.

"(Y/N)." he tried to raise his voice, but his throat was so hoarse that it came out as a whisper. He tried shaking her hand slightly, and again, he was too weak to even do that.

George held (Y/N)'s other hand, trying to help his brother wake up their friend. He too wanted her to wake up, and not just for his brother's sake. Her eyes fluttered open, then quickly shut again. Instinctively she was going to rub her eyes until she realised her hands were preoccupied.

"What's happening?" she breathed out, looking around at the Weasley family.

"You're safe dear." Molly reassured her.

"You're alive." Fred smiled, relief flooding through him.

(Y/N) only realised it was Fred talking beside her, breathlessly laughing as her head lulled to the side. There he was, alive just as she was.

"Fred? Oh my...Y-you're here."

"All thanks to you." George smiled, squeezing her hand.

"I'm so..." she gulped before continuing."I'm so happy you're both safe."

"Please don't do that again." Fred begged.

"Do what?"

"Put yourself in danger to save me."

"Don't be stupid Freddie. You can thank me later."

"Let me guess...lots and lots of chocolates."

"Exactly."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(Y/N) yawned as she packed up her things from work, tired after another long week. She passed co-workers, waving goodbye and smiling as she left the building. As she put on her hat, she looked up at the sky, smiling at the sight of snow falling. It was turning dark, and seeing the snowflakes illuminated by the street lights made the street she walked down everyday look beautiful. (Y/N) took her first few steps towards her route home, suddenly stopping for an unknown reason. Something was pulling her in the other direction, she wanted to take a different path today.

Following her instincts, she walked in the opposite direction, hypnotised by the weather around her. Once she reached the end of the street, she looked up at the sign post, and the only part of it not covered in snow was the one that said 'Diagon Alley'. She hadn't been down there for so long, she hadn't seen two certain men for so long.

Why was she headed there? And of all the times to go, why now? She hadn't seen the twins for months, not because she didn't want to, but because she was so busy, as were they. Continuing her walk, she thought back to how often they would spend time together, especially after what happened to Hogwarts. She needed solidarity, she needed to be reminded that Fred was still there, that she didn't dream saving him, it had to be real. (Y/N) would regularly visit them, or vice versa, trying to act like everything was normal and that they weren't effected by anything that had happened.

The shops were closed, she could see the owners locking up, beginning to tidy everything away. Lights were dim, signs now said 'closed' and she was one of the few people left in the street after a busy day of shopping. As (Y/N) approached 'Weasleys Wizard Wheezes', she grew nervous, wondering if this really was a good idea. She hadn't seen them for all this time and now she was suddenly turning up on their shop doorstep? Was it rude? Was she being stupid in thinking that they would be totally fine seeing her after a working day?

Mustering up as much courage as she could, (Y/N) forced herself to the front door, seeing that no last minute customers were left. She tried opening the door, luckily it was open, and let herself in.

"Sorry, we're closed!" a voice shouted out.

"Even for me?" she cheekily called back, giggling when a confused George poked his head around a pile of boxes.

He grinned, practically running towards (Y/N) with his arms open wide."Where have you been little miss?"

"I'm sorry, I know this is a random visit but...I don't know, I just thought of coming to see you and Freddie."

"You're welcome here any time of any day. You know that."

They pulled apart, still smiling."Thanks, I just feel bad that I've not made much effort."

"Hey, we're all busy now. Don't worry about it. I'll go get Fred, he's going to love this!"

George was ecstatic as he dashed off to find his brother. All of them were to blame for not catching up more often than they used to, and he had seen how it effected Fred. They had all been each others support system after the battle, but it was clear that Fred and (Y/N) hugged a little tighter than they used to, looked into each others eyes longer, and smiled as much as possible when together. George had always wanted to set them up (he would have preferred involving pranks somehow) and that old itch was back. These two were hopeless with their feelings for one another, he just had to give them a little push in the right direction...into each others arms.

"Freddie!" George exclaimed, laughing when his brother almost dropped a box out of fright.

"What?" Fred sighed as he recovered, placing the box on the floor. He just wanted to get the stock out for the next morning and go home.

"Come see who has paid us a visit."

George said no more, going back to the shop floor, leaving Fred rolling his eyes as he followed. He rolled up his shirt sleeves as they slid down his arms, not paying much attention to his surroundings. So when he looked up and he saw her, his mouth dropped open, shocked to see (Y/N) standing there.

"Would you just get over here and hug me?" (Y/N) joked, though not as boldly as she used to.

Fred just laughed as he did what she said, reaching down to wrap his long arms around her. She had miss how he held her, how tightly he clung onto her, as if it were their last hug ever. George just stood there, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for them to finish.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asked.

"Just wanted to see you both." (Y/N) simply stated.

"Well I'm glad you did."

"How about we go for some drinks? It is the end of the week after all." George suggested.

(Y/N) nodded."Yeah, I'm up for that."

"Well then, let's get packed up Freddie."

(Y/N) offered to help, but the twins refused. They came in and out of the stock room, being as quick as they could. (Y/N) took the opportunity to walk around, see what items they were selling. There were some new products, but most were older classics. She reminisced over all the times the boys used pranks such as the ones in the shop, and how they could sometimes get a lighter punishment, just because everyone loved them. She took part in a few schemes here and there, but only the harmless ones, the ones that would only land her in detention if they got caught.

She came to a stand that held numerous love potions. She smiled as she remembered making Amortentia in her lessons. That had been an awkward class. No one wanted to be picked on and asked what theirs smelt like, not in front of their peers. (Y/N) knew who's hers smelt like as soon as the lid of the bottle popped off.

"No luck in the love department then?" George smirked as he put on his coat.

"Hm?" (Y/N) hadn't been paying attention, thinking back on old times.

"Still not found 'the one'?"

"Oh, no, I don't have time for any of that."

"Well, hopefully Mr Right just stumbles into your life." George was growing more excited by the second.

"Yeah, hopefully."

"Right, ready to go?" Fred appeared.

"Yes-Oh!" George startled them."Freddie, I just had a great idea."

"Oh here we go." (Y/N) joked.

"(Y/N) should come home with us, to the Burrow, for mum's party!"

"A party? Why is your mum throwing a party?"

"Dad got a little bonus at work, mum thinks it's something to celebrate. And it's an excuse for her to get the whole family back together."

"That is an amazing idea actually." Fred beamed.

"I can't impose on something like that. Especially since it's a family thing."

"Nonsense." the twins said in unison.

"Are you sure? I mean, I haven't seen your family for so long."

"Mum would love it." Fred reassured her.

"OK then!" (Y/N) grinned."I've always loved a Weasley party."

"That's settled then," George opened the door,"we'll discuss the details over those drinks that are waiting for us."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Smoothing down her dress once again, (Y/N) checked her tights for any holes or ladders. She had planned her outfit a week before the party, changing her mind countless times before she finally decided on what she wanted to wear. All morning, her heart had been racing, stomach twisting into knots as nerves got the better of her. Why was she so nervous? She had met the Weasley’s many times, she even stayed the Burrow!

There was a knock at the door, meaning the boys were here to pick her up. Sighing, she checked herself one last time in the mirror before going to answer the door. As she opened it, she noticed it was only Fred standing there, no sign of George.

"Hi, where's George?" she asked as she let Fred inside the flat. She took a note of the smart-casual shirt he was wearing; thank god, she was dressed correctly.

"He's waiting downstairs. Said he can't be arsed to walk up all those stairs. Even though there is a lift..."

"Since when did he become so lazy?" (Y/N) giggled, grabbing her handbag and keys. Turning back around, she saw Fred staring at her.

"(Y/N), you look..." Fred was speechless, which was rare for him. He always had a witty remark, a joke or a flirty comment at the ready, but when he was around (Y/N), those words seemed to get stuck in his throat,"...beautiful."

(Y/N) smiled, ducking her head to hide her blush."Th-thanks Freddie. You look very handsome too."

There were so many more words that he wanted to use to compliment her. He wanted to slap himself for using such a basic word. (Y/N) was gorgeous, she was dazzling, he could believe such a smart, independant and caring woman was in his life. Why did he have to stutter or forget how to speak when he was around her? The real words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue, but they would never leave there.

Awkwardly laughing, they left the flat, meeting George outside. George noticed their pink cheeks but didn't mention it, knowing they had embarrassed themselves enough in front of each other.

The journey was full of banter and inside jokes, making it seem like they were students again at Hogwarts. (Y/N)'s nerves about seeing the Weasley’s again had disappeared, but new ones emerged. And they were all because of Fred. (Y/N) wasn't stupid, she had always had feelings for him. But after the battle, she hadn't snatched him up, something held her back, and she just couldn't bring herself to even talk to Fred about it, like any other normal adult would.

The Burrow was just ahead, now the nerves were taken over by excitement. Fred and George reminded (well, warned) (Y/N) how excited their mum was going to be, but she didn't mind. It would be great to receive such an inviting reception. She walked between the twins up to the house, letting them go in first, hesitating slightly as she took in how many people were there; they weren't joking when they said everyone would be there.

"Mum, look who else we brought." Fred struggled to say as he was smothered with kisses across his face.

Molly finally let him go, her smile turning into a shocked expression before letting out a scream, making everyone jump. She didn't waste time bringing (Y/N) into a bone crushing hug. (Y/N) would have laughed if she could breathe, but didn't complain.

"Oh, it's so good to see you dear! It's been too long since you've been back here." Molly held (Y/N)'s cheeks in her hands, looking at how the young girl she knew had turned into a beautiful woman.

“I couldn’t say no when Fred and George invited me.” (Y/N) said through squished lips.

“Alright mum, give her some air.” George gently chuckled.

“Oh, this is so nice.” Molly beamed, glancing between (Y/N) and Fred, who was already looking at her.

It took a good ten minutes for the twins and (Y/N) to greet everyone. She always forgot how many Weasley’s there were, some she had not seen for years. Homemade food was laid out on the table (far more than what was needed), everyone nibbling at anything they fancied as they spoke over drinks. There was a toast held for Arthur, who humbly thanked everyone, bashful over Molly’s speech; and she didn’t leave out mentioning how lovely it was that the family was extending, referring to (Y/N). She had blushed too much recently, avoiding eye contact with Fred as everyone stared at the pair who were stood together.

The day was moving on too quickly, it was becoming dark outside, and she didn’t want the night to end. The family had split into groups, still having much to talk about. (Y/N) decided to refill her drink, parting from the others to head to the kitchen. Just as she found another bottle to open, someone appeared beside her. Craning her neck upwards, she flinched back as Fred held out her coat to her, along with her hat, scarves and gloves.

“We’re not leaving are we?” (Y/N) frowned, not wanting to leave.

“Just popping out.” Fred smiled.

After getting wrapped up, (Y/N) followed Fred outside. Once again, it was lightly snowing, starting to stick to the ground which was already frosty, the sound of grass crunching underneath their shoes. She nonchalantly looped her arm through his, snuggling into him (if he asked, she would blame it on the cold), her heart fluttering when Fred instead wrapped his arm around her shoulders, meaning they could be closer. They didn’t stray too far from the house, Fred casting Lumos to light the way. There was a crumbling stone wall which Fred confidently hopped onto. (Y/N) waited for some part of it to collapse, and when it didn't, she joined him, having to jump higher to reach the top. He laughed, forgetting how much advantage his height have him almost everyday.

"We've never sat here before." (Y/N) commented.

"Honestly, I didn't even know it was here."

"So we were just wandering around?" (Y/N) smiled.

"Yeah." Fred confessed.

“How come you wanted to get out of the house?”

“Uh...I wanted to, well, I thought we could talk.”

“About?” she dragged out the word.

“When I saw you again, after all this time, I realised what an idiot I’ve been.”

“What do you mean?”

“Obviously we’re busy, we’ve both got jobs and it’s always harder to meet up. But I regret that so much. After...what happened at Hogwarts, you were my rock, I always felt normal around you, as if nothing had happened. We were able to carry on with our lives like we had planned. When I didn’t see you, I would lie awake all night with that image of you beside me in the hall. It would never go away.”

“Why have you never told me any of this?”

“I’ve been too scared to reveal anything. I didn’t want to bring anything up, because who would want to be with someone who is still stuck in the past?”

“I would. Fred, you’re not alone in this. I’ve always felt the same. I visited you all those times because my mind would make me think that I never saved you. And if I hadn’t....I don’t know how I would have gone on. Because if I didn’t have you in my life-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please. We’ve been through so much that we shouldn’t have. But we’re here now, together again.”

Fred held her hand, slowly interlocking their fingers. They both looked down, butterflies erupting in their stomach. The pair glanced at each other, quickly looking away when they realised how close their faces were.

“Why are we acting like kids at school again?” (Y/N) laughed.

“You’re asking the guy who owns and runs a joke shop with his brother, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being a kid.”

“We did, once.”

“(Y/N), we don’t have to think about that anymore. It’s in the past.”

“Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the last time we were in a situation like this? When you actually had the courage to ask me to the Yule ball?”

“And we went as friends?”

She nodded.“Yep. You know, I was a little disappointed when you added that part.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was sort of hoping you would ask me out as well. Then when you said that, and I just gave up trying. You never noticed me flirting anyway.”

“I never asked you because I never knew. And you also had guys after you so I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“Are you joking? Fred, no one else was wanting to date me.”

“Now you’re the one who is joking.”

“Well...”

“Well?”

“Let’s not make this more awkward than it already is.”

“Oh it’s awkward now?”

“Fred!” (Y/N) exclaimed but couldn’t help laughing along with him.

“No, no, I’m enjoying this.”

“Fred Weasley, after all this time being idiots and wasting time not being together...”

“What? Did you change your mind-”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to say it, instead closing the already small gap them and kissing him. Fred was shocked by how forward she was, but wasted no time kissing back. Her hands cupped his cheeks as Fred’s hands wound themselves around her waist. This had been long overdue. As they pulled away, breathless from the passionate kiss, Fred started to chuckle.

“What is it?” (Y/N) asked.

“Mum is gonna scream when she finds out about this.”

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snelbz · 3 years

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Life As We Know It {Chapter Five}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta’s time for mourning was up.

As she pulled into Elain’s driveway, reality set in. It would be her first day back at the restaurant since the accident, since her life was thrown completely upside down.

She wasn’t ready

But, she had no choice.

Elain was already smiling when she opened the door, reaching out to take Nyx. “Hi, my baby! Aunt Lainy and Seph are so excited to spend the day with you, yes we are.”

“I’m glad, because Aunt Nesta isn’t so excited to not be spending the day with him,” she said, sighing.

Elain gave her sister a wistful look. “I get that. How about Cass, how did he feel going back to work last night?”

Nesta snorted. “Don’t know. He never came back. They started inventory around two this morning after last call, according to the short text I woke up to. He says he’ll be there for most of the day.”

Elain lifted a brow. “Wow.”

Nesta blinked. “He’s a bartender, what do you expect?”

“No,” Elain chuckled. “I meant: wow, looks like you two are actually communicating. I’m shocked.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “We’ve been living together for three days. If we weren’t communicating, what exactly would we be doing instead?”

Elain carried Nyx into the living room, sitting him down in the playpen she’d set up in the corner. “I mean, honestly, Az and I just figured you were pretending each other didn’t exist.”

For all intents and purposes, they had been, but they had made sure to talk about important things. Like whether Nyx had been fed, when he needed to go down for his nap and what the schedule for the next day would look like.

To be totally honest, she hadn’t even realized Cassian had her number until she’d woken up to a text from one she didn’t have saved in her phone.

“We’re…adjusting,” she finally said, watching as Nyx crawled over to the pile of toys in the corner of the playpen. “I gave him a bath last night, and he said he would handle the next one, since he had to go to work. But… Gods, Elain, giving a one-year-old a bath is exhausting. I looked like I’d just left the pool, not to mention the entire bathroom was soaked.”

Elain chuckled and shook her head. “Seph loves baths, but we’re still having them in the sink right now. She’s not quite ready for the bathtub yet.”

The baby in question was asleep in a bouncer, resting on the floor by the couch.

Nesta glanced at her watch, whatever reply she had falling from her lips. “Shit, I have to go, I’ll be late.”

“Go,” Elain said, wrapping her sister up in a hug. “The day will fly by and you’ll be home with Nyx before you know it.”

Nesta nodded, even though her core was filled with dread.

Nonetheless, she was across town in fifteen minutes, hurrying into the café just before nine. She tossed her purse behind her desk after she unlocked the door to her office and looked around, only to find everything exactly where she had left it.

With a sigh, she pulled a bottle of water out of her mini-fridge, only to find it completely warm. They must have unplugged it when they were cleaning. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She didn’t have time to think on it too much, though, because there was a knock on her office door, her manager’s voice calling her name through the wood.

Her first day back had officially begun.

Cassian was exhausted.

For the past couple hours, he felt like he was lost somewhere in a dream. Now, as he continued to stare at the shelves of liquor in the back room, he debated curling up in the corner and falling asleep.

He’d messed up so many drink orders the night before, worrying about whether Nyx was okay or if Nesta had forgotten to do anything for him. He knew Nesta was perfectly capable of taking care of Nyx, had been doing so since Rhys and Feyre had died. But he still worried about him constantly.

He yawned as he shoved a box of tequila up onto the top shelf, turning to see how much was left.

Only to find the store room empty of boxes. He let over a relieved sigh, pulling out his phone.

10:37

He knew the opener would be in at eleven, a shift that was usually his, but as the manager, he preferred to ensure inventory was done correctly, and with such a big shipment, thanks to his unexpected time off, he told them he would work the night before.

His feet damn near shuffling across the floor, he made his way into the office and sat down at the desk, to wait for Kallias. He didn’t see a reason to lock the place up when Kal would be here five minutes later to start setting up.

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he heard a knocking on the office door and sat up quickly, his feet falling from where he’d propped them on top of the desk.

Cassian found Kallias standing in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips. “Baby keeping you up at night already?”

He yawned, dragging a hand down his face. “No. Well, sometimes, but not this time. Didn’t finish inventory until about fifteen minutes ago.”

Kallias whistled. “Damn. You should’ve called. I would’ve come help.” Cassian shrugged. “No use having both of us exhausted.”

Kallias just shook his head. “If you say so. Go home, Cass. Get some sleep. I’ve got everything under control.”

Cassian didn’t need to be told twice. He stood, clapped Kallias on the shoulder, and walked out to the parking lot. After hopping into his truck, Cassian dozed off.

And six hours later, he woke up, his head against his steering wall, his neck hurting like hell, and his chin glistening with his slobber.

It wasn’t an attractive sight.

After a curse, he looked at the clock on the dash, and swore again.

It was just after five.

The truck was in gear and he was speeding home seconds later. When he rounded the corner, Nesta’s car was already in the driveway.

He parked beside her, hopping out and hurrying to the back door. When he threw it open, he found her standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan. It smelled delicious.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, collapsing in the nearest chair at the kitchen table, his head dropped into his hands in exhaustion. Even after his impromptu nap in the truck, he still felt like he needed another eight hours sleep. “Inventory took way longer than usual and then I passed out in the truck.” He shook his head, letting his obvious exhaustion explain the rest to her.

“It’s fine.”

He looked up and glanced at her stiff back. She hadn’t turned back to look at him, was completely focused on whatever she cooked on the stove.

Her tone said it absolutely was not fine.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I’d been awake for over twenty-six hours.”

“Elain had to reschedule a shoot with a client tonight. She was expecting you to come pick up Nyx after you got off and got some sleep.”

He cringed. Nesta had texted him around ten, while he was still focused on inventory, asking him to get Nyx from Elain before three. He didn’t ask why, had honestly forgotten she’d even texted him.

“I’ll call her later, I’ll apologize,” he sighed.

Nesta turned abruptly and tossed the towel she was using to hold the warm handle on the counter. She was pissed, he’d seen that look in her eyes more than once. “I get that you worked and you were tired, but you have to be more responsible, Cassian.”

“I said I was fucking sorry,” he said, standing. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in my truck, but I did. I’m fucking sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, but turned back to the stove.

Cassian scoffed, and was nearly ready to bite her head off, but then Nyx’s soft cries came from the living room.

“He fell asleep in the pack and play,” Nesta said, continuing to stir what she had on the stove.

Cassian took that as his dismissal. He hurried into the living room and picked up Nyx, who was standing up in his pack and play, gripping the edge. When he saw Cassian, his hands shot straight in the air.

“Hey buddy,” he said, quietly, as he lifted Nyx out of his pack and play. Nyx instantly relaxed in his arms, laying his head on Cassian’s shoulder.

“He’s probably hungry,” Nesta said, as the boys made their way back into the kitchen.

“I’m aware,” Cassian snapped.

Nesta’s shoulders tensed.

Cassian said nothing more as he opened the fridge and took out some leftover mashed potatoes, Nyx’s favorite.

“He should have some kind of protein with that,” Nesta said, her back still to them.

Cassian spun around, exasperated. “Shit, anything else you’d like to add?”

She said nothing, pretending he didn’t even speak. Cassian didn’t say anything else, but he fixed him a bottle, and set Nyx in his high chair. As Cassian shook it, Nyx held out his hands, reaching for it. He gave it to him, turning to the microwave to heat up the potatoes.

He heard plates being set down at the table and found Nesta setting two plates full of stir fry on the table.

He hesitated, but moved Nyx’s high chair closer to the table. He took the already empty bottle from him and got a small spoonful of potatoes for him. He quietly said, “You didn’t need to cook for me,” as he fed Nyx.

“I made too much,” she replied, simply, sitting across from him. She didn’t meet his eyes as she took a bite.

He watched as her eyelashes fluttered in satisfaction.

As Nyx grabbed his bowl from the end of his high chair and stuck his face into it, Cassian looked down at his own plate, at the steak, broccoli, peppers, peeled carrots, and snap peas that sat before him.

It smelled delicious.

He hesitantly took a bite as Nyx clapped his hands and began to babble.

“Afraid I may poison you?” Nesta asked.

Cassian blinked, meeting her eyes. They remained like that for a moment, staring at one another, then Cassian took another bite. “It’s good. Thanks.”

“I made too much,” she repeated. “Cut Nyx up some of the steak. It’s tender enough for him to eat, just make sure the pieces are tiny. The broccoli, too. He likes broccoli.”

Cassian did as he was told without a word. He set the food in front of Nyx, who instantly had his chubby little hands on them.

“Don’t think I’ll be cooking every night,” Nesta said, in the middle of their otherwise silent meal.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Cassian said, then cleared his throat. “I can cook sometimes, too. I’m not bad in the kitchen.” A look crossed Nesta’s face that said she didn’t quite believe that statement.

“I make a mean breakfast,” he said, after chewing through another bite. “I’ll show you. We’ll do breakfast for dinner one night.”

Nesta nodded, but Cassian couldn’t tell if that was confirmation or just agreeing to shut him up. After a minute, she set down her fork and cleared her throat. “Speaking of breakfast, I’d prefer to not share the table with any friends you may bring home.”

Cassian’s brows lowered, not fully understanding. And then what she was saying clicked and he was coughing around the bite of food he’d been swallowing. He drank from the glass of water he’d grabbed, and cleared his throat, ensuring he could breathe. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“If I live here, it is my concern,” she said, going right back to eating, as if she hadn’t just brought up an extremely unexpected topic. “I don’t want Nyx to see a revolving door of women leaving either, he doesn’t need to get the wrong idea.”

Cassian could only stare at her, though when Nyx heard his name, he paused his eating to look up at her. He finally said, “He’s one, first of all, so he has no idea what that would even mean, and secondly, I can have whoever the hell I want here, and they can stay for breakfast. I live here, too.”

“Would you care to see an endless string of men coming out of my bedroom every morning?” Nesta asked, her tone light, but her eyes full of hellfire.

Cassian’s chewing slowed. No, he wouldn’t care to see that, but he’d never admit it. He wasn’t even one to bring women home...well, at least not often, but apparently she thought of him as some unhinged casanova.

“As long as you ask me to join, I don’t care who you bring home,” Cassian said.

Now it was Nesta’s turn to choke on the bite of steak she just took. Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red as her eyes watered. After catching her breath and taking a long drink of water, she said, “That’s inappropriate.”

Nyx giggled, his lips covered in mashed potatoes, as if Nesta had just said the most hilarious thing in the world.

He took one last bite of his food before standing and carrying his plate over to the sink. “You don’t bring up my sex life and I won’t bring up yours. Deal?”

“Fine,” she said, picking up her plate as well and dropping it next to his on the counter. “You take care of the dishes, I’ll give Nyx his bath.”

“Fine.” That seemed to be their word to end conversations, as most of them ended with one of them snapping the word at the other, and it being repeated right back to them.

He wanted to fling more insults at her, wanted to snap that he wasn’t the man-whore she apparently thought he was. He never had been, despite the obscene amount of those stupid condoms she’d seen in his glove box all those years ago. But he knew she wouldn’t believe him.

He heard her unclipping Nyx’s high chair and then she was carrying him upstairs. Cassian was already wrist deep in soapy water when he heard the bathtub running from upstairs.

It was then that he realized he had originally told Nesta that he would give Nyx a bath tonight.

He didn’t pick him up from Elain’s.

He didn’t give him a bath like he said he would.

Maybe Nesta was right.

Maybe he was just setting himself up for failure.

As he scrubbed at the dishes, Cassian felt that sense of failure wash over him and sent a thought to Rhysand, wherever he was, hoping that his oldest friend wasn’t as disappointed in him as he was.

#snacmc lawki #life as we know it #nessian #nesta archeron #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #cassian #snacmc

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egyptsblackrose · 3 years

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Dancing with Strangers

This is by far the longest chapter, hopefully I’ve tied all the loose ends and come to a decent conclusion. Stay tuned fro more fics.

Part 1 - https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/648370506842701824/a-rose-by-any-other-name

Part 5 -https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/654891313044635648/dancing-with-strangers-there-will-be-one-more-part

Part 6- The end, enjoy!

It had been eight months since your first meeting with Gojo Satoru and Kakashi Hatake. This had been the longest relationship either men had ever had, both as a three or on their own. It was also painfully clear how absolutely in love both men were with you, and you with them. The change in the three of you was as clear as day, never had anyone seen each of you so happy - is what you constantly heard from everyone you knew, and when you ran into a friend or relative of theirs… with a few exceptions.

The truth had come out about a month in that Gojo was the one with all the money. A ‘representative of his household’ had come to the apartment to visit and go over ‘matters concerning the family’. Satoru had been so laid back through the whole thing, smirking mockingly at the clearly uncomfortable (stuck up) old butler. He’d grabbed your waist as you were walking towards the door to leave, pulling you down and into his lap. It became clear that he wanted to mess with the man opposite him, even Kakashi seemed in on it because he kissed you sweetly as he walked passed.

Gojo wasn’t able to hide his bitterness when the man finally left though, burying his head into your neck and hugging you tightly. His father had been a politician and his mother a CEO of a successful company, he still had connections because of them and shares that were doing incredibly well. Not to mention their life insurance had been enough to set anyone for life.

“It’s not like I was close to them to begin with.” He’d muttered in a bored manner when you’d teared up at the mention of a Satoru toddler being left alone, surrounded by people who wanted to use him for money, power and influence. The butler was a man hired by his fathers old political party and the other share holders at his mothers company. They apparently weren’t best pleased with him settling for being a small time policeman, had hoped to mould him into their puppet to keep both their money making schemes going.

To cheer the three of you up, Gojo had taken the three of you on a spontaneous trip to an Onsen that one of his friends owns, up in the middle of no where. The beautiful, traditional building with modern interior was nestled on the side of a frigging mountain that could only be reached through a thick, ancient forest.

You were the only three guests, and the workers were even excused for the evening, so it felt like you were the only three in the world with the next person been miles away. Which you were insanely grateful for. Because Kakashi and Gojo had made it a completion between them on who could make you scream the loudest.

Three months later, Kakashi had appeared out of no where behind you while you were cooking dinner, wrapping his arms round you gently and kissing your neck soothingly. “Would you join me for a day out tomorrow?”

“Of course I will,” You giggled, shivering as his lips ghosted over the marks on your neck and shoulders, drawing invisible lines like he was drawing constellations. “Where are we going?”

Hatake was silent for a moment before he squeezed you tighter. “I’m going to introduce you to my father.”

To say you were nervous was an understatement, you had agonised over the right outfit for hours the night before, asking both Miku and Sakura for their help. You should have known better, they had spent the majority of the time gushing over your boyfriends and how serious it was getting between you. After all, no one had ever heard of the two most wanted bachelors introducing their conquests to their family and friends, or even going on trips with their lovers, let alone keeping their interest this long.

Finally settling on one of your favourite outfits; something simple, comfortable and trendy, you kept your make-up light and as natural as possible and called yourself ready. Meeting at their apartment, you were surprised to see Kakashi in his policeman formal uniform. God the man looked dashing. Wearing white gloves, black dress shoes, a smart navy suit, light blue tie, hat tucked under his arm and a smirk on his handsome face.

“Enjoying the view baby?” He teased.

You nodded dumbly, bitting your lip to try hide your smirk. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more handsome, you have to go devastate my heart like that.”

“Maybe me and Sato should wear these tonight then.” The suggestion had your thighs clenching, suddenly it was hard to swallow. Hatake chuckled lazily having seen your reaction. “Later baby girl, for now, we have somewhere to go.”

The cemetery was the LAST place you were expecting this day to take you. Kakashi stopped at his fathers tome stone and saluted. It was at least two decades since his fathers death. Kakashi Sakumo, Hatake’s father, had been a respected police detective, and his whole inspirational drive to become a policeman. When Hatake was young, his father had led a team in a drug bust against some of the biggest names in the Yakuza, but had chosen to save his men’s lives rather than capture the villains when things had gone wrong.

The ‘failure’ was a black mark against his name, and soon his was shunned by the media, his fellow detectives and the whole police force. The abuse became so bad, that he took his own life. From then on, Hatake had lived and grown up with Gojo who he was already inseparable with.

“For the longest time…I blamed him too.” Kakashi admitted quietly, holding onto your hand like a life line. “He had a duty to take those dangerous men off the streets, to make the city a safer place for the public, for kids who were in danger of either being hooked onto drugs or joining gangs. Instead he chose to save the lives of his team.” You were silent, what could you possibly say to ease his pain? “But now…” Hatake raised his head with a proud smile. “My views have changed. He didn’t want to chase glory, he just wanted to do the right thing and save lives. In that moment, they needed him, he saw that and did his best. He was willing to die for his men, he didn’t want to see all those family’s mourning for lives he could have spared. I can only hope that one day, I will be as brave as him.”

You are not ashamed to say you cried, standing there looking at the grave of the man who had made Hatake into the man he was. Into the man you loved. You bowed deeply and gave your thanks, promising out loud to take care of his son for as long as you were allowed. Kakashi’s own eyes watered at this as he pulled you close. You don’t know how long you stood there holding each other for, but it didn’t feel like long enough. Part of you thought it would never be enough when it came to the two amazing men who looked at you like you were their whole world.

After the visit, Kakashi had taken you to the old, more traditional part of town so you could go to his favourite restaurant. The two of you were the first to arrive and the last to leave, laughing so much to the point where you were both in tears. It was so light and care free, and you could see the weight just lift off of Hatake’s shoulders.

And when you both finally made it back to their apartment, Gojo was sat on the sofa waiting. Smirking. Also in uniform. That night, not one of you slept.

With your hands locked together in cuffs and blindfold around your eyes, you shook like a leaf in the wind as Kakashi took you from behind, Gojo at your front. If it had been anyone else trying to blindfold you and tie you up, you would have absolutely said no. As it was, Kakashi loved seeing you so vulnerable. So much so that he had stretched your arse as he’d enthusiastically eaten you out, and was now taking advantage of his VERY thorough prep work. He held a vibrator to your clit as he fucked your arse, Gojo keeping your mouth open and busy as he kissed you hungrily so they could hear your moans, squeezing and playing with your tits as he took your front just as roughly.

Not only did you squirt first time, your pretty sure you blacked out for a second. Not that the boys were deterred, they knew you’d tell them if it became too much. Besides, the sounds you were making; the moans, the wet squelching from how wet you were, it was the best yet. You couldn’t walk the next day though and had to ask Miku to record your lecture.

By the fifth month, Gojo and Kakashi had broached the idea of you moving in with them. It was a casual comment made in light conversation one Sunday morning, when they FIRST brought it up. Then it was Kakashi suggesting you keep more of your things with them, mostly because you would ask them to take you back to your apartment with the girls so you could get ready for the day, meaning you would leave earlier than they would like. Eventually Gojo decided they were being too subtle and would cling to you in the mornings, begging you to not leave and to stay with them.

“You guys remember that I’m living with two roommates already right? I can’t just up and leave them like that, they won’t be able to afford rent!”

“But beautifu~l! We want you here with us!”

“What our idiot means to say baby-”

“Hey!”

“Is that, you already spend so much time here, and we love having you with us. Our apartment is even closer to your Uni building! It makes sense surely, for you to move in with us. Or for us even to find a place together-”

“Wow, ok slow down there!” You butt in quickly, cheeks turning pink. Finally the boys had had enough of dancing around the subject and had sat you down to talk about it properly. Talking about moving into their lush apartment was one thing, but talking about a place together, was something else entirely!

Gojo pouted at you in annoyance. “What, you don’t want to live with us?”

“I’m not saying that!” You defended instantly, frowning at him. “I’m saying it’s a BIG step, and I get that you guys feel ready for it, but I don’t ok? For one, five months isn’t that much time dating someone, second, I don’t even have a job yet! And don’t tell me money isn’t an issue and I don’t have to pay rent cause God help me Satoru, I will get up and leave right now.” You threatened.

“Ok you two, lets take a deep breath and talk about this calmly ok?” Hatake soothed, squeezing both your hands. “Baby, if you don’t feel ready then that’s fine, we will not force you. But please know that when you ARE ready, we WANT you here. Ok?” Nodding in understanding, you started to relax. Gojo huffed and crossed his arms, but nodded in agreement. “And about you looking for a job and paying rent. We are not trying to baby you or the like, we just want to take care of you. We know you can take care of yourself but that wont stop us from WANTING to take care of you because you are YOURS. Understand? We love and cherish you, and if we can help you, we want to. If it was us in a difficult situation and you could help us, you would, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, in a heartbeat.” You muttered with a slight pout.

Kakashi beamed. “It’s the same in our eyes.” And that had been the end of that…for the time being that is.

Just short of the six month mark, you had agreed to go out again with the girls for a night out. Kakashi and Gojo had encouraged you to go, promising that when they were done with their shift, they would come pick you up. They had even bought you a gift voucher for your birthday to buy a new outfit. You had been sure to send the boys a flattering pic of yourself all dolled up before you had left for the night, receiving such thirsty replies that no one would guess that you had spent the night before with them.

The night had been going perfectly, once again you were the most sober of the group, which you were now used to. You had a nice buzz going, there had already been so many laughs and the girls were excitedly giggling about the stories you shared on your boyfriends. (Of course the intimate, personal things you kept to yourself.) You had been to a few bars and your group agreed to end the night at the club you had met your boys in, ‘The Ninja Shrine’. Texting the two policemen still on shift, you let them know that you and your friends had arrived safely, were going to order your drinks and you would be eagerly waiting for them for a dance.

Gojo replied with multiple winky, smirky, and red with sweat drop faces. Kakashi was the only one to give you a verbal reply, promising to be there as soon as they could, and ‘ordering’ you to behave until they arrived. It made you smile, biting your lip. ‘No promises’ was your reply with a winky face, locking your phone and ignoring the bings that followed, knowing that would rile them up more than a reply.

Despite the clear teasing, you stayed against the bar, talking and laughing with your friends as you sipped at your drink. The girls did try convince you to dance with them at one point, but you were waiting a certain pair to join you. After all, dancing with the girls was fun, but it was even better when you had certain pairs of eyes on your body.

“Oh shit,” Miku cursed, suddenly grabbing your arm and turning you away from the door.

“What the hell-?”

“Don’t turn around!” Miku earned, holding onto your shoulders. “One of your boys’s old flings is here, and trust me you don’t want anything to do with her.” Looking subtly out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a pretty strawberry blonde with soft brown eyes and a confident smirk. You could clearly see her figure through her flashy outfit, her expensive designer shoes and handbag on show like she was on the Paris run way. “She was with them for four months, her names Claire Aoki, and she’s a psycho if you ask me.” Miku continued carefully.

Before you could react, the door opened once more and in came your two boyfriends, looking like sex on legs. Gojo wore a flashy designer get up with black jeans and dress shoes, a blue shirt and a leather jacket that you knew for a fact cost more than your joint rent with the girls. Kakashi was also in black dress shoes, black dress pants, a dark grey shirt and a lighter grey silk vest. Their eyes landed on you immediately and began smiling. You smiled back, beaming when they started heading your way.

They hadn’t made it two steps before they were stopped by Claire, her red manicured-nailed hands resting on their chests as she leaned in towards them, pressing her chest into their arms. Kakashi looked panicked, eyes widening as his eyes darted up towards you, then down to her and back. Gojo’s smile shrunk, it was still there, but it looked much more forced now as his blue eyes narrowed at the other woman.

Curious, and not worried at all, you leaned back against the bar. You turned to make yourself look as relaxed as possible, replicating the same look you had the night they had pulled you away from your friends to charm the pants off of you. Your head tilted and your smile grew as their eyes kept on drifting to you. Whatever Claire was saying clearly wasn’t keeping their attention.

Your smile turned to a smirk as Beast by Mia Martina started playing, slowly pushing off the bar as you headed to the dance floor, your friends following. Closing your eyes, you let the music take you away, body rolls moving slow, deliberate. You caught their eyes by dancing for yourself, but now you knew their weaknesses, the parts of you that they loved to tease and squeeze, you knew their bodies like you knew your own. And you fully intended to use that to your advantage.

“Keep your eyes on me,” You sang, looking both men dead in the eyes, smirking as their gazes struggled to meet yours, roaming your form hungrily like they hadn’t seen you in months. “Come here right now,” You continued, your hands reaching out to them, beckoning them to you. “Cause when the sun goes down the beast comes out,” Dropping to the floor, you straightened your legs so you were bent in half, slowly coming up and curving your back as you flipped your hair back gracefully.

“Take you down, down can you keep it up all night,” Smirking, you spun slowly as you exaggerated your hip swaying, making sure they got an eye full of your behind. “You all over my skin, I’m anxious, paint my body boy’s I’ll be your canvas.” Your head snapped back, showcasing all their bruises that they left from the night before.

Next thing you knew, two sets of hands were gripping you tight, one set on your hips and another on your upper thighs. “Da~nm Beautiful!” Gojo growled lowly into your ear, your grin stretching as you giggled, Kakashi ducking his head to bite your neck. “First you ignore us, then you go and put on a show like that for anyone to see. What are you trying to do, hu? You just want us to bend you over our knees don’t you?”

“Maybe I do,” You teased. “Or maybe I’m trying to prove a point to someone who was getting too handsy with what wasn’t theirs.”

“Oh? Someone was getting jealous? As sexy as you are ‘staking your claim’, doesn’t change the fact that your going to get your punishment when we get home, beautifu~l!” Satoru teased, his hand dragging up your body till his hand was at your neck, then he squeezed.

Kakashi let out a ragged breath at your moan. “I think we should get out of here.” Pressing himself harder into you, you could feel his impatience clearly through his pants.

You dared to look around you, eyes meeting with soft brown eyes glaring daggers at you with so much hatred. You would have been scared six months ago, you would have shrunk and shied away. But how could you now when Gojo and Kakashi were stood with you, hands all over you, demanding your love and attention, making you feel so treasured and powerful.

“Kiss me first.” You demanded. Satoru didn’t even hesitate for a second, pulling you into a searing kiss full of passion and desire. You faintly heard Miku and your friends cat call and wolf whistle somewhere near the bar, causing Gojo to pull away and chuckle. The opening was all Kakashi needed. His kiss was equally breathtaking, his movements slower and more controlled, but clearly as desperate to lay claim.

When Hatake pulled away, Gojo effortlessly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, smacking your arse when you struggled. So you smacked his right back. Again, you couldn’t walk the next day.

By the end of the eight first months, you had finally landed a job interview and was offered the job on the spot, starting small but promised promotions if your work was up to standard. Around the same time your lease on the shared apartment with your friends was up, and you had finally given into your boyfriends hints and agreed to look for a place you could all afford together. What’s more, your graduation was less than a month away. Things were finally falling into place.

You had yet to broach the subject of your relationship status with your parents, though you were pretty sure they had figured out that you were at least dating someone by this point. Admitting that you hadn’t mentioned anything to your parents, you were nervous how the boys would react. But they had simply shrugged, nodded in understanding and reminding you that if you needed their help they were here for you.

Most importantly, you had a job you were doing well in, you were moving into a beautiful home, your friends were happy and doing well in their own fields, and you had two men who loved you unconditionally. You were sure everything was going to work out just right. And with Gojo and Satoru by your side, you could over come anything.

#y/n #you #my own work #gojo #satoru #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #reader #Kakashi #hatake #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #Kakashi Hatake x reader #smut #love story #final chapter

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Text

Pining John Pt. 2

Please if you have any pining!John fics (like Sherlock accidentally hurts him like he did molly with the Christmas gift) I would absolutely love that!! Thank you so much😊(submitted by @thediamondwoman)

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: hi! New Johnlocker here, this is a fic rec ask, but do you have any fics where John is pining/suppressing/ignoring his feelings for Sherlock? Preferably after TRF, and without Mary in the way, and a slow burn one (sorry for all the preferences just one with pining John would be fine) and thank you for being a blog currently reading all your metas and they are amazing <3333

@i-love-books-and-so-do-you asked: hullo!! *waves* i’m in the mood for some pining john, so i was wondering if you have any good ones? preferably with a happy ending

and may i just say your blog is GORGEOUS like all your fic recs *chef’s kiss* thank you for the literal best johnlock content <33

——-

Hi Lovelies!!!

First of all, thank you for your love for my lists! LOL! These asks just keep coming in, so it looks like I’m overdue for another pining John list!!

That said I do actually have pining John fics, and enough to start a second list! As I re-read fics, I’m able to keep adding all the old ones I didn’t tag ages ago to lists, so that’s fun, hahah. Hope you guys don’t mind me just combining all the pining into one list, hahaah. I get more fics that way LOL!

Enjoy, and feel free to add your own, friends!

See also:

Pining John

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

Mutual Pining

Mutual Pining Pt 2

John’s Away (and Sherlock’s Not Okay)

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he's not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Insanity in the Middle by DotyTakeThisDown (E, 28,010 w., 8 Ch. || Equestrian Sports AU || Alternate First Meeting, POV John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Clueless Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Passionate Kisses, Hand Holding, Caught Making Out, Bed Sharing, Spooning, Blow Job) – John is a world-class eventing rider with a gold medal and several four-star wins to his credit, but he's never won at Rolex. Sherlock is an up-and-coming rider taking the sport by storm.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #pining john #pining idiots #my fic recs #submission #i-love-books-and-so-do-you #long post

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phis-corner · 4 years

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I recently read your platonic brucinette post, it was amazing, i couldn't stop laughing. What if she invites herself over to the Manor or something and the boys have no idea who she is (cause I feel like he wouldn't mention her cause she would probably ruin his reputation even more since his kids would probably spread the stories to their own friends) but I feel like maybe Tim already know her since he was in Paris looking for Bruce (when he got "killed" by Darkseid), he would probably see her as a mom or fun aunt that he could vent to

Ask and you shall recieve! again, any grammar mistakes are because I did not bother proofreading. whoops.

Masterlist ◈ Original

Dick Grayson had seen a lot of unexpected things throughout his lifetime, but he really did not expect to come downstairs for a nice bowl of cereal for breakfast and find a woman who looked eerily like the late Martha Wayne sitting at the table and eating his Bat Puffs.

Wait.

“Those are my Bat Puffs!” Dick shrieks, because he has priorities. That’s the last of his cereal, okay? And it’s going to be two days before Alfred goes on his next grocery run and he’s really bad at shopping for food on his own. Sue him.

Not-Or-Maybe-Possibly-If-You-Believe-Conspiracy-Theories-Martha-Wayne simply laughs, and easily dances out of the way of his grab for the bowl, moving out of his reach with an elegance and grace that can only mean she spends part of her day dressed in a different costume. Whether or not she was a good guy still remained to be seen, considering she had somehow broken into the Manor without setting a single alarm off and was currently eating the last of his Bat Puffs.

A truly despicable act, indeed.

“Grayson?” Damian chooses that exact moment to come down the stairs. “I heard you scream. What’s-” He snarls the moment he catches sight of Not-Martha-Wayne, pulling out a knife from somewhere in the folds of his pajamas and hurling it at her head with impressive speed and accuracy.

Not-Martha-Wayne simply ducks, letting the knife thud into the wall behind her, making Dick wince. Alfred was not going to be happy.

“Identify yourself, woman!” Damian screeches, pulling out another knife. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”

Not-Martha-Wayne tilts her head, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “Really? I’m not even allowed to eat cereal in my own home now?”

Dick is slowly growing more and more convinced that Not-Martha-Wayne is actually Zombie-Martha-Wayne.

Damian freezes, eyeing her suspiciously. “Your home?”

“Wh’s goin’ on?” Tim slurs, stumbling down the stairs. “Why ‘re you all screamin’?”

Maybe-Zombie-Martha-Wayne brightens when she sees Tim. “Timber! How’s it going?”

Tim rubs his eyes, once, twice, and then his face splits into a grin when he finally registers Maybe-Zombie-Martha-Wayne’s presence. “Marinette! It’s so good to see you!”

And okay, what.

Tim hurries down the stairs (meaning only marginally faster than before, he hasn’t had his morning coffee yet,) and ignores the coffee machine in favor of hugging Possibly-Undead-Martha-Wayne, who laughs and puts down the bowl of Bat Puffs in favor of hugging him back. Dick takes the opportunity to snatch the bowl away from her, mourning the fact that there’s only a bit of milk left at the bottom of the bowl.

“Good to see you too, Tim,” Not-Martha-Wayne, whose name is apparently Marinette (why does that sound familiar?) ruffles Tim’s hair. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Tim,” Dick says, at the same time Damian demands “Drake.”

“How do you know this woman?” They say at the same time (Dick stubbornly ignores that Damian replaced ‘woman’ with ‘harlot’).

“You mean you don’t?” Tim asks, frowning. “She’s-”

“Marinette,” Bruce cuts Tim off, having appeared at the foot of the stairs in his usual dramatic fashion.

Not-Martha-Wayne-But-Still-Really-Looks-Like-Her-Whose-Name-Is-Apparently-Marinette beams and waves cheerfully at Bruce, who looks done with life. “Hey, little brother! I see you haven’t gotten tired of dressing up as a giant bat to beat people up yet!”

Well, that was a lot to unpack. Dick decided he’d start with the easiest thing.

“Little brother?” He looks from Marinette to Bruce, Bruce to Marinette, noting the resemblance in both of them to Thomas and Martha Wayne. “You mean- she’s your older sister?” Dick shrieks, turning to Bruce. “Why have we never heard about her?”

“Really, Bruce?” Marinette gasps, mockingly placing a hand over her heart. “I’m devastated. How could you, after everything we’ve been through, not even tell your hundred thousand children that I even exist?”

Bruce doesn’t reply, instead letting out one long sigh through his nose. Huh. Sixteen whole seconds. Impressive.

“Just kidding,” Marinette grins once Bruce has finally stopped sighing. “He’s never told you because I travel the world a lot, my job is super dangerous, and because I’d expose all his deepest, darkest secrets.”

“Like his greatest fears?” Damian asks. Cass, who had silently entered the kitchen at some point or another, stood behind him, ready just in case he pulled out another knife.

Marinette tilts her head. “What? No!” Like how he wiped off one of the eyebrows on Sylvia McCartney’s face when he was four-”

She doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Bruce has made a mad dash across the kitchen, evidently aiming to get her to stay quiet. Marinette dances out of his hold with a giggle and continues speaking even as Bruce chases her all around the kitchen.

“-anyway, he declared that ‘she had something on her face’, wiped off one of her drawn-on eyebrows-” She ducks underneath a plate, which Cass deftly catches before it hits the wall. “-and then went ‘There. I got it for you!’”

A shoe flies at her head. Marinette bats it away with one hand.

Dick tries valiantly to stifle his snickers, but judging by the evil eye Bruce is giving him, it’s not quite working.

“And there was that time we were at that four-star restaurant in Star City and he ate too much and-” Marinette raises an eyebrow as she catches a toaster in her hands. “Really now, Bruce? A toaster? You know it’ll take more than that to stop me. So he ate too much and got a stomach ache, then started holding his torso and very loudly declaring that he was starting his period.”

Dick doesn’t even bother holding in the laughter this time, and neither do any of his siblings. If only Jason was here to see this, but alas, he was at his own apartment and had no clue that this was going on. Neither did Steph, for that matter, and Duke was already out on patrol since he was somehow a morning person. What a travesty.

“And then there was that time when-” Marinette is cut off by another one of Bruce’s long, very drawn-out sighs.

“Look, Mari, I think they get the point,” He groans (well - as close to groaning as the Batman ever got), pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can stop now.”

“Oh, you’re just annoyed that you couldn’t stop me,” Marinette retorts with yet another smile, and Dick is once again struck by how similar she looks to the lady in the portrait that hangs over the fireplace in the largest of the Manor’s three living rooms. “I suppose you’re right, however. Despite the abundance of embarrassing stories, they do run out at some point, and I’d prefer not to use them all up in one go, ya know? I have to be the cool aunt. Kate can keep wine aunt, but I’m the cool one now.”

“I think Miss Katherine might disagree with that,” Alfred says mildly. “However, I do believe you can win the children over if you tell them about the time your father brought Master Bruce to his board meeting.”

The look of utter betrayal Bruce gives Alfred makes them crack up all over again.

--o0o--

“Man, I am so glad you got it all on camera,” Duke grins, placing two bowls of popcorn on the coffee table before flopping back down onto the couch. “This is going to be great.”

Tim waves a hand dismissively. “I just hacked the cameras in the Manor. Bruce’s paranoia backfired this time.”

Steph cheers and immediately makes a grab for the popcorn as Cass hits the play button on the remote, and Dick can’t help but crack a smile at his own face when he sees the last of his cereal being eaten.

“Richard, I find it concerning that your first thought was of your cereal and not the intruder,” Damian observes.

Dick ruffles his hair, drawing out a squawk of protest. “Well, what can I say? I really like Bat Puffs.”

The Wayne siblings settle down for a movie night that is definitely going to be filled with lots of laughter.

permanent tags

@wannajointhecrabcult @miraculous-simmer7 @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @fantasyislive @chocolateherringtacofan @junarvion @susiej1118 @aestheticnpoetic @toodaloo-kangaroo @ladybug-182 @itsmeevie01 @g-arya @souleateralicestein @nightstarblue @i-is-mysterious @moonystars14 @vixen-uchiha @flapdoodle-noodle @labschaos @nathleigh @jalaluvsu @kaithehero @iamablinkmarvelarmy @luveverything12 @technicallyburninggarden

unspecified

@momothefemur @indecisive-mess-named-me @laurcad123 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @sassakitty @fusser90

#maribat #my writing #asks #platonic brucinette

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Written by: @alliswell21

Title: One of Us

Prompt 145: She moves in with her aunt and uncle when her parents dies in a small town. After suffering through trama, Katniss slowly starts to get better with the help of her family (aunt, uncle, cousin) and the Mellark brothers. But when things starts happening to her and the people around her, it’s revealed that she and almost everyone in the towns are apart of the werewolf pack and that one of the Mellark brothers is her mate. #werewolves [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rated: G for general audiences.

Tags: Canon Divergent!AU; Modern with a dash of Supernatural; Grief/Mourning; Feeding as a Language of Love.

Note: This is my final submission to this year's EFE challenge! Yay! I really am grateful to @xerxia31 and @javistg for their continued support of this fandom and for hosting once again this event. You are such amazing people, and I’m absolutely honored to be part of a community with people as amazing as you two are! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for keeping EFE alive!

@animekpopxx, thank you too! You feed my muse! And you give me Werewolves!!!!

This story was a bit of rushed job, though, and there’s more of it, I mean... we haven’t seen them turn into wolves yet!!! 🤣 I just didn’t have time to edit the complete fic before the deadline, but if you’d like to read the finished product, keep an eye out for it on AO3. I’m fairly sure the rating will keep, but we will see.

Kpkpkpk

There’s nothing but the sound of crickets and frogs filling the vast darkness of the night.

It’s another moonless night out here in Panem… or is I like to call it ‘the middle of nowhere’. It’s weird, how dark nights feel here, there’s barely a start peeking tonight, but in a strange way, I like it.

Sitting on my aunt and uncle’s porch to watch the infinite dark ahead while listening to the nocturnal critters it’s about my favorite thing to do… it’s what did used to do when we came here for long summer stays, anyway. He used to say he felt at peace and relaxed, connected with nature. Too bad it took him to be gone, for me to appreciate what he meant by that. So every night I come out here and sit in the steps hugging my knees, staring at nothing but the deep, black night surrounding the cabin, whisking my dad was sitting next to me.

Tonight is different than usual, though. It was raining until recently, and the smell of wet earth is so familiar my chest feels tight and my throat is knotted.

“Petrichor, Katniss,” I mumble the words noiselessly, “is the smell of rain, hun. It smells the same everywhere in the world.”

I lean my chin on my knees, wishing I could go back to feeling numb like when my parents just died. But thinking of the word petrichor, while smelling the thing, is bring forth a plethora feelings and memories I don’t know how to handle.

Dad used to love Scrabble, crossword puzzles and trivia challenges. He tried to get me interested in those games, teaching me words and their meanings, every time he had a chance.

I wish I had been more enthusiastic about learning the darned stuff; it would’ve meant an extra moment spent with Dad, and less regret to feel right now.

An involuntary whine leaves my chest. It hurts to think about it, and not for the first time, I dig my nails into my skin to keep myself rooted in place, and not tear running into the void.

I feel like I’m spiraling out of control, I fear this time something will break in my head and I’ll do something crazy, like scratch my skin away and run wild into the woods, like a beast… but the overwhelming thoughts gets halted when I hear soft noises from out in the distance.

It’s like the crunching of footsteps on the gravel at the mouth of my aunt and uncle’s property. It’s too dark and isolated here, deep into the country. I’ve seen big wildlife roaming around: deer, raccoons, coyotes and even a lynx. But the longer I hear the noises, the more certain I am I’m being stalked by something big and fast.

My heart beats erratically in my chest; every hair in my body stands on point, fear is clawing its way up my chest and into my throat, my eyes feel about to pop from my skull, and then I’m disentangling my knees from my arms, standing up as tall as I can— which isn’t saying much—and then I call into the night, “Who’s there?!”

I hear a faint disturbance of air, and then…

“Good evening, Katniss!”

Slowly, from the shadows, a blonde head pops, eerie for a second. Broad shoulders follow, and then a torso. Before the rest of his body comes visible into the light of the porch, two more blonde heads come into view, flank the first person on either side: Shoulders, torsos, Jean covered legs… The three Mellark brothers make their way leisurely towards me.

I nearly faint from relief after the rush of adrenaline pumping in my veins. Going through so many emotions: grief, sorrow, dread and relief, so fast in such a short amount of time has left me winded and unsteady.

I lose my balance, but one of the boys— Peeta, the youngest— breaks ranks, and rushes to hold me upright.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, helping me sit back down on the porch steps. I lean my head against the main post.

“I’m okay. Just a little lightheaded,” I try not to glare. They gave me a fright, but I doubt they did it on purpose.

It’s something I’ve learn over the years. People in Panem are kind of quirky.

“Sorry we scared you,” Peeta offers, sheepishly. “We wanted to check up on you, and bring you something…” he looks up at his two older brothers and Rye — the middle one— steps forward, holding up a brown, paper bag, with little greasy spots on the sides.

I can guess what’s inside. They’ve been bringing me cheese buns almost daily, since Peeta found out they’re my favorites.

Rey hands the baggie to Peeta, and the latter offers it to me with a soft smile.

“Thanks,” I mumble, gratefully. I can smell the cheesy, yeasty treat through the bag; I can feel the warmth of the buns too! “While I love freshly baked cheese buns, you guys didn’t have to make this trek just to bring me a treat… on a dark, moonless night no less,” I fix them with a glare. “How did you even get here anyway? You couldn’t have walked and I never saw a car coming?”

My aunt and uncle’s cabin is at least 4 miles from town, and surrounded by woods; but then again, most houses in this weird little place are built in similar locations. It seems the townsfolk take their privacy extremely seriously.

“We rode our dirt bikes,” chimes Rye in, cheerily. “Not much light on those bulbs, though, but it’s okay. Our night vision is prime!” He gives me the A-Okay gesture.

“Rye,” the eldest, Bannock, warns lowly. Baring his teeth.

Rye shrugs and slips his hands on his Jean pockets.

I swear Rye hisses something like “it’s true” under his breath, but Peeta has been rubbing my back with the tip of his fingers all this time, and I’m getting drowsy, so I may have imagined the whole exchange.

“You should eat those while they’re still warm,” Peeta murmurs close by my shoulder.

I nod, and open the bag, releasing all the delicious smells of the buns, while Peeta massages my shoulders, encouragingly.

I must be really out if it tonight, because outside of my family, I’ve never been comfortable with people touching me… but, my family is all gone now, and I can’t go through the rest of my life without human touch, can I?

Grief stricken me out of nowhere, and barrels through me. I gasp at the acute pain in my soul at the loss of my parents. But in an instant, I’m enveloped in strong, thick arms, warm and steady. I’m sobbing into a hot, solid chest, covered in the softest cotton I’ve ever felt.

“Shush… I’ve got you, Katniss. I’m here for you,” Peeta whispers soothingly into the crown of my head.

He smells so good; like cinnamon and dill, from the bread he must’ve made this afternoon at his family’s bakery.

It takes a few minutes for me to get a hold of myself, and embarrassedly push out of his embrace, “I’m sorry,” I mumble, mortified.

Bannock presents me with a handkerchief, and I take it gratefully to wipe off my face and nose, before returning the soiled square of fabric to him.

I’m not sure why the Mellark brothers are being so nice to me. I’ve never been around them more than a handful of days over the past few years, when we came to see Dad’s remaining family outside mom and I, his half brother, his wife and their child.

I don’t know the Mellarks all that well, but in the handful of weeks since my parents’ funeral, the three brothers have been incredibly attentive and generous to me. Peeta more than the other two, but I don’t mind… I like him best anyway.

“It’s okay to cry and be devastated, Katniss.” Says Bannock, sagely. “You’re going through the worst time of your life, and we care for you… like family.”

“Oh,” I sit straighter, blowing my nose. I feel a little strange hearing him say that, “thank you? I appreciate your kindness,”

He nods, “Peeta’s right, though. You should eat the cheese buns before they go cold.”

“A full stomach always helps me feel better,” Rye adds, patting his belly, and smiling at me.

My stomach growls, as if to show agreement. I am hungry. I didn’t touch my supper earlier. I pick up the bakery gingerly, and pretty much shove my nose into it. The steam curls out of the baggie, filling my nostrils with the delicious smells. I pluck out a bun and practically inhale it in a second; quickly followed by another one. My third cheese bun, I decide to savor, slowly.

The Mellark siblings just hang around while I devour my treats.

The front door opens just as I’m wiping my hands on my leggings. My aunt’s head peeks out of the door.

“Oh, why hello everyone!” She greets, as bubbly as always. She’s wearing a dark purple wig, to match her dark purple outfit.

“Good evening, Effie,” says Peeta, standing from his squatting position next to me. “We brought Katniss a gift,” he points at the now empty bag in his hand.

“How sweet of you, Peeta!” my aunt gushes, “thank you for checking on our girl, and making sure she’s put something in her tummy before bedtime!”

I roll my eyes. Aunt Effie keeps treating me like a kid. I hate it. I’m 17 and mourning, not a freaking baby!

“It’s no problem at all, Effie! We were just on our way home anyway.”

“Well, it’s always nice having you boys over,” she offers, “but it’s getting late, and Primrose is already in bed, which is why I came out here to begin with, to let Katniss know that her sister was already asleep, so she’d know to tip toe back inside when she was ready to go to bed herself,” my aunt smiles.

I feel a slight pang of guilt; I’ve been wallowing in my own sadness this evening, and missed tucking my sister in to sleep. She’s the only person I’m sure I love, yet tonight I’ve let my own misery drown me.

“Don’t mind us, Effie,” Says Bannock, “We were about to leave…” he pauses and then calls a meaningful, “Peeta?”

“I’m going to wish Katniss a good night, and then we’ll go,” he says.

Not for the first time, I wonder if Peeta has a crush on me? I wouldn’t know he did, even if I wasn’t feeling so rotten inside. I’m not very good at flirting… but with Peeta it is different I think. He’s so nice to me, he’s taken up asking if I’ve eaten that day and if I haven’t, he feeds me something from his family’s bakery without charging me… it’s like he actually cares for me and my well-being, and his brothers care, because he does. It’s mesmerizing at times.

Peeta looks me in the eyes, “Are you ready to go inside?” He asks, offering his two open palms to me. He helps me up from the floor, and then smiles sweetly. He doesn’t let go of my hands while we stand facing each other.

Then something strange happens. Peeta doesn’t blink, as his clear-blue eyes bore into mine, and then his pupils blow out full, until only a ring of deep, glowing azure remains for his irises, “Sleep well, Katniss,” his voice sounds deeper and warmer than usual, “Rest and have a relaxing, dreamless night. Remember what I said: we are all here for you, to help through this hard time… alright?”

I feel groggy, “Yes, Peeta,” I mumble feeling my eyelids getting heavier.

“Oh dear, can you please instruct her to walk herself to bed? She might look lithe, but I promise, her little body is as heavy as any of us,”

Huh? What’s aunt Effie going on about? I don’t understand.

Peeta chuckles, squeezing my hands warmly in his, “You heard Effie… don’t fall asleep until you’ve gone into your bedroom and change into comfy pajamas.”

I nod, “Okay,”

“Good night, Katniss, I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to eat something on your own, I know you’re sad, but you need your strength for when the solstice comes.”

What a weird thing to say! Everything is strange here though… so I nod and march inside the house, mumbling my good nights to everyone and rubbing my very sleepy eyes. Once I’m in my sleep clothes, I lay in bed, and try to ignore the yearning of having Peeta rubbing my back like he was doing while I ate my cheese buns.

I sigh and go to sleep, a weird thought pops into my mind: “I’m so lucky to have such a sweet, caring mate. Peeta Mellark. Can’t wait to be bonded with him,”

#alliswell21 #animekpopxx #prompt 154 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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animepopheart · 3 years

Text

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 11: “The Temptation of Death”?

Wonder Egg Priority is a beautiful, uncomfortable, moving and confusing series that starts out engaging all the things we don’t talk about—self-harm, abuse, rape, bullying, gender dysmorphia, and homosexuality, to name a few. Our silence and blindness to these issues have a weight and pressure to them, and WEP shows how this reinforces the isolation and hopelessness of the young women of the “eggs” who turn to suicide for relief. The first ten episodes have been exhilarating and exhausting alike.

And then there is Episode 11. This past week, the series took a bit of a turn, leaning hard into the sci-fi-philosophical, with appearances from Greek gods, a murderous artificial intelligence, and really, really disturbing insect girls, one of whom, despite being a brutal killer, is apparently a vegetarian. Has the show gone off the rails? Has it lost its way in departing from the familiar procedural approach of engaging a differing social or mental health issue with each episode?

Such a critique is perfectly legit, but before you write off the penultimate episode of WEP, just hear me out on why the abstract, meta turn in episode 11 may just be the most valuable thing this series has to offer so far.

Before we begin though, a little recap of what we learned this week. In episode 10, we hear the eggheads, Acca and Ura-Acca, discuss the need for warriors of Eros to battle Thanatos. This is our first hint that things are about to get lore-full and maybe a bit weird. Eros and Thanatos are of course gods in the ancient Greek pantheon, Eros being the god of love, and Thanatos, of non-violent death. Within the first minute or so of episode 11, it’s clear that the eggheads’ hope is now focused on Ai becoming the long-awaited warrior. At this point though, rather than continuing with Ai’s story, the episode shifts into flashback mode and we are finally introduced to the villain, an artificial intelligence created by the eggheads back when they were still human. Their lives gradually come to revolve around her: She is the fulfillment of their obsession to create life, and she is good.

Frill is associated with hydrangeas, which symbolise heartlessness and pride in Japanese flower language. But is it her heartlessness and pride, or that of her makers?

(Atelier Emily has done an outstanding series of posts on the flowers in WEP. Check it out!)

Only, it turns out she doesn’t play so nice when others join the happy family. After killing Acca’s wife, and putting the life of the unborn baby at risk, the AI—who named herself Frill—is unrepentant, all traces of her seeming humanity now revealed to be illusory, a mere affectation. Acca locks her away in a hole in the cellar. Years pass. The baby, Himari, grows up and is a ray of sunshine. But after effectively confessing to her ‘uncle’ (why does anime always do this?), she commits suicide. Ura-Acca discovers that Frill is still very much alive and active from her hole in the cellar, having powered up all the discarded monitors and laid down reams of electrical cables—to what end, we do not yet know. Though Ura-Acca surmises that she has somehow influenced Himari to take her own life. How else would the girl have known about Ura-Acca’s admiration for her mother? Where else would she have learned to make what will forever be to me now that uncannily sinister popping sound?

Here’s where it gets weirder. Unlike the suicides of subsequent egg girls, there is no indication that Himari, Frill’s apparent first victim, struggled with any mental health or other issues that would motivate her to take her own life. Indeed, her ‘uncle’ did not even reject her confession. (Again anime, why you do this thing?) Instead, the eggheads explain Himari’s suicide as being on account of the “temptation of death.” What now?

This is implying that death is somehow attractive, not just to someone facing overwhelming brokenness, trauma or pain, like the egg girls we’ve met so far, but to someone on the verge of stepping from a (relatively) happy childhood into young adulthood, with the promise of potential love to look forward to; someone who has not known suffering, but rather only smiles and cake. (To be fair, it is always possible that she experienced trauma in the womb, or was more deeply affected by her father’s sadness than Ura-Acca’s memories belie.)

That’s my question too, Ai.

The notion of death as somehow attractive or even beautiful is rather alien to Western culture. Certainly, there will always be some who romanticize death, à la star-crossed lovers (Shakespeare, I’m looking at you). But in general, Western culture views death as something ugly and frightening, something to avoid until it is staring you directly in the face, and even then, closing your eyes in denial is a perfectly reasonable response. Death is one of those things we don’t talk about. In my experience, Anglo-American culture is not very good at even mourning death. We lack the grieving rituals and observances of other cultures, and instead seek to confine death to the sealed, sanitized spaces of hospitals, care homes, and funeral parlors. We keep it shrouded tightly in silence. How could there ever be anything like the “temptation of death”? How could we ever consider death to be something desirable? Are the eggheads or CloverWorks simply aestheticising suicide and death here to make it sound deep and philosophical?

No, I don’t think that’s it. Instead, Acca and Ura-Acca are doing what all good researchers do—and indeed what all Christians, as believers in an unseen spiritual reality, are also called to do: They are looking more deeply into phenomena that seem, on the surface, to already be explained. The two idol fans were consumed with their obsession, so when their idol killed herself, they followed suit. The young woman whose identity was wrapped up in her own appearance ended her life to preserve her beauty. The abused gymnast saw no way out, no hope in ever living free from torment. Some explanations may be more sympathetic than others, but they all possess their own internal logic. Contemporary society is full of a vast array of pressures and stresses and each one, taken to breaking point, can result in death. Case closed. This might very well be our conclusion from the first ten episodes.

Only the case isn’t closed. Because there is a question that has pervaded every episode until now, but has remained unspoken: How is it that death could even become an option for the egg girls? Why does reaching a breaking point trigger suicide? What made death seem like a savior to these girls? This is the question that episode 11 tackles, in its own admittedly obscure way. The eggheads are focused on the underlying, deeper reality that unites all the eggs’ stories, as disparate as they are—the common thread, which is the idea that death is a release, a rescue, a beautiful ending, and as a result, it is tempting.

“But we wondered if there could be another push that drove them to suicide,” explains Ura-Acca.

This is a really important question for us to be asking. Because it’s not just these traumatized, vulnerable girls who fall for the seduction of death. We do, too.

Just ponder for a moment: Have you ever anticipated how wonderful it will be when, in heaven, you no longer struggle with that particular temptation? When your temper is no longer so short, when you’re not afraid of being hurt anymore? Or maybe you think about how one day, on those gold-paved streets, you won’t have to worry anymore. All your hard work coping and just keeping it together will finally pay off and you’ll cross that finish line and heave a sigh of relief, knowing that you made it in the end. Have you ever contemplated these kinds of things? I know I have.

But here’s the thing: When I expect my liberation to come only after I die and not right here, right now, then it is not Jesus who is my savior, but death. I am waiting for death to free me from temptation and sin and fear and brokenness, and usher me into eternal life. I make Thanatos my god.

The temptation of death is not limited to the drastic act of suicide, but also permeates all the accusations and fears that inspire us to put off living the fullness of life in Christ here and now. It’s the temptation to believe that it is death that will ultimately solve the more difficult and painful problems in life.

Acca and Ura-Acca seek to create a love that suits their ideals, just to relieve their stress.

The source of this “temptation of death” in Wonder Egg Priority is Frill, the AI. That is, a man-made, artificial version of love—with ai meaning “love” in Japanese. According to Ura-Acca, they made her “just for fun,” as a way of dealing with the stress of their enclosed lives. They designed her to suit their preferences, to make it easier to love her and forget that she was artificial. In this sense, Frill is the fruit of their self-centeredness, her every characteristic designed to satisfy their own ideals of how a daughter and woman should be. And this artificial love born of selfishness brings death into their midst and beyond, spreading it through the horrendous deformities of girlhood that she in turn creates, in imitation of her fathers. (Only perhaps her creations are less deceptive than theirs, wearing their monstrosity plainly on the outside…)

Frill’s creations. We’ve met Dash (right) and Dot (center), but who is that on the left? And is her name Morse??

To counter her destructive influence, Acca and Ura-Acca need true love, a genuine love. They need Ai, a messy, at times very weak human being, but one who nevertheless is willing to fight to live up to her name and maybe, just maybe, become a warrior of Eros.

There is also a deep, underlying force at work in our world, one that connects all despair and the actions born of it. A wide range of social issues, traumas and mental health challenges can and do trigger suicide, but they do not explain it fully. The deeper reality is the existence of an enemy who seeks to manipulate us into believing our true savior can only be death, whether it is right away by our own hand, or more subtly, decades from now by natural causes. But this is a lie, and it is one that we can combat. Just as I’m sure we’ll see in the final episode that Ai is equipped to wage the coming battle in WEP, so too are we armed, here and now, with the power to overwhelm the enemy’s “temptation of death”—we possess already the words of life, given to us by our true savior.

Jesus began his ministry with a public announcement that he had come to heal heart wounds, comfort those in pain, fill broken lives with beauty, and wrap those in despair with reasons to praise like a warm protective blanket, so that they might celebrate with joy once again. He came to bring freedom to prisoners and captives alike, giving a fresh new life to those locked up because of deeds done wrong, and those punished and injured at the hands of others. He came to take the outcasts, the weak, the traumatized and broken and transform them into mighty oaks, clean and strong; into people with the vision and skill and compassion and fortitude to rebuild a broken world (Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 4:18),

He came to rewrite and restore our experience of life here on earth, and through us, to redeem our communities, cities, nations, and the world. God does not withhold the fullness of life from us until we finally make it to him in heaven. No, instead he moved heaven and earth to get right up close so that he could pour his own life out into us, even going so far as to breathe his very spirit into our hearts and bodies and minds. We don’t need to wait for death’s rescue—our hero has already come. But we do need to remind each other and ourselves of this truth pretty often, and let it work down deep into all the cracks and bruises in our souls until it strengthens all our weak spots.

In Deuteronomy 30:19, God tells the Israelites that he has given them the authority to choose between life and death. But he also tips the balances in their favor, urging them to choose life. In Jesus, he comes to tip the balances even further, making it possible for us to step into eternal life here and now, immediately and forever. So let’s do it. Each day, through each struggle we face. Let’s choose life and not death.

Warrior of love? And is Ai’s himawari (sunflower) related to Himari somehow?

Join me (in spirit) for the final episode on Tuesday to see Ai’s love triumph! (At least, I really really hope that’s what happens!)

#wonder egg priority #wep #wep frill #ai ohto #Christianity #blog #NOT by me but rather by one of our other writers: cajk2

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heyzagman · 4 years

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SO! I’ve been thinking about how Zagreus, a literal god, trained fighter under Achilles, has to fight through each region of the underworld, powered by the Olympians and ancient Titan-slaying weapons, dying multiple times, before he is able to reach the surface. And Orpheus, dude who has never held a sword in his life, just walked right in and out with only his lyre and his falsetto. I’ve been thinking about that so here’s a fic from the prospective of Thanatos about it:

disclaimer: I have no idea what the underworld timeline looks like so we are shooting pinball with the ages of the gods here

Thanatos was but a godling when the Orpheus debacle happened. Queen Persephone was with child, attempting to grow a new plant in the garden, when they all heard the singing. This was the first Thanatos himself had heard of it, although Mother Nyx and Lord Hades did not seem alarmed. Specifically, Mother Nyx did not look surprised, but instead, impressed. Lord Hades was enraged. He stood up dramatically, slamming his hands on his desk. Thanatos had been speaking to Mother Nyx about his future duties, the young god had recently found his calling and would soon be working among his older brother Charon and the young Olympian Hermes helping souls to their final resting home.

Speaking of, Lord Hades was working on attempting to gain communication with the god of messengers.

An orange orb appeared in the air, as a quick voice emerged, echoing around the house.

“Hey there, boss, you called?”

Lord Hades’ voice bellowed, trying to be heard over the distant plucking of a lyre. “Have you yet found out who exactly has infiltrated my realm?”

“About that, you see, that’s gonna be Orpheus, son of a Muse, you know those.”

“Why is he here? How did he get so far? I can hear that obnoxious lyre from my desk.”

Hermes tsked. “Well, that’s not a question for me, boss. That’s a question for your security system.”

“My security system is in ORDER! I would have heard if he had killed even one of my wretches.”

“Guess he’s not killing them then, huh? Anyway, good luck, keep me updated, gotta dash.”

The orange orb zapped out and the presence of Olympus left the chamber.

“Agh!” Hades pressed his fingers on his forehead. In a low voice, he called for Nyx.

Mother Nyx carted a hand through Thanatos’s hair to calm him before she rose to speak to Lord Hades.

Thanatos stood up and began walking towards the garden. Hypnos was standing at the doorway of the garden, peering out.

“What are you doing?” Thanatos asked.

“You know, just waiting for the Muse’s kid to get here.”

“He cannot. No one alive can enter the underworld, much less the House. The wretches will stop him.”

Hypnos grinned. “He’s gotten through both Elysium and Asphodel. Tartarus is probably a cakewalk, who knows when’s the last time those shades have heard music?”

“You think he is getting through just with his singing?” Thanatos looked through the doorway. Queen Persephone was no longer tending her garden. Instead, she was simply standing and looking, waiting.

“I can tell that some of the shades out there--they’re sleeping.” Hypnos wrapped himself in his blanket. He said it nonchalantly, as if sleeping shades was a common incident when, on the contrary, it should have been impossible.

Thanatos hovered closer to his twin, whispering harshly: “Don’t you think you should do something about that? Can’t you wake them up or something?”

Hypnos yawned. “I’m Sleep Incarnate, brother. ‘Waking up’ isn’t really my domain.”

Even if it had been, it would have been for naught. A melody erupted from the garden and the twins barely moved out of the way as all the shades in the House burst out the door in a green river of souls. The eruption, followed by a shout of anger from Lord Hades himself, was matched with the appearance of a young man, surrounded adoringly by shades, walking into the garden.

In his short trips to and from the surface, he had heard music but nothing quite like this. This was a melody that seemed to be aimed directly to his heart, his heart, as if it was sung just for him. Hypnos beside him seemed as close to wide awake as he’d ever been, as the two godlings peered out to the garden.

The musician, Orpheus, continued his descent through the garden. Queen Persephone held a dark purple plant to her chest and stepped aside, allowing him entry. She stood still for a moment, and then threw down her flower and ran ahead of Orpheus, past the twins, and to the desk of Lord Hades.

As Orpheus and his parade of shades entered the House, Thanatos watched Queen Persephone take Lord Hades’ hands in hers and whisper a plea.

The professional plucking of the lyre echoed and bounced around the chambers, drawing out shades. The House had never felt like this before, everyone kept to themselves and milled in silence. Even the announcement of the pregnancy of the Queen hadn’t held such a communicable celebration. The arrival of Orpheus drew in everyone. Thanatos could see even Sir Achilles swaying on his feet, debating to leave his post to get closer to the music.

Mother Nyx appeared behind her sons, resting a hand on each of their heads.

“Mother, what will happen to him?” Thanatos asked.

“I believe the Queen is attempting to sway Lord Hades’ anger of the musician’s trespassing, my son.”

“But he must be punished,” Thanatos said, finding sorrow in his tone.

“Yes, my child. But we do not yet know the extent of his crime. The Queen wishes for him to, at the least, be heard.”

Thanatos believed Orpheus was already, clearly, being heard. Mother Nyx remained with the twins as the scene unfolded before them.

As bold as his actions had been and as long as his journey, Orpheus seemed nervous. He arrived before Lord Hades’ desk. The God of the Dead was standing tall, one hand curled in a large fist, slammed down on a pile of parchment-work. The other was gentle, as Queen Persephone was clutching it.

Instead of immediately striking down, sending the man’s soul flailing hopelessly towards Tartarus, Lord Hades said: “Do tell, what has prompted you to defy my power and waltz into my home?”

Orpheus’s song stopped and Thanatos could have wept due to the sudden silence (some shades did). His hands shook as he held his lyre close. “My lord, I-I did not mean disrespect to you and your House, or-or, to the Queen. Quite simply, my muse, my love, my Eurydice, had fallen to unkindly fate which led her here. And, well, I do intend to be taking her home with me.”

Lord Hades laughed starkly at that. “Ah, I see. Not only do you break into my home but you expect to leave with another soul? A soul that rightfully belongs here? Have you any idea who you speak to?”

“Uh, I believe you are Lord Hades?”

“That--why you--”

Lord Hades paused and leaned down to the Queen Persephone, who spoke quickly and quietly. A hand rested on her stomach and the god’s expression softened.

A heavy sigh blew around the chamber. Lord Hades sat down in his chair. The Queen found a seat as well. He said, “Well then. Go on.”

“I’m sorry, my lord?” Orpheus, as well as Thanatos, seemed surprised.

“If your intentions are of that--of love--well, I will need you to convince me. How do I know this is not a ploy? How do I know you did not come here in malice against me and my family?”

Orpheus brought a smile to his face. “I-I see, my lord. I have a song, if you’d be willing, that will assure you my true intentions.”

Lord Hades nodded. Queen Persephone smiled and leaned forward, as if she was preparing to soak in the moment, savoring every note of the lyre and utterance of the man.

Orpheus began to sing a love song. It began light and happy and adoring. Thanatos did not need to process the words for the feeling of it was enough to be understood. Mother Nyx gently pushed on his back and allowed them to move forward.

Thanatos and Hypnos didn’t need more encouragement. Without much thought, the twins broke their endless hover and walked, feet on cold tile, to sit at Orpheus’s feet and listen. Amongst them were all of the shades, gathered around, emerging out of the lounge and administration chamber. Cerberus rested all three heads on the ground, puppy eyes pondering Orpheus. Achilles did not give breaking his post a second thought, and walked over to be closer, leaning with his head against the wall, closing his eyes tightly, as if trying to imagine himself somewhere different.

The end of the song came too quickly and too sorrowfully. Contrary to the beginning, the ending was of grief and mourning, of loss and the extent one will go to lay eyes on their lover again.

At the last note, it seemed like a spell had been broken, releasing the House from the song. Thanatos did not realize how much time had passed, but felt in renewed spirits. He wished to thank Orpheus, but instead rose again, grabbing the hand of his twin, who had curled in his quilt, yawning.

Thanatos returned to Mother Nyx who was watching Lord Hades at his desk, wiping his eyes and furrowing his brow. Thinking of what would come next.

But they all remembered how it went.

Time later, the Queen left and returned, both times due to her son, Zagreus. Orpheus was back and singing once again. Zagreus found Thanatos peering over the River Styx.

“Hey, Than!” Zagreus had just returned from another run, ransacking the underworld. Of course, Thanatos had lent a hand, but that wasn’t something that needed to be announced. It had taken Thanatos time to justify his actions. Especially before it was Zagreus’s duty to do so, back when Thanatos thought that everytime he helped, he was only assisting in Zagreus leaving him.

“Hello, Zagreus.”

“Did you hear? I was able to lift Orpheus’s punishment, he can visit Asophel to see his muse whenever he’d like.”

“That’s great, Zag. I’m sure he appreciated that very much.”

“I sure hope so, it cost me a couple diamonds. I suppose I’ll just get more from Lernie. Actually, I came to ask, weren’t you there? When Orpheus first came through?”

“Yes, I was,” the song Orpheus had sang was a low hum in the back of his mind ever since, “but I was quite young.”

“I see. I can’t stop thinking about it, you know? Everyday or night, I nearly die trying to get out of here, and that’s with help from a lot of gods. And he just walked through. I doubt he fought.”

“No, he did not. He just sang.”

“I’ll have to give it to him. He made it look easy--the getting in part, at least,” Zagreus smiled. The song, that damn song, seemed to play louder Thanatos’s head. What were the words of it? Did it matter? Why was it louder now, but less clear?

Zagreus was talking, asking him a question: “So, do you think you would?”

“What?”

“Look back. If you had been Orpheus, would you have looked back?”

“Oh, well. I don’t know.”

“Me neither. Seems like a pretty simple task with a high reward, don’t you think?”

Thanatos nodded. Seemed so. Then again, sometimes things that seem so simple prove to be the most difficult.

“Alright, I need to trade in some fish, thanks for the help back there?”

“Of course,” Thanatos said as he watched Zagreus trot off, waving to Achilles on the way.

He, he thinks, understands. He knows, actually. If it was Zagreus behind him, he would have to turn back.

He would have to know. Could he be faulted for that?

#thanzag #fic #orpheus #eurydice #thanatos #zagreus #hades game #hades #hades supergiant #nyx #mother nyx #hypnos hades #achilles #im sorry if there are typos grammar issues #i wrote this quickly #fanfiction

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bard-llama · 3 years

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WiP Wednesday: Rorveth, Isendain, AND Thronebreaker Snippets + Some Headcanons

I couldn’t decide what to do for WiP Wednesday, so uh... have lots of stuff! We’ve got an Iorveth/Roche snippet, an Isengrim/Eldain snippet, a Throne3 (Meve/Reynard/Gascon) snippet AND a little bit about some Thronebreaker headcanons me and @moonlights-ordinance came up with today.

Iorveth/Roche:

This is the beginning of an angsty fic wherein Iorveth pines and finds out some unpleasant news. The actual plot of the fic is Iorveth trying to get rid of his feelings, but we’re not there yet.

Iorveth really should’ve known that this day was destined to be hellish the moment that he was jolted from his paperwork daze by the rambunctious shouts of his Scoia’tael outside his office. He sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face, then checking that his bandana covered his scar properly. Only after that did he open the door to see what was sowing chaos amidst his ranks.

No one… actually seemed to notice his presence, which to be frank, was not a problem Iorveth typically struggled with. He was quite good at appearing intimidating and infuriated even when he wasn’t particularly trying.

But it seemed his elves – and a few of the dwarves – were far too involved in their own gossip to notice him as he walked through the crowd.

“Have you heard–?”

“No way.”

“Guess he loved Temeria so much he married it!” someone chortled.

“Ha! From Cocksucker in Chief to Consort. He must be real good.”

A bout of cackling followed that last remark, and Iorveth had his first premonition that the day was going to suck. But he still didn’t have answers, so he walked straight forward into what would become his own personal hell.

In the center of the crowd, surrounded by countless elves and dwarves, Iorveth was not at all surprised to find his two favorite subordinates – who were rapidly losing that classification. He stepped up next to them, crossing his arms and waiting for them to notice the trouble they were in.

Really, he should have known it would be these two. Rinn, for all that she was nominally well-behaved and quiet, was extremely mischievous, especially when it had the potential to cause minor problems for Iorveth. He would not be surprised if she had planned this. Her companion, Ky, may have been more innocent in that she may not have intended to draw a crowd – but she was absolutely the one spreading the gossip far and wide.

It took a while, but slowly, the chattering grew quieter and quieter as more people took notice of his presence. Finally, Rinn caught sight of him and poked Ky, who was still loudly expounding on something about marriage.

“Something you need to tell me?” Iorveth asked, eyebrow arched high and disapproving scowl firmly in place.

Ky winced, but Rinn looked entirely unrepentant as she signed, the Temerian King made an official announcement today that I caught during my shift.

Iorveth looked at the way more than a few people were biting their lips and avoiding his eye and hummed. “And?”

“Roche is getting married!” Ky burst out as if she physically could not hold it back anymore and Iorveth felt everything freeze.

Married? Vernon Roche!? The erstwhile commander of the Blue Stripes and proud pain in Iorveth’s ass? Who the fuck would he be marrying and why would it be a royal announcement!?

Even though Iorveth himself still felt like he was encased in ice, time seemed to resume for everyone else and chattering rapidly commenced, elves whispering back and forth between themselves and each other.

What was it someone had said earlier? ‘From Cocksucker in Chief to Consort’?

Was… was Vernon marrying King Foltest!?

Rinn must have seen the question on his face, because she nodded and passed over a paper missive.

It felt like moving through molasses to extend his arm and accept the notice that would forever change his life.

The Ancient Royal Line of the Temerian Dynasty Announces the Wedding of

Foltest, King of Temeria, Prince of Sodden, Sovereign of Pontaria and Mahakam, and Senior Protectorate of Brugge and Sodden

and

Vernon Roche, Commander of the Elite Blue Stripes Special Forces Unit, Pacifier of the Mahakaman Foothills, and Right Hand to the King

to take place at the year’s end on the Winter Solstice

Iorveth stared at the announcement, static fizzing through his brain. Vernon. And Foltest. They were getting married!?

His eye shot up to meet Rinn’s almost imploringly, hoping this was all some big joke. But there was no mischief in her eyes, and her forehead creased with worry as she watched him, clearly wondering what was wrong.

She, at least, appeared to be the only one who had noticed anything amiss in his reaction. The rest of his Scoia’tael were back to loudly gossiping about their enemy’s new status in life.

“Wait, I thought human men couldn’t get pregnant. Isn’t the whole point of a royal marriage to produce an heir?”

“Nah, I’ve heard the whore has a cunt,” someone laughed. “Can you imagine only having one? Sounds lame as fuck. But yeah, supposedly our dearest Commander Roche can make royal babies for King Fuckface.”

Iorveth’s heartbeat stuttered and he inhaled sharply through his nose. He… hadn’t known that. Sure, he’d heard rumors, but the rumors about Vernon were wild and extreme and ranged from his background as a whore to his imaginary sideline in child abduction to his preference for blunt force weapons.

Was this one… true? As he looked back at Rinn for the answer – aside from being the primary spy assigned to Vernon, she also seemed to just inexplicably know things – he could hear the conversation around him moving on.

“Hey, do you think that’s why they’re getting married? Maybe the idiot king knocked up his whore and now he’s gotta marry him!”

“I dunno, did Roche look pregnant at our last fight?”

Rinn nodded the slightest bit and Iorveth brain returned to static. Vernon. Pregnant. That – he hadn’t been aware that that was something he was emotionally invested in, but the storm of feelings racing through his veins proved that he was. He wanted – he wanted to see that, wanted to cause that, wanted to discover what Vernon’s cunt would be like and feel it stretched around him and–

He’d – he’d always assumed that Vernon had a cock, even though he wasn’t quite sure what a human cock looked like. But whenever he’d picture a different future – one where he could choose his own happiness over his cause – it hadn’t mattered that he didn’t know what a human cock looked like. His imagination was more than delighted to fill in whatever he wished, and coming up with different ideas was all that got him through the night at times.

The idea of Vernon with a cunt was startling. It had never occurred to him before, and now he wondered how he could’ve possibly been so shortsighted. The things that he could do with Vernon’s cunt were limitless and Iorveth’s mind got stuck on that for probably far too long.

He was brought out of his daze by Rinn choking, wide eyes locked on his face. With sudden dread, he understood what she must have seen. What she must have realized.

Iorveth swallowed hard, jerking his head, “give me a proper report.” He turned to head back to his office without looking at her and he wasn’t sure if he was hoping she’d follow or that she wouldn’t.

(the rest under a cut to save your dash)

Isengrim/Eldain:

This is a fluffy bit from a get together fic set post-Reasons of State and we start with Isengrim mourning Dijkstra and Dijkstra’s betrayal.

There was a knock on his door and then Eldain’s voice spoke. “Isengrim? Um. I know you aren’t feeling great, but would you come with me for a bit?’

All of a sudden, then blankness fled under a wave of confusion and curiosity. “What?”

“I – um. I have something for you. But you gotta come with me for a bit. And if you don’t like it, I promise I will not get in the way of your grief, even if that means hiding out in here.”

Eldain sounded nervous, of all things. Isengrim hadn’t actually known Eldain was capable of feeling nervous.

Why was he nervous?

Isengrim frowned at the door. He wasn’t exactly going to get an answer lying here. And maybe Eldain could keep him from thinking about Sigi and all the pain associated with him for a bit.

It was worth a shot. Besides, he’d come to rather like the other ex-commander quite a bit over the course of working together. Not that they hadn’t worked together before, but there had always been a formality dividing them. Eldain looked up to him, he knew that. Not that Eldain would ever say it, but it was the way Eldain looked at him. A soft regard that one could almost mistake for love, but was truly nothing more than hero worship. He’d seen the same look on the faces of all the young Scoia’tael, but from Eldain, it felt like the thorn of a rose – he hated it, knowing that Eldain would never feel the same, that he was destined to die alone and miserable and a beautiful young musician like Eldain could never be his. But at the same time, he coveted it, coveted Eldain’s regard, because even if it wasn’t what he wanted, it was something.

He would give anything to have Eldain in his life in any form.

Swallowing hard, Isengrim rubbed his face, then opened the door.

Eldain was on the other side of the door and his shoulders were slumped in defeat that quickly turned to confusion, one shoulder cocking upwards.

“What?” Isengrim asked.

“I – no, I just. Thought you’d say no,” Eldain said awkwardly.

“Does that mean you do want me to go with you somewhere or not?”

“Yeah!” Eldain shook himself, smiling at Isengrim, and it felt as though the sun had emerged from cloud cover, because instead of the nothingness-pain from before, now he felt – too much, really. And some of it hurt, but more of it was pleased to just bask in the rays of Eldain’s smile.

He was only half aware of following Eldain through the house, still a little dazed from the blinding light. But when Eldain came to a stop in front of a closed door, the world seemed to snap back into focus, and he looked to Eldain expectantly.

Eldain fidgeted, feet shuffling. “Um. Like – like I said, if you don’t like it, I won’t force you to stay, but um–” his adam’s apple bobbed and then Eldain opened the door and motioned for Isengrim to enter.

Isengrim took two steps through the doorway and froze. All around him, the room was lit up with dozens of little lights – some up high, some down low, others around his hips. Those ones on the floor guided him towards what looked like a raggedy old blanket draped over the wooden flooring.

“It’s not exactly a starlit picnic,” Eldain shrugged, setting down a basket he hadn’t even noticed Eldain was carrying, “but since we’re laying low, I figured this was as close as we could get.”

“I–” Isengrim was breathless, uncertain of what to say. Awe spread through him as he looked over the dozens of lights, each coming from candles in small lanterns that were hanging from the ceiling all over. He couldn’t think of any words to portray what this meant to him, what it meant that Eldain would go to all this trouble for him. So he was as surprised as Eldain when his mouth said, “isn’t this a fire hazard?”

Eldain rocked back as if he’d been hit, smile abruptly falling from his face.

“No,” Isengrim tried to recover, cursing himself. “I – this is amazing. Is. What I mean. Um. Am trying to say. I – you did this for me!?” If there was disbelief coloring his tone, it was only because he could hardly comprehend the idea of anyone going to so much trouble just to cheer him up.

Eldain’s jaw was clenched, and his expression was a neutral mask that Isengrim hated having put there. Why did he always hurt the people he cared for? Was he truly so tainted that anyone he touched was at risk of infection? Was simply being around him enough to ruin what could be an incredible life for a beautiful young musician like Eldain?

“You don’t have to stay,” Eldain murmured, and Isengrim felt like crying, uncertain whether he wanted to leave and spare Eldain the risk of contamination or if he wanted to stay and bask in this incredible gift that Eldain was giving him.

––

Never before had Eldain wished that Isengrim would leave his presence immediately. But if he stayed much longer, then it was entirely too likely that he would witness Eldain falling apart.

Eldain had always known his silly little crush would never go anywhere . He was even almost fine with that. But he’d thought – he’d thought that Isengrim at least considered him a friend. And yes, this whole production was a little over the top for friendship, but hey, Eldain was an over the top kind of guy.

There was always the possibility Isengrim would hate it. And he’d worried about that and fretted over it, but he hadn’t really expected it to happen. Even if Isengrim was uncomfortable, Eldain would’ve guessed that he’d be polite enough to grin and bear it. Which was far from ideal, but right now, Eldain really wished that he’d done that, because instead it felt like he’d reached into Eldain’s chest and ripped his still-beating heart out, leaving him bleeding and doomed.

“Thank you,” Isengrim said, and Eldain startled. Of all the words he’d expected, those were not even on his radar.

“What?”

“Thank you. I – you clearly went to a lot of trouble to give me something beautiful. Thank you.” Isengrim said the words easily, and Eldain was confused. That… didn’t sound like Isengrim hated it. “So, what are we eating?”

Eldain’s smile grew slowly, but as Isengrim continued to look expectantly at him, he found that he couldn’t hold it back. He waved Isengrim towards the blanket – one probably as old as the house was, but all the good blankets were in use. “Bread and cheese. Fruit. Some veggies,” he narrated as he pulled the items out of the basket. “Wasn’t sure how much appetite you’d have, so I wanted to keep it light, but if you’re hungry, there’s still some venison in the storeroom.”

Isengrim looked at the objects laid out around them. “I – I don’t know what to say except thank you,” Isengrim said, a smile growing on his face that made Eldain’s heart beat fast. “This is very thoughtful and sweet.”

Eldain flushed, reaching into the basket to pull out the last item. “And, of course, some wine. It’s not exactly high quality, but we’re slumming it tonight anyway.”

The huff of laughter Isengrim let out made it feel like there were wings on his heart, letting it slowly rise. He’d made Isengrim happy. If that was all he ever did in life, he could be content with that.

Throne3 (Meve/Reynard/Gascon):

The porn tags for these 3 are sadly lacking, so... have some porn XD The premise here is that they’ve just escaped the Lyrian capital through the sewers and now they’re all washing off in the first river they came across.

They all knew what the venerable Count Reynard Odo was getting up to with Queen Meve upriver. But while the deserters from the Lyrian army and the Strays seemed content with gossiping about it, Gascon felt compelled to seek out more.

Sneaking past the guards ensuring their queen’s privacy with her boytoy even now was honestly pathetically easy. But then, they were probably used to looking the other way for their queen.

Gascon didn’t really know what he was planning, but he knew that he needed to see Meve in the throes of pleasure. The fierce and enchanting queen was currently being ‘serviced’ by her top aide and everybody knew it.

How could he possibly be expected to resist?

But instead of satisfying him, the view before him only made him crave more, because Meve and Reynard were standing about shin-deep in the water with him wrapped around her, hands stroking over her body as her head rested back against his shoulder.

But moreso than the picture they made, what truly drove Gascon over the edge was hearing Reynard tease his queen.

“So eager, your majesty,” Reynard murmured softly. “Could it be that the company of the ever so honorable Duke of Dogs,” his voice was heavily sarcastic, “has gotten you excited? Are you curious what that infuriatingly charming mouth would feel like against your skin?”

Meve arched as Reynard’s fingers skirted just short of touching her clit. “Reynard,” she growled.

Gascon wasn’t certain when his fingers had slipped inside his trousers, but the touch against his cock had him shuddering, already overwhelmed at the very idea that Meve could be fantasizing about him.

“Have you thought about pushing the arrogant bastard to his knees and showing him his place?” Reynard continued and Gascon bit his lip hard against a moan. “Have you pictured him, lips stretched around your widest strap, eyes tearing up from the effort of it?”

Meve whined softly, reaching up to tug Reynard into a kiss.

Gascon had never seen a filthier kiss in his life, and he stroked himself faster, picturing what he would do if he could join them. She may not have a strap handy to gag him on, but he was sure they could come to a compromise.

“Do you imagine him kneeling before you, begging for you?” Reynard rumbled and Gascon almost missed Meve’s sound over his own. Which meant that Reynard knew he was there when the Count continued, “I’ve no doubt the crass mutt is a marvel with his mouth.

Later, Gascon would claim that he spoke before he could even think about it, proclaiming, “I am.”

In reality, he spent a long moment contemplating how to respond. Getting caught spying on sex typically ended one of two ways: either you got invited to join in or you got beaten to a pulp.

He was fairly hopeful that the first option was more likely than the latter, but he wasn’t sure, and in the seconds of silence that followed his words, his heart pounded in his chest and pulse raced and he felt on the edge of either agony or elation.

“In that case,” Meve’s voice broke the quiet with all the firmness of having made a decision, “come pay homage to your queen, Gascon.”

Even though he’d hoped this was how things would go, he still felt utterly amazed that she had actually said yes.

He stepped through the buses, trying not to look like he’d been caught with his hand down his pants. “Your Majesty,” he bowed his head with a playful smirk and then sent her a wink just to top it off.

Meve looked every bit the dignified queen as she held out a hand that should have held her signet ring. They had taken that from her when she’d been captured, but Gascon found himself licking his lips, taking her hand and kissing her ring finger as if he were a knight pledging her fealty.

Her gaze was hot on him as he slowly kissed up her arm, and unlike the two of them, he still wore his armor – which meant that he could pretend no one saw the way that his cock twitched when Reynard reached out and knocked his hat off, tangling fingers in his hair and pulling his face down into Meve’s chest.

Obediently, he applied himself to worshipping Meve’s tits, taking Reynard’s lead and only giving her glancing brushes across her nipples, denying her touch.

Meve growled in frustration, grabbing his hips and pulling him into her until the bulge of his cock rubbed over her pelvis. Her cunt greeted the contact with a gush of slick, staining Gascon’s pants and making him pant with arousal.

“Fuck,” he gasped, grinding into her. She arched with a cry, fingers digging into his ass and Gascon desperately wished that there wasn’t a layer of fabric between his cock and that glorious cunt. But how could he pull away to fix that when his time could be better spent licking and sucking and biting at Meve’s glorious tits? Gods, they were beautiful, plump and sensitive, to the point that nipping at one nipple while squeezing her other tit was enough to make Meve’s body jerk, bucking into his hips as she utterly drenched his pants.

“Fuck,” he whimpered again, then dropped to his knees and buried his face in her cunt.

Thronebreaker Headcanons:

Okay, so as I’ve been getting to know Meve, Reynard, and Gascon and have started writing different plots with them, I’ve decided a few things. There’s going to be 1 universe of fics that falls under the “homophobia exists” universe that I talked about here. However, I know that’s not everyone’s boat and like, sometimes I just wanna write context-less porn, so definitely not all fics will! But I have several ideas already in that ‘verse, especially looking at the chronic pain Reynard has as a result of things.

So, specific to that ‘verse, one headcanon is that Reynard was whipped specifically for being queer and almost died from it. The wounds healed, but not... well, not the greatest. There wasn’t a lotta care taken with it. Which means that his back pains him A LOT and there’s a lotta things that he has to do different. For example, I’ve decided he sits in chairs like Riker does, keeping his back straight so that he doesn’t stretch the scar tissue. His range of motion is also limited in a lot of ways, but he’s found ways to compensate and hide it over the years. (just as an FYI, Riker sits like that, ‘cause Frakes had a back injury and doing that was less painful)

Okay, now WITHOUT the homophobia that led to chronic pain - I’ve decided that each of the Throne3 need to have a niche hobby that occupies them in their limited spare time (developed with much help from @moonlights-ordinance). Sooooo:

Meve:

Meve likes sewing. She doesn’t like people to know she likes sewing, because it’s closer to a traditionally ‘feminine’ than she usually aims for, but she actually really enjoys it.

On their journey, this comes out when Gascon’s shirt gets ripped and when he complains about it a lot, she just grabs it and mends it. This leads to her spending the evenings mending all the different clothing from the soldiers and the Strays.

I think she learned sewing from her father and he taught it to her in an attempt to get her to just sit still for five fucking minutes!!

Not directly related to sewing, but because her mother was busy being queen, she was largely raised by her father, who was an Ofieri Marquis (like, 2nd level nobility, under a duke) whose family paid a substantial sum in order to win the match. He was not popular at court and therefore found himself largely shunned by the peerage, but it left him with basically all of his time to devote to his children. (Does... does Meve have sisters?? Queen Kalis supposedly bore several girls???)

Reynard:

Reynard likes to crochet. Specifically, he likes to crochet little plushies. He’s not too picky about what he makes, and whoever is in range when he finishes it will likely end up gifted with an unexpected plushie.

At one point, he finished making a stingray, only for a passing soldier to dub it a Sting-Rey. Thus, Lieutenant Sting Rey was born. The troops listen to Lt. Sting Rey better than they listen to General Odo lmao.

He has a habit of crocheting in the evenings in the mess (maybe with Meve mending nearby) and random soldiers (and Strays) like to sit around his feet so that when he finishes a lil plush, they might get it. And when he starts a new one, he might take requests.

I could say so much more about the plushies he makes for Gascon and Meve, but I guess I’ll save that for a fic. But I gotta share these pics, ‘cause they’re so fucking cute. So: a donkey for Gascon (’cause he’s an ass) and a Lyrian eagle for Meve (’cause it’s Lyrian lol).

Gascon:

Gascon likes dancing! Specifically, he was trained in ballet from a young age (like literally a year old is when you start, apparently) and was trained as a ballerina (meaning he will be lifted/led instead of doing the lifts/leading). By the time he ended up on the streets at 12 (8 in canon, but my guy needs to at least be 20), he was pretty damn good at it - and so he ended up teaching the Strays

The Strays have a ballet troupe that puts on performances for the gang on occasion as like, a bonus to music night or something. Semi-spontaneous and very fun.

Gascon is SCARY flexible (like, to the point that Reynard is a little horrified that the human body can do that) from dance and he definitely uses that to his advantage.

He 100% gets everyone to dress up all fancy and put on makeup and do their hair and shit. After all, they steal all this fancy shit from the nobles - why SHOULDN’T they enjoy it?

And there you have it! Sorry for the super long post, but also... enjoy?

#rorveth #isendain #throne3 #iorveth x roche #isengrim x eldain #meve x reynard x gascon #thronebreaker #the witcher #wip wednesday #fic planning

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iwantutobehapppier · 4 years

Text

Rough Ridin’

Pairing: Bucky Rogers

Summary: Being away from Bucky was never easy for you, and it wasn’t easy for Bucky either. Idle thoughts and such.

Warnings: Smut! SMUT SMUT! 18+ Only! Male oral, some toys can’t say without spoiling, light choking, daddy kink. If any of these situations bother you please read no further.

Word Count: 3,083

A/N: This is for my beautiful Tumblr wife @sagechanoafterdark it is her Birthday today! AAAHH!! Go wish her a happy birthday. I offer to you my goddess wife Bucky Smuts.

Pulling the covers over your head you attempt to block out the rising sun. It was the eighth day you woke up alone in your bed, spreading your fingers over the cold sheet to your side you mourn the missing body.

Bucky had been away on a mission for far too long and while you were updated on his safety, you two had not spoken or texted each other in over a week now. The feelings of detachment were setting in, you weren’t sure how much longer you’d make it. You and Bucky were anchors for each other, both so torn in unique and often tragic ways.

Determined to spend the rest of the day in bed, because what was the point in leaving, you bundled up under a ridiculous amount of layers you had to use without your Super-Soldier. Just as your lids felt heavy with sleep Friday’s voice pulls you from your descent into slumber.

“There’s a package at the front awaiting a signature from Bucky Ma’am.” You flipped the covers from your head looking up perplexed. “Could you please sign for it?”

“Uh, sure?” You rush to get dressed in something other than underwear and Bucky’s shirt, but you leave said shirt on the bed knowing you’ll put it back on once you return.

Huffing and puffing you carry the cumbersome box into your shared living quarters with Bucky. After setting it down your return to your room to change when your phone goes off from the bedside table. Pulling your shirt and yoga pants off to slip Bucky’s shirt back on, you unlock your phone and squeal at the sight of Bucky’s name.

Don’t open the package. I’ll be home tonight. 😘

You chew on your bottom lip a little upset at the sudden communication after radio silence to be instructions for you like you’re a child but he was coming home. Tonight. Deciding to push the insecurities about the abrupt tone you felt from the text to focus on the positive you look in the mirror.

Oh, you were not looking at your best. Between, pizza binging, podcasts, reading and occasional adventure to talk with a fellow Avenger you hadn’t really been doing much upkeep. Looking at the clock you nod your head, plenty of time to shapen up for your boy.

~~*~~

A hot shower, face mask, shaving, epilator, blow dryer and some good skincare routine you feel not only human but sexy. You could feel your pent up sexual needs blooming at the prospect of Bucky being home soon. The way he knew how to take care of you made your blood boil just at the thought. Pulling a worn but clean Henley from Bucky’s drawer you drag it over your head to pair with your black bikini strap panties. Pulling up your phone your lips spread into a wide smile at missed texts from Bucky.

I can’t wait to see you. 😍 Been thinking about you every day. Thinking about how sexy you look spread out for me. I know you’ve been so patient and good 😉 Can’t wait to hold you in my arms Then hold you down. 😈 See you soon babe.

You felt warmth bloom over your face at how quickly he flipped from your sweet boyfriend to sexy daddy. Your thighs clenched together as your fingers typed an equally sexy and sweet reply. The thoughts spinning through your head at what could unravel tonight would not be good for the countdown of his return. You need a distraction.

You skip your way into the living room, posting up on the couch and pulling your latest book into your lap hoping it’ll help you pass the time. You last awhile, well at least three hours, before needing something to drink and a snack. Leaning against the kitchen island you pop your snack into your mouth, whatever Bucky’s latest snack craving was. It varied from a new health food he wanted to try out all the way to him coming home with boxes and boxes of Oreos.

Speaking of boxes.

Your eyes caught the sight of that heavy box you brought in sitting by the door. Bucky had been so specific in telling you not to open it. Clearly, he was waiting for the notification of it being delivered as the time between your digital signature to his text was brief. What was in there that you couldn’t see? Or maybe he wanted to be the first one to open it?

Your phone goes off again and you rush to the couch anticipating some more sexting from Bucky but frown at the message being from a friend. Reading and replying you set your phone back down to return to your snack, downtrodden at the dashed possibility of more sexts from your boyfriend.

You pause next to the box, your finger in your mouth in contemplation you chew on your cuticle. A habit that could only happen if Bucky wasn’t around, else he’d whisper “You better stop or I’m going to put something much bigger between those lips.” Only to walk off as if nothing was lewd about his suggestion.

Walking up to the box you pay attention to the shipping label this time. You frown at the PO BOX, of course, though you’re perplexed at the lack of company name with returning shipping address. Oh, you were curious, a box you couldn’t open with no clear indication as to why?

What if you peeked into the box? Maybe some tape comes up and you just get a lookie? Flipping your nails over the edges where the cardboard was worn from travel, you contemplate the best way to get a peek of what’s inside.

Shaking your head you pulled yourself out of a ridiculous rabbit trail. He’d be home soon, then he’d open it and the mystery would be over. Though in your personal experience boxes without any company indication or label branding were illicit fun types of packages. You needed to know what was in there.

“Friday?”

“Yes, ma’am?” The delightful Irish AI pleasant to your ears now that you were fully awake.

“Can you scan the package for me?”

“It was scanned before entering the building ma’am for safety protocol.” An evil grin fell over your face, safety protocols being in your favor today.

“Show me the scan.” Without missing a beat the digital display in the living room lights up with a view of the contents inside the box. Moving towards the couch for a better look at the image you tilt your head to the side.

It wasn’t… It couldn’t be what you think it is. Fishing for your phone blindly on the couch as you continue to stare at the box’s contents until your phone is in front of your face. Taking a picture you attach it with a text to Bucky. “Is that what I think it is?”

I told you not to look inside.

Your phone starts ringing in your hands after you read the text from Bucky, without a second thought you answer.

“Hey doll,” the warm richness of his voice hits your ears, you can feel your entire body relax from head to toe.

“Hey,” Bucky gives a sigh of content, your voice doing the same for him.

“You know that’s a technicality right?” The warmth in his voice laced with authority. Oh, you were toeing a line.

“Your text said do not open it,” you justify once more. “I simply used technology to my advantage.”

“Open it.” You blinked at his command, and it was indeed a command.

“Open it, and you better be on it until I get home.” You look at the box then away. You weren’t sure you could do that, but if Bucky told you to do it then you would try.

“Okay,” he grunts displeased with your response.

“Yes, daddy.” You can hear him stifle a groan. It suddenly occurs to you that Steve could be by him, or even Sam. “I miss you, daddy,” you lay it on thick.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” his breaths quicken. “You better stop it.”

“Make me,” you hang up the phone well aware you had pushed your boyfriend but giddy at the outcome. Looking at the now looming box you square your shoulders determined to do what was asked of you. Your phone goes off for a text.

You’ve got two hours.

You shoulder sag, this would be torture, another text came through.

Do NOT cum. 😈😘

Opening the box you pull out the large bulky object covered in plastic wrap. Taking a deep breath you lifted the object up and brought it into the bedroom. Muttering under your breath about lack of super-soldier strength. Pulling it out of the wrapping you unveiled the solid black saddle mount with lifted rectangle on top with a small raised area.

He had bought a fucking Sybian.

After you’ve cleaned it off with the provided cleansing wipes you plug it in, taking the black setting box with you as you straddle the Sybian. Keeping your underwear on for now you were going to start at the lowest setting and see how it goes. Turning the vibrations on you release a soft gasp at the sensation against your clit.

Feeling rather adventurous given the whole debacle leading up to this you turn the vibrations up two more notches.

Dropping the control, you place your hands on the front of the saddle and begin to rock against the vibrations slowly. Throwing your head back and arching your back at the sensations you bit your lower lip, your body tingling all over with need.

You’re not sure how long you were rotating your hips against the vibrations, but as you feel your body start to key up your hands blindly search for the discarded controls. Turning it off you slump down, holding yourself up on your elbows on the edge of the black cushioning. It was comfortable and very effective.

Taking a few minutes you catch your breath and let the fire you had started fizzle out before turning it back on with the lowest vibrations. Your hips rock back and forth without you realizing it. Hands slipping under the henley you pinch your nipples, whimpering out into the empty bedroom.

It’s slower this time, the pleasure rolling through you with gentleness but still raising the hair along your body. The curl in your toes as it slowly climbs. You start to feel yourself key up, eyes closed as the blood pumps through your veins so loud it deafens the sound of the vibrating motor. Without opening your eyes you reach for the control, a small frown marring your face as you open your eyes to look for it where you set it last.

Boots are the first thing you see. Whipping your head up you see Bucky cupping his growing erection while his metal hand holds the controller.

“Bucky,” You whine reaching for the controls. He steps forward, his crotch right at your eye level. He turns the device off and you sigh in remorse, you were hoping since he was there he would let you finish.

His flesh hand caresses your face, trailing down to cup your chin. Leaning down to slants his lips against yours a sigh of relief washes over him, how he had missed your lips, your face, your eyes, your everything. But he’d take stock of that later. Standing up he feels himself falter when you mewl from the loss of his kiss.

“I love you,” are the first words he says to you before he cranks the vibration control to the max. You cry out turning your head down as your thighs clenched around the saddle quivering against the plastic nylon. Bucky unzips his pants, removing his hardening cock from its confines.

When you lift your head up to moan, his right-hand grips the back of your head pushing his cock into your open mouth. Your moan vibrates along his shaft as he pushes himself down your throat.

He turns the vibrations to half power, pulling your head back and forth down his shaft. A moan falls from his lips as your soft tongue rolls around his pulsing cock. Your eyes water as he holds himself down your throat, your nose pressing into pubes.

“Been thinking about this every day.” His words garbled in your ears at the rushing blood but you can make out just enough of his words.

“Eight fucking days just doing recon,” he pulls your head back and you gasp out loud, his metal hand cranks the vibrations back up to max and you cry out. Your hips jerking back and forth on the machine, your voice raspy as you try to mutter out his name but can’t get past the B.

“Then I found this toy on Amazon and had the same-day delivery,” a cruel smile forms on his lips, watching you pant, drool trailing down your chin and dripping onto his henley. Letting go of your head he rips the henley up and off of you. The cool air making your nipples pucker, he trails his tongue over his lips at the sight.

Wrapping his hand in your hair forming a make-shift ponytail you look up at him, those soft blues all you can see as your orgasm starts to climb.

“That’s my girl. Cum for me,” He drops the controller, his metal hand gripping the base of his cock to tap the head against your outstretched tongue. Your soft whines and moans heat his entire body with need. Your eyes scrunch shut, lips encasing the head of his cock, your body rocking against the saddle as a sweeping sensation of pleasure overtakes you. The elusive orgasm finally taking over your body, if it hadn’t been for Bucky holding your hair you were certain you’d fall forward.

As you bask in the euphoria Bucky lifts you up by your armpits. His pliant blissed-out doll, he kisses your sweaty forehead before placing you on the bed face down. Turning around he turns the Sybian off then faces your twitching body. He slips your panties down your body, discarding his clothes as well.

By the time you are coming around you feel him lift your hips up in the air, a soft coo falls from your lips when you feel him nudge your folds with his cock.

“Daddy,” You whimper. That’s all Bucky can take, his pushing through your wetness and bottoming out, his hips flushed to your ass.

“Fuck,” He chants trying to regain his composure, but the way your walls flutter around him leaves him breathless. He cants his hips back slamming back in, your moans muffled into the bed.

Bucky knows he won’t last long, not with how good you feel. He lets go of your hips with one hand, curling in front to rub your clit in tight quick circles to match his thrusts. The clapping of your skin meeting with each thrust echoes off the walls. The force he uses makes your back dip down further until you're almost flat with the bed save where he holds your hips up.

You rub your face into the comforter, your body never fully coming down from ecstasy. You feel yourself begin to build up to the precipice but it feels overwhelming, so quick. His cock dragging along your walls, a particularly rough angled thrust pushes against your g-spot. Crying out you lift your head up.

“Too much!” He growls, only to rebound his efforts.

“No,” his hand on your clit snakes up your body between the valley of your breast to wrap around your neck, pulling your upper half up by his grip. Your walls tighten around him and flutter. Salacious sound of wet flesh hitting, your gushing juices running down your thighs as they tremble, your voice cracking with a moan. It jarring how quickly you cum again.

Bucky can’t hold off, the way you squeeze him, your noises, the shine of sweat down your back. He grunts his hips stuttering in their pace, he lets your upper body down gently as he can manage whilst his orgasm overtakes him. The hot spurts rushing into you pushes a soft mewl from your chapped lips.

He leans over your body, panting hot breath against your shoulder, followed by a kiss to sweat-slick flesh. Then another, between his heavy breaths he kisses along your shoulder blade, down your spine, a soft bite to your plump behind you swat at him and he chuckles at your hand missing him.

Slowly turning you over he crawls up the bed laying next to you. Pulling you to him, his arms wrap around you, soft gentle words pour from his mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” he kisses your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” than the other cheek. “I’m so happy you are mine,” he kisses your nose.

“I love you,” his lips press gently to yours, arms keeping you tight against him. When he pulls his lips from yours he notches your head below his, chin resting on the crown of your head.

“I love you too,” exhaustion evident in your soft tones.

“And I’m so lucky that you do.” He gently rocks you against him, relishing having his girl with him again. Sorely tempted to tell Steve to suck it next time he asked him to do a long recon.

You pull away from him after a little bit, finally coming down you need a bit of breathing room. Feeling safe enough to leave your side Bucky hops out of bed to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth, set on cleaning you up.

As he walks back into the bedroom with a washcloth with a blissful smile.

“Hey,” you call out Bucky hm’s as he gets between your legs cleaning you up.

“That was less than two hours.” You state a matter of fact.

“I kicked Sam out of the pilot seat and got us home faster.” You cover your mouth suffocating the laugh that bubbles up from his response.

“So impatient,” you tease.

“Eight fucking days doll.” He tosses the washcloth near or in the clothing bin he can’t be sure and crawls up your body, holding himself above you.

“Oh, I know.”

“Good, let me help you forget.” He leans down to capture your lips once more, intent on using that new toy a few more times tonight.

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x You #james bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x reader #Steven grant Rogers x James Buchanan Barnes #smut #bucky smut #marvel smut #sage birthday gif

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prouvaireafterdark · 4 years

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All I See is You

Written for the Joe/Nicky prompt: Naz (Urdu) - assurance/pride in knowing that the other’s love is unconditional and unshakable.

“Come on, it’ll be easy—like Bruges, ’68,” Andy says.

Nicky and Joe share a look. Neither of them has to remind Andy that Bruges, ’68 was considerably different: For one, the seduction was a distraction tactic, not meant for intel gathering, and for another, it was Booker who did the seducing.

***

Joe is asked to seduce someone during a mission, and after nine hundred years of commitment, Nicky isn't even a little bit worried about it.

Also on AO3!

***

Nicky is reading at the kitchen table while Joe chops parsley beside him when Andy walks through the door of their safe house and drops a thick manilla envelope on the wood in front of them.

“What’s this?” Nicky asks, placing a worn leather bookmark between the pages before he sets the book aside.

“A gift from Copley,” she says, plucking an overripe plum out of the fruit basket at the table’s center. Joe sighs when she takes a bite. “What?” she asks, mouth still full.

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” Joe scolds her lightly, pointing his knife in her direction.

Nicky misses the exchange that passes between them, the echo of banter they’ve had a thousand times before grabbing his attention less than the envelope sitting before him. The time they’ve spent lying low in Bergamo since their last job has been wonderful, but he cannot deny that the chance to get back out there and do some good is a welcome one.

“What’s the job?” Nicky asks.

“Human trafficking ring,” Andy answers before taking another bite. Juice runs down her arm, so Nicky reaches for a napkin and hands it to her. She thanks him as she takes it before she looks around and asks, “Where’s Nile?”

“Studying Russian, I think,” Nicky says, looking to Joe for confirmation.

Joe nods before adding, “On the patio.”

When he looks back to Andy, he catches her grinning, though why he cannot say.

“I’ll get her,” she says, already walking toward the back of the house. “We should get started.”

“Can it wait an hour?” Joe interrupts, setting his knife down on the cutting board before he wipes his hands off on the kitchen towel he has thrown over his shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Andy shakes her head, not looking back as she answers, “We’ll talk while we eat.”

Joe lets out a soft sigh as the back door closes, his hopes of a nice family dinner dashed. Nicky reaches across the table for his hand, the earthy scent of fresh herbs hitting his nose when he presses his lips to his skin.

Joe smiles at him, a soft and tender thing, and Nicky feels a surge of love for him so strong he can’t help but lean forward in his chair to kiss him. Joe meets him eagerly, his hand rising from Nicky’s grip to brush his fingertips along the edge of his jaw.

“Would you like me to set the table?” Nicky asks when they part, his eyes still closed as Joe rests their foreheads together.

He feels the curve of Joe’s smile as he presses his lips to the corner of his mouth.

“Per favore, amore mio,” Joe tells him.

Nicky steals one final kiss before he stands and sets off in search of utensils.

“You want me to do what?” Joe asks, twenty minutes later with a spoonful of tajine halfway to his lips.

Nicky hides his grin in his own steaming bowl. This is going to be an interesting job.

According to Copley’s intelligence, the trafficking operation is run by a man named Victor Cross, who’s so dangerous and well-connected that most witnesses to his crimes clam up the moment the Feds come knocking, and those who don’t tend to wind up dead or vanish before they can reveal anything useful.

Well, almost.

Before an assassin claimed his life, an informant revealed to Copley’s source that Cross keeps meticulous records of all his sordid dealings at his home in Malibu. With those documents in their hands, they could expose his whole operation and save a lot of innocent people.

The catch is that these documents are, predictably, very well-guarded, and a direct assault on his home runs the risk of drawing too much attention, which would likely trigger a failsafe that would destroy the documents before they could be reached. Nicky has faith in their ability to fly under the radar, but with so many lives at stake, scattered in places they don’t yet know, he agrees they should find a safer plan.

Luckily, Copley has a suggestion. Cross appears to have one weakness: his only son Tyler, who just so happens to be throwing an extravagant party for his twenty-fifth birthday at his father’s mansion. Even better, according to his social media activity, he just so happens to be gay and have a strong attraction to older men with dark, mysterious eyes.

Which brings us to Andy telling Joe that he’s going undercover on a honey pot mission this weekend.

“Come on, it’ll be easy—like Bruges, ’68,” Andy says.

Andy seems to sense their train of thought, and adds, with a touch of exasperation, “Just look at the kid like he’s Nicky and feed him drinks until he starts talking. Even if he’s not involved, he’s got to have an idea about where exactly Cross would keep those documents and anything else we might need to know about before we try to take them.”

“How do you know he’ll even take the bait?” Joe asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, he will,” Nile pipes up from where she’s been looking over some of the papers Copley sent at the other end of the table. “According to his Twitter, he’s thirsting hard over some actor named Marwan Kenzari. Dude looks just like you.”

She holds up a paper with a screenshot of what must be Tyler’s social media profile. In it, there’s a photo of a handsome, shirtless man who does indeed bear a striking resemblance to Joe. Nicky spots the differences easily though; this man has more muscle definition than Joe does, likely won through a combination of targeted workouts and dehydration, and his beard is cropped much closer to his skin. He also has a small tattoo on his chest, but the picture is too far away from him to read it.

“Huh,” Joe says, leaning in to get a better look. Nicky is so distracted by trying to parse out the meaning of the “Hot Jafar can get itttttttttt #MarwanKenzari” written above the photo that he nearly misses Joe wondering aloud, “Should I shave?”

Nicky lets out a low, mournful sound when Joe’s words catch up with him. The weeks it would take to grow back would be a drop in the bucket of their long, long lives, but Nicky loves the feel of Joe’s beard against his skin and he isn’t prepared to give that up without a fight.

“Va bene, tesoro,” Joe assures him with a wink, sensing Nicky’s thoughts as if they were his own. “Non devo radermi.”

Nicky smiles gratefully at him.

“Anyway,” Andy interrupts. “I’ll infiltrate the catering company to do some recon before the party. Nile, unless you’ve got any objections, you’ll go in as Joe’s plus one to run interference while he pumps Tyler for information. You’ll also be his exit strategy if we need to leave unexpectedly without drawing too much attention.”

“Really?” Nile perks up.

Nicky smiles at her eagerness. “Makes sense,” he tells her. “You’re their age, you’ll fit right in.”

“And Nicolò?” Joe asks.

“Well, Copley can hack into Cross’ CCTV to guide us through the halls when we’re inside, but we’ll need someone keeping an eye on what’s going on outside. You up for it, Nicky?“

He shares a look with Joe, his eyes drawn to the subtle, downward quirk of his lips that tells him he doesn’t love the idea of Nicky being on his own out there. Nicky isn’t surprised to see it—he knows Joe has grown accustomed to being in the sniper’s nest with him to watch his six while Nicky has his attention trained on his scope—but there’s little that can be done about that now, so he nods, dragging his eyes back to Andromache.

“Si. I can set up my rifle here,” Nicky says, pointing to the best vantage point he can see on the satellite photos. “I’ll have a view of the front of the house and the backyard. If anyone suspicious enters or exits the property, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Hey, speaking of cameras: should we be worried about that?” Nile asks. “I’m sure people will be posting pics of everything if the scale of this party is as big as it sounds.”

“With Copley covering our tracks, I think it’s a risk we can afford to take,” Andy says.

“Alright,” Joe says. “When do we leave?”

Before they pack up and head to California, Joe and Nile need new clothes. The next morning, Nicky wakes up extra early to make them coffee before they take a train into Milan.

“Where’s Joe?” Nile croaks, her eyes still weighed down by sleep as she stumbles into the kitchen.

“In the shower,” Nicky answers. “Andy?”

“Still sleeping,” Nile explains.

Nicky nods, recalling that she took the first watch last night. He’ll wake her up in an hour or so, once he finishes packing their belongings for the flight to California.

In the mean time, he pours Nile a cup of coffee from the Moka pot on the stove, the sugar bowl and a small carafe of milk already on the table waiting for her. The moment the smell hits her nose a grateful smile breaks out on her face.

“Bless you,” Nile says, accepting the cup and sliding into a seat at the table.

“Prego,” Nicky says in response before pouring himself one and joining her.

They sip their coffee in silence, until Nile asks suddenly, “Hey, how are you feeling about the plan?”

“Good,” Nicky answers over his cup. “Why, are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” Nile says quickly. “I just thought maybe part of it might bother you.”

“Which part?”

“You know,” she says, like it’s obvious.

Nicky looks at her blankly.

“The part where Joe has to seduce someone and I apparently have to be his wingman?” she says expectantly.

Nicky laughs as understanding sets in, which only seems to confuse Nile further.

“No, I’m not bothered by that,” Nicky answers honestly.

“Really?” Nile asks, sounding surprised. “Why not?”

“Because if there is one thing I can be certain of after a millennium of sharing a life with Yusuf, it is that his heart is mine and mine alone,” Nicky says, feeling the truth of those words as they leave his mouth. “He will do what he must to get the information we need, and afterward he will come to bed with me like he has every night since we first cast our swords aside and allowed ourselves to love each other.”

Nile blinks at him in stunned silence. Nicky smiles as he takes another sip of coffee.

“Damn,” Nile says at last. “You two really invented love, huh?”

“I like to think so,” Joe says as he wanders into the kitchen, his curls still damp from his shower. He looks more alert than he did when Nicky left him in bed, but soft around the edges like he always gets whenever Nicky talks about how much they love each other.

“All lovers do,” Nicky agrees.

That’s certainly what it had felt like that first time they surrendered to their passions, when Nicky was Nicolò di Genova and Joe was Yusuf al-Kaysani and they’d spent the whole night mapping each others bodies with hands and lips and tongues. Each kiss was a revelation, every gasp, moan, and sigh, a shining new discovery, and in that moment, as Yusuf took him into his mouth with the vault of heaven twinkling above them, Nicolò could not have fathomed that anyone else in the history of the world had ever felt so worshipped by another—save perhaps God himself. After nine hundred years of loving this man, of bleeding and dying and living beside him, Nicky is as happy as he is unsurprised to report that he still feels exactly the same way.

Returning Joe’s soft smile, Nicky gets up from his seat to fix him a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. He hears Joe’s footsteps approaching from behind and sighs contentedly when he feels Joe’s hands settle on his waist and his lips brush the back of his neck.

“So I will have no jealousy from you this weekend?” Joe asks, sounding a touch disappointed.

Nicky’s smile grows. “You are a very beautiful man, Yusuf,” he answers, turning in Joe’s arms to hand him his coffee. Joe accepts it and takes a sip as Nicky adds, “If I got angry every time you caught the eye of another, madness would have consumed me centuries ago.”

Joe laughs softly at Nicky’s words and sets his cup back down on the counter.

“Do you hear this?” Joe asks incredulously, throwing a look at Nile over his shoulder. “My Nicolò flatters me too much.”

“No,” Nicky disagrees with a fond smile. “I speak only the truth.”

Joe’s eyes soften before he leans in to kiss him, slow and wet and so very distracting. Nicky sighs into the kiss when he feels the warmth of Joe’s palm against the side of his neck, keeping him still as he licks into his mouth, bitter notes of coffee on his tongue.

“Oh my god,” he hears Nile mutter to herself before her chair scrapes against the broken tile. “Y’all are too much. I’m gonna grab my shoes and then we have a train to catch, Joe.”

Joe hums in acknowledgement, but only presses Nicky back into the counter more firmly once Nile’s footsteps fade. Nicky gasps as tendrils of heat stoke low in his belly, but he manages to find the will to put his hands flat against Joe’s chest and ease him back. Joe looks betrayed when he does it, but there’s a brightness in his eyes that tells Nicky he’s only teasing.

“As much as I want to keep kissing you, Nile is right,” Nicky says, knocking their noses together. “You have a train to catch.”

“I know,” Joe says, raking his fingers through Nicky’s sleep-tousled hair, “but you are just so tempting first thing in the morning, I don’t know how you expect me to resist you.”

Heat sparks inside Nicky once more as Joe’s nails scrape gently against his scalp, and his eyes slip closed, his own self-control dangling by a thread. They’d been too tired to have sex last night and Nicky curses their former selves for not taking advantage of each other while they had the time.

Nicky’s eyes flit back down toward the smug curve of Joe’s mouth, but before he can make a questionable decision, the door to Nile’s bedroom creaks open.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a sec,” Joe says, and for a moment, Nicky thinks Joe is going to kiss him again, but instead he reaches for the cup of coffee he left on the counter. He drains it in one go before he steps aside to place it in the sink, leaving Nicky unpleasantly cold without the heat of his body to warm him.

“Thank you for the coffee, habibi,” he says, dropping a kiss on Nicky’s cheek as he passes him. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Of course,” Nicky says, offering Joe a smile as he folds his arms across his chest. “Have fun in Milano.”

“Without you?” Joe asks, shooting him a look over his shoulder. “Never.”

The next night finds them at a hotel in Malibu, not far from Cross’ mansion. Nicky reclines on the bed he’ll share with Joe tonight if all goes well, dressed head to toe in black, while Joe gets ready for the party in their ensuite.

Nicky is resting his eyes when the bathroom door swings open.

“How do I look?” Joe asks as he steps into the room. Nicky pushes himself up onto his elbows to see, swallowing as his eyes travel the length of him.

Joe’s suit is of Italian make and exceptional quality, its rich burgundy hue eye-catching without being garish. The button down beneath is crisp and white, in stark contrast to the plain black bowtie that circles his neck. As he adjusts his cufflinks, Nicky’s eyes catch on the silver rings glinting on his fingers and the expensive watch on his wrist—a gift Nicky picked up for him the last time they were in Geneva. He looks like sin standing there, the well-tailored fabric clinging to his waist and thighs in a way that would have sent Nicky to his knees were he not already lying down.

“Bellissimo,” Nicky answers, and when Joe smiles brightly in response, Nicky beckons him closer with a gesture, unable to stop himself from playfully adding, “Tyler will not be able to resist.”

Joe scoffs and continues his approach toward the bed.

“And you?” he asks, eyes darkening as he pushes Nicky gently back until he’s lying against the mattress again. “Could you resist me?”

Nicky lets his thighs fall open in answer as Joe moves to settle in the cradle of his hips. The moment Nicky feels the solid weight of him rest between his thighs, Joe rolls his hips forward, a tease that pulls a soft moan from Nicky’s lips. Joe stifles the sound with his mouth as he moves in for a greedy kiss, nipping Nicky’s bottom lip between his teeth before soothing the bite with his tongue.

It never ceases to amaze Nicky that, after all the lifetimes they’ve lived, Joe’s kisses still have the power to steal his breath and make his heart pound against his ribs, that they still feel so fucking good. Nicky melts against him, any coherent thoughts that remain slipping away with every press of Joe’s mouth against his, leaving him dizzy and warm and utterly lost in the feel of Joe’s tongue delving into his mouth and his beard brushing against his skin.

It’s not until Joe snakes a hand between them to rub against Nicky’s rapidly hardening cock through the thick fabric of his tactical pants that Nicky remembers they have a job to do.

Nicky pulls away from Joe’s mouth with a soft gasp, but Joe just fits his mouth against the side of his neck instead as he continues to palm him through his clothes.

“We will be late,” Nicky pants, reaching down to cover Joe’s hand with his own—to stop him or urge him on, he isn’t quite sure.

“It’s a party,” Joe mumbles before tugging the neckline of Nicky’s shirt down with his free hand to suck a fleeting mark onto his collarbone. “We’re meant to be late.”

“You’re going to wrinkle your suit,” he tries weakly.

“I don’t mind,” Joe counters, unbuckling Nicky’s belt. Nicky makes no move to stop him as he unzips his pants and gets a hand on his cock, his thumb swiping through the pre-come gathering at the tip. It occurs to Nicky that Joe better be careful if he doesn’t want a stain on his new suit. He opens his mouth to say so, but Joe must sense his thoughts because before he can speak, he adds, “Don’t worry. I’ll finish you off with my mouth so you don’t make a mess.”

“Oh?” Nicky asks, flushing at the thought even as he teases, “Do you think Tyler will be able to tell where your mouth has been when he kisses you?”

Joe groans and sinks his teeth into Nicky’s skin, making him gasp as a heady mix of pleasure and pain washes over him. He moves up toward Nicky’s ear then, tracing the path up his neck with his tongue.

“Would you like that?” Joe asks in a low whisper before he nips his earlobe between his teeth, his hand still working Nicky’s cock in steady strokes. “For him to taste you on my tongue and know that I am yours, body and soul?”

Nicky lets out a shuddering breath and rolls his hips into Joe’s touch.

“Would you?” Nicky asks.

Before Joe can answer, there’s a sudden, harsh knock at the door, startling them both.

“Joe? Nicky? We’ve gotta leave in like ten minutes so make yourselves decent,” Nile calls from behind the wood before her footsteps quickly retreat.

Joe huffs in disappointment.

Nicky cannot help but share the feeling when Joe releases his cock, leaving it hard and aching against his belly. Just as he’s resigning himself to jerking off while Joe finishes getting ready, he feels Joe start to pull his pants down his thighs.

“Joe?” Nicky asks, the question obvious on his lips.

“We still have nine minutes,” Joe explains, shuffling down his body until Nicky can feel his breath on the tip of his cock.

“That’s not much time,” Nicky comments, reaching down to cup Joe’s cheek.

“It’s enough,” Joe says, pressing a kiss to his palm, and before Nicky can even think to argue, he leans down to lick a long stripe up his shaft, from base to tip.

Joe seals his lips over the leaking head of Nicky’s cock when he reaches it, sucking at it softly in that way that drives Nicky mad. He hums at the taste before taking him deeper, eager to make the most of their time. Nicky has to bite down on his lower lip to stifle a cry, his hips twitching forward to push himself deeper into the welcoming, wet heat of Joe’s mouth.

Nicky’s eyes stay fixed on those plush pink lips, watching his thick cock disappear between them again and again and again, the tip edging closer to the back of Joe’s throat with every bob of his head over Nicky’s lap. It’s a sight he’s seen countless times before, but it never fails to make the liquid heat pooling in his belly simmer to a boil, and Nicky is writhing against the mattress in no time at all.

Joe anchors his arm across Nicky’s hips to keep him from moving too much, and the confining pressure somehow turns Nicky on even more. Nicky squirms in Joe’s hold as he keeps working his cock just the way he likes it, the movements second nature after nearly a millennium of practice—Joe knows just when to take Nicky deep into his throat, when to slide his fist up and down his length while he gives the flushed head a little more attention, and, finally, when to slip his hand between Nicky’s thighs to rub slow, agonizing circles into his perineum until Nicky doesn’t have a prayer of keeping quiet anymore.

Nicky moans high in his throat at every pass of Joe’s fingers against his prostate, the pleasure mounting inside of him making his thighs tremble. His orgasm is so close he can taste it, and Joe must sense it too because when Nicky locks eyes with him again, he slides his cock deeper into his throat and presses his fingers more firmly into his perineum.

Nicky cries out as his orgasm hits, his cock pulsing between Joe’s lips as he fills his mouth with come. Joe swallows every drop, humming as his hand continues pumping his shaft, wringing every drop of pleasure from him that he can.

He lies there boneless as he comes back down, his chest heaving with every breath. His eyes slip closed as Joe tucks him away in his tactical pants, and a moment later he feels it when Joe climbs up the bed to seek out Nicky’s mouth with his own.

Joe crowds him even closer against the bed, and Nicky offers no resistance as Joe deepens the kiss, relishing the taste of himself on his tongue with a quiet moan. The weight of Joe on top of him is more than welcome, and when Joe’s hips roll instinctively against his stomach, he can feel how hard he still is. Without a second thought, Nicky reaches between them and unzips Joe’s pants.

“Do we have time?” Joe asks as Nicky pulls him out through his underwear and licks his palm.

“Ti importa?” Nicky asks, rucking his own t-shirt up to expose his stomach.

Joe huffs a laugh against his lips. “Credo di no,” he says before Nicky feels his lips on his once more.

Nicky swallows the precious sounds Joe makes as he jerks him off, fast and rough. Between how worked up he got sucking Nicky off and the adrenaline coursing through him as Nile’s ten minutes wear thin, it doesn’t take long—it must be barely three minutes before Joe grunts and spills over Nicky’s fist, painting the pale skin of his belly with streaks of white.

As soon as he comes, Nicky pushes him gently to the side so he won’t collapse right into the mess he’s made and reaches for a tissue on the bedside table. Joe pants beside him in a post-orgasm daze while Nicky cleans himself up with practiced efficiency before putting Joe’s cock back in his trousers.

“I didn’t get any on me, right?” Joe asks a moment later, still sounding winded.

“No, tesoro,” Nicky answers after he gives him a once-over. “Your suit is clean for now.”

“Good,” Joe sighs in relief, and then raises his head to look at Nicky as he asks, “Wait, ‘for now’?”

Nicky only raises an eyebrow coyly in response. Joe laughs and rolls onto his side to kiss him.

By the time they pull themselves out of bed and into their hotel suite’s living room, their ten minutes are long over.

They find Nile waiting on the couch, dressed head to toe in a sparkling gold gown and playing a game on her phone. She looks surprised to see them when she glances up.

Nicky is about to apologize for their tardiness and unprofessionalism when she says, “Huh. Thought you’d be in there at least another ten minutes.”

“We can come back later if you like,” Joe quips, but Nicky’s still stuck on his confusion.

“I thought you said we had to leave in ten minutes,” he says, head tilting to one side.

“I lied,” she answers simply.

The thought that their sweet, innocent Nile would lie is somewhat scandalizing, and Joe and Nicky share a look.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so surprised,” Nile says, sounding amused as she stands up and brushes the fabric of her dress down her thighs. “Joe looks stupid hot in that suit and you two are the most predictable people I’ve ever met, immortal or not. If I told you thirty minutes, I’d be sitting here for an hour.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” Nicky says at the same time Joe asks, “You think I’m hot?”

Nicky laughs and nudges Joe with his shoulder. “Save your flirting for the mark, Joe,” he says.

“If you insist,” Joe sighs. “Though I’d rather save it for you.”

Nicky smiles, ignoring Nile’s dramatic sigh in the background.

“Can we go now?” she asks. “This guy’s burn book isn’t gonna steal itself.”

“Si,” Nicky says, and goes to grab the rifle case he left sitting on the table.

“I just have one question,” Joe asks.

“Yeah, okay, what’s up?” Nile asks, pausing by the door.

“What’s a burn book?”

#the old guard #the old guard fic #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #my fic #post attempt 3 lmao #not my usual post format but i'm getting desperate lol

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littleredlie · 4 years

Text

Malignant (S1P2)

Series Masterlist | Master Masterlist

Chicago Med x doctor!OC Morgan Fitzgerald is a doctor at Chicago Medical, on her sister’s birthday she tries to stay focused on her patients without her emotions getting in the way, but it gets more difficult when a friend is in the hospital and her ex is lurking around. Based off S1E5 of Chicago Med.

5.3k+ Words

Featuring: Morgan Fitzgerald, Will Halstead, Natalie Manning, April Sexton, Maggie Lockwood, Ethan Choi, Daniel Charles, Sharon Goodwin, Connor Rhodes, Jay Halstead, Sam Zanetti, Kelly Severide, Christopher Herrmann Warning: Patient death, some cursing, angst, medical details that may or may not be wrong. A/N: Sorry I posted later than usual, yesterday was quite the day. Enjoy!

Part One

The morning was running a bit slow, not that Morgan didn’t appreciate it. She didn’t get any sleep last night and the coffee she was sipping was not helping at all. She could barely focus on the notes in front of her as memories of her older sister kept flashing in front of her eyes. Eventually she gives up and tears her eyes away from the glaring screen. Leaning back in the chair, she notices Mrs. Goodwin talking to Detective Halstead and Lt. Severide. She keeps looking for a moment, wondering what they were talking about. Momentarily, the detective’s eyes sweep over the ED’s space and they land on her. She quickly looks back down to the computer and tries to peek from her peripheral to see if he’s stopped looking. He has, but Morgan doesn’t want to be caught looking again so she forces herself to continue looking at the computer screen.

Her attention is brought back up again when she notices the detective walk toward where she was sitting. Her heart rate picks up a little as he nears her, but then she realizes that Will is standing right next to her. The detective doesn’t even take notice of Morgan's presence, and honestly that stung her a little bit. She clenches her jaw and continues forcing herself to look at the screen, when she fails again, she decides to eavesdrop on the detective and Will’s conversation.

“Can I ask you a doctor question?” Jay asks and Morgan notices the familiarity, she knew they were brothers of course, but she only witnessed their relationship a few times before.

“Sure, come on.” The brothers walk away a little to gain some privacy, but Morgan is still able to hear them. As she did move her chair a bit more to the right and turned so that her ear was exposed to them.

“Um, Herrmann?” His voice kind of hesitant

“Yeah,” Will asks, not fully paying attention.

“If he’d come in on your watch, would you have waited so long before doing anything?” It takes so much of the eavesdropping doctor’s will to not turn around and butt in, but she couldn’t. Jay and her weren’t close and eavesdropping on a colleague’s private conversation was not the best course of action.

“That’s a tough call.” Will sighs out. “It’s been a while since my surgical residency. And, you know, I wasn’t there for the exam so it’s hard to say.” Morgan could tell that Will was trying not to insinuate anything negative on Connor’s behalf and she hoped that Jay would take it, but he continues to egg on.

“Yeah, just in general.” He asks and Will basically gives in.

“In general?” He pauses for just a second, “ yeah, I probably would have gone in.” Natalie gives Morgan a smile as she walks by and Morgan almost misses it, but manages to throw one right back at her. “But, uh, again, I wasn’t there.”

At that Morgan scoffs and abruptly stands up, grabbing her tablet. She turns towards the brothers and tries to make a clean getaway, but Will stops her.

“Hey, Morgan.”

Morgan halts and closes her eyes, as if to calm herself, and hopes that something will fall out of the sky and allow her to be taken into a trauma room for treatment, but no such luck. She breathes out and slowly turns towards the Halstead brothers. “Yes, Dr. Halstead?” She questions, trying to keep her eyes off of Jay.

“I’d like you to meet my brother,” he points to the detective who Morgan can tell has gotten a little uncomfortable, but he sports a little grin on his face. “This is Jay. Jay, this is Dr. Morgan Fitzgerald.” He introduces the two, not knowing that they already know each other.

“Hi, Detective Halstead,” Morgan says, the tight smile on her face slightly distorting her words. Jay gives her a look, his eyes quickly darting to his brother, who is oblivious to what is going on. Morgan holds out a hand to him and he takes it, shaking gently.

“Hi, doctor. It’s nice to meet you.” His calloused hand was in hers for a little too long and she could remember the first time they were in hers. The actual first time they met.

December 2013

Morgan’s eyes were cast down to the tablet in front of her, but she was zoning out. One hand was stuffed in the pocket of her white coat, clutching the bracelet that she received for her birthday last year. A gift from her sister Olivia. Hayden had insisted that she stay home instead of forcing herself into work, but she needed a distraction. But now it seemed that it wasn’t working, especially after that last patient. She looked too much like Olivia.

Morgan’s focus continues to deplete as she stared like a statue, a few onlookers getting concerned. Especially Maggie.“Dr. Fitzgerald?” Her name falls on deaf ears as Morgan continues to stare at the screen. “Dr. Fitzgerald!” Maggie’s voice raises and Morgan finally snaps out of her trance.

“Sorry Maggie.” The doctor whips her head up and looks to the nurse. “What do you need?” She places the tablet on the desk and stuffs her hand back into the pockets of her scrubs. Maggie pauses for a few seconds, looking at the doctor with concern before finally turning to face the body behind her.

“This is Detective Halstead, he is on your Jane Doe’s case.” Morgan’s eyes finally land on the freckled man standing behind the charge nurse. Morgan could tell that he was handsome and it stuns her for a minute. He had freckles sprinkled all over his face and soft colored eyes.

It’s his voice that makes her pay attention.“Detective Halstead,” he repeats, holding his hand out for her. She takes it and his hand basically envelops hers. They were warm and calloused and hers were cold and smooth. A slight grin is on his face and Morgan thinks it compliments his face so much more.

“Dr. Fitzgerald. Morgan.” Their hands finally pull apart and Morgan doesn’t really like the emptiness the action left behind. “Jane Doe is up in ICU, I can take you.” She puts an arm out pointing in the direction towards the elevator and the detective begins walking. Maggie gives Morgan a look, her eyes flashing between the doctor’s tired face and the detective’s receding back. “Thanks for your help Maggie,” her eyes widened, as if she was telling the nurse to stop it.

Maggie just laughs and continues doing her job.Morgan finally walks up to Detective Halstead and presses the up button for the elevator. “So, I’ve never seen you around here before.” Morgan says, her eyes not on Halstead but the descending number as the elevator headed for their floor.

“Yeah, I just started with the Intelligence Unit.” He sheepishly says.

“Well congratulations.” She nods, not sure what else to say. She didn’t understand why it was taking the elevator so damn long to get there. “I’ve been here a little over a year myself. If you ever want a tour of the best places in Chicago, I am your girl.” She says, not knowing that he was also a Chicago native.

“Are you asking me out?” He says, a teasing tone obviously present and an amusing look on his face. Morgan chokes a laugh out, a little surprised and a little flabbergasted. She had no idea what to say cause that wasn’t her intention, but it wouldn’t be a bad thing if they did end up going out. Before she could open her mouth to say anything the bell dings, signifying that the elevator had arrived.

The brunette steps in first as Morgan is still trying to comprehend their conversation. She slowly steps in beside him and presses the button for the ICU’s floor. After a long day of sulking and mourning, a small smile finally shows up on her face as she takes in the presence that Detective Jay Halstead emitted.

Jay squeezes her hand slightly, and it pulls Morgan out of the memory. She rips her hand out of his too quickly after noticing how long she must’ve been holding it. Will actually notices this time and opens his mouth to say something to her, but she beats him to it.

“I’m sorry Jay, but I have a patient to take care of. It was nice meeting you.” before either brother could say anything to her, she turns around and bolts out of the ED.

❦

Later on, Morgan is making her way up to Lt. Herrmann’s room to check on him and Connor. She had heard that he was beating himself up about his decision about his patient and it didn’t help that there were others questioning his decision as well. When she arrived at the room, Kelly was also peering in. The lieutenant doesn’t notice her as he’s too busy glaring at Connor.

“You think it might’ve helped if you hadn’t waited so long?” Kelly asks and Morgan’s breath sits in her chest as she throws an accusing look at her acquaintance. He still doesn’t notice her standing next to him.

“Excuse me?” Connor turns, his eyes dashing to you quickly before landing on the firefighter.

“If you’d operated on him when we brought him in. Not waited.”

“Are you talking to me about medicine right now?”

“I’m talking to you about my friend,” Kelly points towards the unconscious Chris.

“Look, I’m gonna say this once, because he is my friend too.” He breathes out “I did what was right.”

“Well, some of your fellow docs don’t agree.”

“Really?” Connor steps closer, and Morgan steps forward as well, ready to throw herself between them if she had to. “Odd that they would share that with you and not me.” The men begin to glare each other down and Morgan forces herself from beside them. She puts herself between them, her back towards Connor and she looks up at the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant Severide, can I have a word with you?” He doesn’t stop glaring at Connor and Morgan can feel the tension continue to rise. “Kelly,” Morgan says sternly and he finally looks at her. She places a hand on his arm, tugs him away from the situation, and to a secluded corner. Connor turns away and walks down the hall, Morgan watches him before he disappears and she turns back to Kelly.

“What the hell was that Kelly?” Her arms are crossed across her chest and she huffs out, an angered look on her face. Kelly looks at her for a second before taking a few steps away. “Kelly!”

“His decision could’ve cost Chris his life! If he had operated sooner, we wouldn’t be in this position!” He practically yells, but Morgan doesn’t jump, instead she keeps her eyes on him.

“And you’re so sure about that?” He gives her a look of disbelief, a scoff escaping his lips.

“Of course you side with him.”

“Really Kelly,” this time she scoffs, “that’s how you want to do this?”

“Yeah, that’s how we’re doing this doctor.”

“Well Lieutenant, last time I checked you were a firefighter, not a doctor. Given the information that Dr. Rhodes had, he made the appropriate decision. A decision I would have made as well.” The agitated firefighter doesn’t look the doctor in the eye, instead glancing to his colleague’s recovery room. “Now questioning a decision that has been said and done will do nothing to help Herrmann, we are doing our absolute best to make sure that he will be okay. Pitting the doctors that are supposed to be taking care of him against each other will not help.” He finally looks down at her, trying to glare her down but she doesn’t back away. “Go walk it off Kelly.” Morgan says with a softer tone, her eyes pleading. And without waiting for a reply from him, she walks away, hoping that her words would persuade him to calm down.

❦

Morgan’s staring off into the distance, obviously upset. The day just seemed to dredge on and she constantly found herself thinking about her sister, which work was supposed to distract her from. For some reason, today was different. Her right hand was fiddling with the bracelet, as it always did on an anniversary related to Olivia.

“Morgan, you okay?” Will pulls up next to the distracted doctor, looking down at a patient’s charts.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just lost a patient.” She wasn’t necessarily lying. She did lose a longtime patient to cancer, but she didn’t delve deeper into how the day just seemed to be tainted in death for her. But after all these years Will knew when she was lying, she happened to bite her lip whenever she was.

“Are you sure Morgan, you’ve been a little off today.” He sits in the seat next to her, turning it to have his whole body face her.

“I’m okay Will,” she snaps before taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She slips the bracelet into her pocket and Will notices but decides not to push since she seemed to be stressed already. “It just sucks that we can’t save everyone, you know. People keep dying and sometimes all we can do is watch.” She shrugs at the end of her sentence and turns her chair away so that she isn’t facing him anymore. He didn’t know why she didn’t just let him in, they’ve been friends ever since he came back to Chicago and started at Med.

“Morgan–” He isn’t allowed to continue as Maggie’s voice arises from somewhere in the ED.

“Rhodes and Halstead, we’ve got an incoming!” The charge nurse’s eyes on the cube in her hands as she begins directing the doctors.

“Got it!” Rhodes says grabbing some gloves from a box.

“Wanna help us out?” Will asks Morgan, nodding his head towards the doors.

“Sure,” Morgan shrugs nonchalantly. Will nods, still a little concerned for her, but he allows for the two of them to get to work..

“What do we got?” Connor asks as he, Morgan, and Will make their way up to the bay doors. Morgan pulls the gloves on her hands as the paramedic reports.

“25-year-old witnessed seizure in the street. She was clipped by a swerving car. GCS 3, intubated in the field.” They continue moving her deeper into the ED, turning to wheel her into the trauma room. “102 over 60, tachy at 110.”

“Alright, on my count.” Dr. Rhodes starts, “One, two, three.” Together, the team moves her onto the treatment table. “Give me a laryngoscope to confirm the tube. X-rays of the chest and pelvis, then to CT for a pan-scan.”

“Yes, doctor.” A nurse answers.

Morgan has her stethoscope on her chest, listening. “This isn’t a trauma. She went down before she was hit.” Dr. Halstead says to his colleagues hoping that it would change the route of treatment.

“But we don’t know the damage, she was hit by a car.” Connor rebutes quickly.

“Because she had a seizure,” Halstead says back.

Morgan huffs out a breath and focuses on the patient. “She’s tachy. Sats are down.” A nurse says and Morgan nods.

“Alright, let’s give her 500 milligrams of keppra.” Morgan says after viewing her pupil reaction with a light.

“Yes, doctor.” A nurse answers and proceeds.

“She’s got a chemo port.” April points out after cutting the patient’s shirt off.

“I’m telling you, the money’s in the seizure. We gotta figure that out,” Will reassures trying to get Morgan to agree. “Get a CBC, CMP, HCG, and a tox screen. Tell CT we’re going for the head only, not the whole body.” Before April could step away to put in the orders, Connor interrupts.

“No, tell CT that we’re going for the whole body. Now.” The tension in that small treatment room was suffocating for Morgan, if she wasn’t so focused on the patient, she might’ve gone off on her coworkers. “Must be nice, having so many opinions.” Connor bites.

“I have opinions about how I handle incoming patients. I don’t like that QT on the monitor.”

“On it!”

“You by any chance share those opinions with your brother?”

“What, Herrmann?” Will asks, but he knows the answer. “Look, Jay asked, so I told him.”

Before Connor could say something again, Morgan interrupts with a growl, “Boys, not now!” They give Morgan a look, but drop the issue returning their undivided attention back to the unconscious patient.

“What’s happening?” A new voice enters the room and Doris interjects, trying to pull her out of the room. A chime on the monitor goes off and pulls everyone’s attention to it.

“She’s in V-tach!” Morgan states and a nurse gives off her blood pressure. “I can’t get a pulse.

“We need a crash cart, start compressions, now!” Connor orders and Will begins.

“We’re losing her.” The flatline corroborates that statement, but Will continues compressions.

“Charge to 200. Clear!”

Dr. Halsted pulls his hands off of Dani’s chest,“clear!” And Dr. Rhodes shocks her. When nothing happens, Will continues compressions, waiting for the next shock.

“Come on, come Dani.” Morgan watches Will performing CPR. For some reason the doctor’s heart was beating out of her chest, a pit was forming at the bottom of her stomach, she couldn’t lose her.

“Milligram of epi.”

“One of epi.” April repeats.

“Clear!”

Will again pulls his hands off her chest again, “clear!” And they do it again, shocking Dani while her partner pleads from the door of the room. When nothing happens again, this time it’s Dr. Fitzgerald that orders another round of epi, but everyone hesitates.

“Dr. Fitzgerald.” April starts, but Morgan isn’t having it.

“Now.” Morgan steps in the way of Will and continues compressions on the patient’s chest.

“One of epi,” April says, knowing it’s a lost cause.

“Stop compressions,” Connor says after a moment, but Morgan doesn’t stop.

“Dr. Fitzgerald,” Will starts, putting a hand on Morgan’s back, but she continues. “Morgan,” he says softly this time and she finally pulls herself away, staring at the dead patient in front of her. Will gives her a concerned look, as he notices the crumpling look on her face.

“Time of death: 16:21.” At that Morgan lets a breath out and the woman at the door begins to cry. Morgan rips off her gloves and steps out of the room, not willing to see the heartbreaking scene in front of her.

Why did today have to be so suffocating for her? Her eyes begin to tear up and without stopping she lightly jogs out through the lobby to the front of the building. The tears finally escaped down her face. With her hands on her hips, she looks up to the night sky trying her hardest to stop crying and to control her breathing.

“Morgan?” She recognizes the voice and at that moment she wants the world to swallow her whole, she didn’t want him to see her like this. Looking down, she sees Jay Halstead approaching her body and unknowingly she steps back, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Are you okay?” There is genuine concern in his eyes, they’re gentle and she remembered how much she missed looking into his eyes.

Morgan roughly wipes away her tears and sniffles, not yet looking at him. “I’m fine, Jay.” She pauses, not sure on how much to tell him. “Just lost a patient, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” He pushes, knowing she’s hiding something.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, hell, it barely makes it past her lips.

“You’ve been a doctor for over three years now Morgan, I’ve never seen you react–.”

“Well Jay, we only dated for seven months and you’ve barely spoken to me in the last two years. I’ve changed.” She snaps, interrupting him, trying her hardest to mask any other reason for her to break down this easy.

“You don’t have to talk to me, I get it.” He puts himself in her point of view, forcing her to finally look at him. “But talk to someone, please.” He looks at her waiting for some type of response. Unwittingly, a tear escapes Morgan’s eyes and she hesitantly nods. Jay gives her a soft smile.

“So,” he starts trying to lighten the mood, “you didn’t tell my brother about us.” At that Morgan gives out a short chuckle, wiping the tears away and fully turning towards the detective.

“No, I didn’t. There was no point in doing so,” Morgan shrugs, seeing a hint of amusement in his eyes. “We were broken up and I wasn’t here for even a year yet, didn’t want to ruin the dynamic that Will and I were building.” She glances away, before a realization arises in her mind. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“I guess for the same reason,” he shrugs now, but his voice is soft.

“How’re things with Erin?” Jay grimaces, but Morgan laughed. His partner was the reason she broke up with him, she didn’t feel like becoming a second choice. She didn’t feel like competing against a woman that he spent so much time with where she barely saw due to their hours. If you love them, gotta let them go, right?

“Things are good, we’re good.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you. Really.” He looks at her, a solemn look on his face, words ready to pour out about their past relationship. Morgan, however, doesn’t want to hear it, she spent months trying to get over the handsome detective, she didn’t need him to dredge up old feelings. Gladly, her pager goes off and she sees that she’s being called to check up on another one of her patients. “Are you here to see Will or something?”

Jay is confused at her question at first before realizing that the opportunity to talk had passed. “Yeah, yeah I am”

“I’ll walk you in.” Together the two walk into the hospital, muttering a quick goodbye. Will exits the ED and sees the interaction between his brother and Morgan, he glimpses at the comfortable aura between them and makes a note to address it later, after he confronted his brother about their conversation earlier.

❦

After discharging a patient that was wheeled in earlier, Morgan’s phone beeps and she fishes it out from the pocket of her scrubs. It was from Dr. Charles. The doctor was anxious, hoping that this wasn’t a talk about her overreacting behavior with Dani. Taking a deep breath to call her nerves, she makes her way down to the morgue. When she gets to the hallway that leads to her destination, she is caught up with Will and Connor. They greet each other, but Morgan ignores them, and she especially ignores the concerning looks that they were both giving her. The boys stop in front of the morgue’s door, but Morgan does not feel like sticking around for their conversation, so she walks in between them and enters.

Dr. Charles is standing in the room alongside the medical examiner and he greets her. “Dr. Fitzgerald, here.” He hands her a sheet and she looks down to it. It’s the results for her patient, Dani who was lying dead in front of her. Morgan takes the paper and takes a step away from the body, Dr. Charles notices. Soon, Halstead and Rhodes step into the room. “Gentlemen,” Dr. Charles says, also handing them a sheet.

Rhodes looks down and reads the results, coming to the same conclusion Morgan did when she read it. “Dani OD’ed on chemo. That explains why she seized in the street.”

Dr. Charles nods and gives a sigh out, “that’s not the troubling part. Yeah, she was loaded up on chemo. But this woman,” he says to Dr. Fitzgerald, “never had cancer.” It was like he was trying to tell her that she could not have saved her, that it wasn’t her fault that she was gone.

All Morgan knew was that it didn’t help.

❦

Now, Dr. Choi, Dr. Halstead, Dr. Rhodes, and Dr. Fitzgerald stood in Mrs. Goodwin’s office listening to Dr. Charles’s hypothesis about the two women who OD'd on chemo.

“Two patients in one day overdose on chemo and neither had cancer.” He hands something to Mrs. Goodwin while Morgan goes through the patients’ charts.

“Which, I must admit, does seem suspicious.” Goodwin replies, setting her glasses on her nose.

“Well, it could be a new oncologist in town making incorrect diagnoses.” Connor remarks, but doesn’t sound like he has convinced himself.

“Or even just mixing up a few charts,” Dr. Choi adds.

“Yeah, but even then, why the overdoses?” Morgan asks, finally looking up to the people in the room. “And on the same day? It doesn’t add up.”

“What do we know about these women?” Sharon asks, taking off the glasses and pointing her attention to Dr. Charles.

“Jessica’s note said she felt betrayed.” He answers her.

“And Dani’s girlfriend said Dani was upset about something, but wouldn’t talk about it,” Will speaks up.

“Something was going on with both of these women,” the psychiatrist continues.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any medical records, and no information that might link them.” Morgan points out looking back to the charts, trying to find some reason as to why they overdosed on chemo.

Goodwin brainstorms out loud, “I’m going to get in touch with some local oncologists, see if there have been any problems with their chemo or if they’ve had other patients in the same condition. Thank you,” she nods to the doctors and they begin to head out. Connor places his hand on Morgan’s lower back and leads the two of them away from Choi and Halstead.

“Hey, are you okay?” The look on his face shows that he knows what she’s going through.

“Um,” Morgan hesitates and breathes out, looking down the hall where Will seems to be waiting for her. “Yeah, it’s just that–” Morgan trails off, looking everywhere but Connor’s eyes.

“It’s Olivia’s birthday,” he finishes for her and almost immediately, tears begin to cloud Morgan’s eyes. She collapses against her friend, his arms immediately wrapping around her.

Will watched them, he watched how open and vulnerable Morgan was with Rhodes. He understood that they knew each other since their childhood, but Rhodes has been gone for the past few years, and Will had been there instead. Or maybe he hadn’t been, as he looked at Morgan sobbing in Rhodes’s arms, he wondered if he ever really knew her, if she could ever allow him in her life like she allows Connor. He walks away from them, giving them space and himself time to think.

Connor reluctantly pulls away from Morgan, wiping away the tears from her face. “She would’ve been 32 years old, possibly married, maybe a few kids. I don’t know, I’ll never know,” Morgan whispers the last part, looking down at her feet. “I don’t know why I’m letting this affect me so much.” She angrily sighs out, turning away from Connor.

He lays a hand on her shoulder, “It was barely four years ago and Olivia was brutally murdered, it’s gonna take time. Maybe you should talk to Dr. Charles.”

“Well how much time until I am so distracted that I end up affecting a patient?” She yells, receiving a few annoyed and confused looks from some bystanders. At this time Dr. Charles is stepping out of Goodwin’s office and his attention is brought to the two arguing doctors. Morgan doesn’t want to be analyzed by the psychiatrist and she’s tired of the look of pity on Connor’s face, so she decides to remove herself from the situation.

“Morgan–”Connor begins, but she has already begun to walk away.

❦

The end of her shift was two hours ago, but she was still at the hospital, on the roof staring at the Chicago skyline. She couldn’t go home, she knew she wasn’t gonna be able to get any sleep tonight. A breeze danced around the doctor’s body and she tried her hardest to retreat deeper into her jacket, but it wasn’t helping much. The wind pushed the curls of her hair to brush against her face and despite this very reason, Morgan liked having her natural hair out. She felt a little bit more in control, a bit more free, a bit more beautiful. The braids she had in her hair last month were getting harder to handle, so she was okay with letting her hair and scalp breathe for a bit. Over the years her hair grew remarkably well and she was starting to feel a lot more confident in herself. Maybe she’d let it out longer than a few weeks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were still here.” Morgan turns to Connor’s voice, he’s walking towards her.

“Yeah, I have a patient downstairs that I don’t want to leave.” He looks at her, knowing that she’s not telling the whole truth. But he doesn’t push her, at least not for now.

“I heard what you did for me today.” He leans next to her on the railing, his eyes peering out as well.

“What? With Kelly?” She asks and Connor nods. “It’s no big deal. They’re all one big family and can get a little hostile without noticing. I just had a little talk with him.”

“How long had you known him?”

“I met him shortly after I started my residency here, through an ex.”

“An ex?” He chuckles, “who?”

“Someone not important. He’s not really in my life anymore. But after deciding to maintain my paramedic license, I rode along a few times with their station and got close to them. I had hoped I could use my relationship with them as an advantage to talk Kelly down.”

“Well thanks.” He nudges her and she smiles, “however, you don’t always have to come to my rescue. Especially when you won’t let me come to yours.”

“It’s not that Connor, it’s just that sometimes there’s this look you give me. Like I’m broken and you want to fix me. I already get it from the rest of my family, and from Hayden. I don’t want that from you.”

“I understand, but it’s because I care about you Morgan.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and she leans against him.

“I appreciate it, and I promise that I’ll let you know if I need rescuing. But for now, let me just have my best friend, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll hold you to that promise.” He chuckles. For a moment, they’re quiet, leaning against each other, letting their troubles past them even for just a moment.

“So, you and Dr. Zanetti? I did not see that coming.” She looks at Connor skeptically and he scoffs at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looks down at Morgan, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know, it’s just that she’s her and you’re you. She’s the definition of an egotistical surgeon and you’re not.” Connor looks at her, urging her to continue, but Morgan knows it’s not her place. “But that’s just my opinion, I’m sure she’s nice and you wouldn’t be dating her if there wasn’t something there.”

“Is there some history between the two of you.” He asks, removing his arm from around the ED doctor.

“Just some disagreements on invasive versus less invasive procedures, it’s not a big deal. Don’t let my professional troubles ruin your personal life.” Connor nods his head, still a little wary of Morgan’s attitude towards his girlfriend. As he should be, Morgan felt a little jealousy clawing away at her insides, she didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like Connor was going to disappear out of her life now that he was dating Sam. Or maybe it was the fact that Morgan wasn’t his girlfriend, but that thought never crossed her mind.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“God, no. I don’t have the time for dates or caring about another person’s schedule. I did it a while in 2013, we dated, but we had opposite schedules and so I ended it.”

“When did you first get here? Morgan, that was almost three years ago!”

“No it was, two years ago. We broke up in 2014 and I just haven’t made time to go out.”

“God, you’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine with it.” She shrugs and Connor just shakes his head, not really understanding her decision. If only he understood that the universe was working against the two, it was never the right time for the both of them.

“Come on Morgan, let me drive you home.” Morgan nods and the two of them make their way down to the first floor. She could feel a little bit of the weight rising off of her shoulders as the two of them finally left the hospital.

Part Three

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Vhat’s this? Some canon content?? GASP. (Don’t worry, the next part of the POTC AU is in the works, I promise, I just have to finish writing out all the text XD;;;)

But uh, yeah! This is Duncan Ashe with my MC Carewyn Cromwell, though Care-Bear really doesn’t look like herself right now. That’s because this is directly post-Redacted.

After what happened in the Portrait Vault, Carewyn made the decision that she would not follow Rakepick’s example anymore by taking the entire burden of the Cursed Vaults completely on her shoulders and -- by extension -- lying to all of her friends that she was no longer interested in the Vaults so as to make sure none of them would try to help or stop her. This way (she thought) she could ensure that none of them would get hurt because of her again, like Merula did.

Unfortunately her friends really didn’t cooperate with this plan. Soon enough they started to get suspicious about how much Carewyn was hiding from them -- Charlie in particular got into a very heated argument with Carewyn after hearing about the “wizard in white” who was supposedly after her and Merula that Carewyn refused to tell them about, which ended up getting worse when Ben tried to “defend” Carewyn by attacking Charlie with Langlock and the two Gryffindors got into a huge physical confrontation that Carewyn had to break up. Ben, of course, refused to let Carewyn do anything on her own and so when he and Merula caught wind she was going to the Forest alone, they collided with her en route and refused to let her go without them. This, of course, led to the “Redacted” event where Rakepick killed Rowan.

As soon as it happened, Carewyn lost her mind. For long, horrible, stretching minutes all she could do was scream and grab onto Rowan, even physically and verbally lashing out at Ben and Merula with pure, undiluted spite and pain if they tried to get close. Then, by the time they reached the castle, Carewyn went completely silent. In the days and weeks that followed, Carewyn became a shadow of her former self.

To quote a previous post:

“This girl who is usually known for being an eternally composed, strong, witty, brave fashionista Mama Bear will, quite simply, disappear. No more stylish hair – no more polished make-up – no more pretty outfits…and worst of all, she will glide the halls like a ghost, unable to eat or say a word to anyone, and disappearing for long periods of time. The silence will be deafening. She cannot comfort others. She cannot reassure, encourage, nurture, or counsel her friends. She cannot sing. She cannot answer any of her friends’ or teachers’ questions or address their concerns. She cannot even cry. Her eyes are broken, empty, and devoid of light or hope.

“This goes on for weeks, with Carewyn disappearing more and more often…until one day, she is gone for a full 24 hours. Her friends panic, thinking that she might have run away or otherwise hurt herself, and tear the whole school apart looking for her. Bill will even put his most recent Cursebreaking assignment on hold to come back to Hogwarts to look for his friend. It’s when he arrives that Bill asks Duncan Ashe to help them look for Carewyn – and it is Duncan that finds Carewyn, huddled up alone in a dark closet inside the Astronomy Tower.

“Duncan tries to shake Carewyn back to her senses, but nothing he says gets through to her. Nothing he says can make her speak to him. Nothing he says can bring any life to her eyes. It’s so bad that Duncan – after what feels like an eternity of scolding, yelling, and appealing to Carewyn – falls apart and bursts into tears.”

This is what’s pictured here -- Duncan finally breaking down.

“What do I have to do, Carewyn!? Do you want me to grovel, is that it?! You want me to beg?! You heartless feck, TALK to me, damn it! Say something! Anything! Insult me, scream at me, curse me to Hell -- tell me to go away, if you want, I don’t care, just ANSWER ME! Just show me that you -- that you’re -- ”

Duncan’s voice seemed to get stuck in his throat. He choked -- he felt the clutching of his chest and noticed the blurring of his vision that came with crying, and yet he never felt the bubbling tears streaming from his eyes down his translucent face. He tried to blink them away, tried to look for any shred of awareness or consciousness in Carewyn’s face -- but she still never raised her head. Her cheeks were sickly, ghostly pale. Her dark, hollowed, bag-trimmed eyes were devoid of light.

Duncan recognized the emotion, or lack thereof -- and it scared him more than anything ever had.

“Carewyn -- don’t -- don’t you dare! You...can’t...”

His head seemed to shake back and forth of its own accord. He reached out, wanting to comfort -- but he knew it was no use. Even if he could focus enough to not pass right through her, he couldn’t actually hold her hand, even if he wanted to.

Duncan had always wondered if he was really right to think that Jacob didn’t care that he was dead. Part of him always thought that he’d projected that lack of caring on Jacob all those years, simply because he hadn’t ever returned to Hogwarts, or Duncan hadn’t ever heard about how much he grieved...or...perhaps because Duncan himself thought he didn’t deserve being grieved, in the first place...

But this...if Jacob had been like this -- like his sister now -- devoid of light or hope...or even self-preservation...

Jacob’s sister wanted to die. The thing Jacob cherished more than his own life, that he spoke of with pure love in his face, that he always held up as his reason to keep fighting when things were their scariest -- the girl who Duncan himself had grown to care about, after she’d taken so much of her own time to make sure he didn’t feel all alone and to make some of his days just that little bit better...to make him feel, at least once in a while, that someone did mourn the fact he was no longer alive --

She wanted to die.

Duncan felt his heart breaking as he stared at Carewyn, unable to hold back his sobs.

“...Please...please...”

To continue the quoted summary,

“It’s only then that Carewyn finally opens her mouth and speaks. She puts her hand down inside Duncan’s own translucent hand as if trying to hold it and asks if he can feel anything. Duncan cries even harder, yelling furiously – even after everything that had happened and everything he’d said, all Carewyn can do was worry about everyone else! And it’s then that the truth finally comes out – Carewyn doesn’t see herself as someone worthy of love and caring. She’s vanished because she doesn’t see her life as something worth protecting, or her pain worth healing. She doesn’t deserve her friends’ or the staff’s concern. She doesn’t deserve their comfort or sympathy. She ‘deserves’ to be alone, and in pain, and hated, for what happened to Rowan. She ‘knows’ it would be better for everyone if she simply…vanished.

“Eventually, however, Duncan smashes through Carewyn’s self-loathing and suicidal thoughts. Maybe she doesn’t think she deserves to be loved…but she is loved all the same…by choices made by the people around her. They are the ones who can determine how they see Carewyn – not her. They’re the ones who are owed a choice in whether or not they accept Carewyn for everything she is.

“At last, Carewyn comes down from the Astronomy Tower. She collides with Bill, Charlie, Ben and Merula at the bottom of the stairs. The three Gryffindor boys all dash forward, throwing their arms around Carewyn and latching onto her like they’re never going to let her go again. There is an intense exchange – but when Carewyn finally breaks down into tears and admits that she needs help, her friends decide to stand by her, even despite the many mistakes she’s made. And from there…very slowly…the healing begins.”

#carewyn cromwell #my art #duncan ashe #roleplaying #my writing #rowan khanna #redacted #charlie weasley #ben copper #jacob cromwell #Jacob #hphm #hogwarts mystery #tw suicide

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