#they took my heart alongside their daughters life

[slimeciclecuethusitixst]

I miss misclick duo aagagghhhh

They're so.,,,,,... so!!!! Silly

:3

They are my everything and I can't wait for the gods to bless us once more and give us more(/non religious it just sounds cool)

[sassypossumm]

Finally

Art cred: mao0047 on X (they're really so good...)

FINALLY getting around to cleaning out my inbox, to the lovie that requested Professor!Miguel x Student this one's for you (made reader a TA grad student) MDNI TW: smut,brief mention of child's death, infidelity, P in V,degredation

"Professor? You in here?" Knocking on the heavy door, you frowned when you got no response.

He always did this.

Miguel O'Hara, stodgy genetics prof that he was, had a bad habit of falling down research rabbit holes. And when he did, you might as well have been dealing with the absent minded professor.

Sighing, you shoved open the door and stepped inside, immediately taken aback by the musty smell and horribly dim light. As your eyes adjusted to the light, your heart squeezed at the sight.

When you'd first started this TA program, you'd dreaded your assignment. Genetics?! You'd balked. What on earth did you know about genetics?!

Then you'd met your assigned professor.

Miguel O'Hara, genetics 101 prof. The man was a giant, disheveled, socially awkward, cerebral...teddy bear.

There was no other way to put it. One look at those wide, tired, gorgeous brown eyes and you knew you were sunk. Now, leaning against thr door frame, watching his hulking frame dwarf the dingy hole of an office, you couldn't stop the thundering of your heart.

You cleared your throat, and Miguel's head shot up. You stifled a smile at the way his glasses slid down his nose, and made note of the sheer exhaustion etched into his features. He looked far beyond his 38 years, in fact, he looked ready to be carved into the side of Mount Rushmore alongside the stony faced founding fathers.

"How long you been in here, Professor?" At your concerned tone, Miguel leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Stepping into the space, you struggled to not let your eyes wander to the way his frame practically swallowed his chair as he man spread.

Sitting across from him, you busied yourself with papers as he ran a hand through his hair and groaned. You rubbed your thighs together, trying not to imagine what those gorgeous thighs of his might feel like braced on either side of you as you-

"Y/N?"

"Huh?" The sound of his voice shot through you, bringing you back to the present. Looking up, you met his eyes, and took in his expectant stare. Clearly he'd been trying to get your attention. Your cheeks heated at your foolish thoughts. Blinking hard, you pushed down the unrealistic notions.

There was no way a man like Miguel O'Hara would ever be interested in you. After all, hadn't you been throwing out hints half the semester.... and after that last poetry session you'd both attended...maybe Hobie was right...you were reading more into the lingering stares than was actually there.

"Yes, professor," You cleared your throat. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening." Miguel gave you a tired smile and pulled off his bifocals.

"It's okay, Y/N. I remember my last week of finals before I received my PHD."

"Did you get your PHD before or after Fred Flinstone received his?" His eyes creased at the corners at your light banter.

"Before, you smart ass, who do you think tutored him?" He said with a conspiratorial grin. Of all the things you'd done and accomplished in thr past year, this was what you'd miss thr most.

The easy familiarity you and Miguel had slipped into. After papers were graded, and everything was organized, you'd occasionally relax and just... talk. Over a cup of coffee, and even at his house once or twice, you'd just talk.

It was crazy to think just how familiar you'd become with his life. Over the past several months, he'd begun opening up more and more. About his first girlfriend, how he'd left her for his brother's girlfriend. You'd been struck at the thought of the Miguel you knew cheating on anybody...it seemed such an alien idea.

Then he'd shown you the pictures of his daughter, Gabi. The daughter who'd been cruelly taken from him in a car accident. Your heart had broke. To have something so tragic happen, and then to top it off, his wife blamed him for the whole thing.

Youd tried to assure him that it clearly hadn't been his fault, but he'd stiffened and shook off your attempts. On thst one, you'd backed down. He'd put up a clear boundary, and you hadn't wanted to push him away.

Miguel, however, had no qualms about dragging his ex wife through the verbal mud, and venomously at that. From the way he spoke, it was obvious he had no remaining good will for the woman who'd blamed him for his daughters death, and insulted him at every turn for his supposed 'giving up' when he'd begun gaining weight.

Your blood still boiled when you thought about it. The woman was hurting, but that hadn't given her thr right to hurt Miguel. Righteous indignation burned in your belly as you looked at the tured, beautiful man across from you.

He deserved the world.

"Professor,"

"Please, Miguel, we're practically colleagues." He said, stretching his arms above his head.

Now that was odd...

Miguel had always been very strict about remaining professional. Come to think of it, he'd been calling you by your first name since you'd entered... maybe...

"Professor, I don't think that's very," he cut you off with a pointed look.

"Next fall you'll be just as much a professor as I am."

"Shakespearean Poetry and the Romantics can hardly be considered of equal value to genetics." You balk, but not for long. Miguel leaned forward and looked at you intently.

"Poetry is just as valuable as genetics, if not more so." You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes quieted you. The eyes were thr same, that visible exhaustion seemed a permanent addition to his features, but there was something...something different.

There was an unfamiliar intensity dancing in those deep pools of brown you'd fallen for. Before, you'd adoring thought of his eyes like those of a big puppy, but now...now the only phrase that came to mind was 'bedroom eyes'. You shivered at both the thought, and the electricity you felt growing between you.

On your end, you'd always known that draw existed,but youd never dreamt this giant teddy bear felt the same.

"Professor," Your tone was breathy. His brow raised slightly.

"Miguel." He instructed simply. Your tongue stuck to the rood of your mouth, and your skin grew warmer.

"Miguel." You murmured. He hummed, and you felt a thrill of pride run of your spine at the idea that you'd pleased him. "What, um, what is, what are we," He silenced you with another seerimg look.

"I'm socially awkward, Y/N," he gave you a warm smile. "But not entirely oblivious." Sliding his hand across the table, he grazed your fingers with his thumb. "I'd have to be entirely ignorant to ignore this...spark, if you will, that exists between us."

You shuddered at the contact, your eyes fluttering shut at his husky tone. A deep rumble went through his chest and he raised your fingers to his lips.

"Why wait so long?" You chanced a look at him, and felt your breathing shallow. He smiled against your fingers, and drew your thumb into his mouth, sucking softly, before withdrawing it, nipping the tip teasingly.

Where on earth did this man come from, and what had he done with your Miguel?

"For one thing, it hardly seemed prudent to risk either of our positions for something that was so clearly more than a one time fuck." He said calmly, turning over your hand to kiss thr inside of your wrist. You shuddered at his calculated tone and bit back a sound.

"You don't want to fuck me?" Your voice wavered, the words no more than a breath. Miguel's eyes darkened, and a predatory grin slowly morphed his features from placid genetics teacher to something...lewder.

"Oh, I want to fuck you, hermosa." He purred, sucking at your fluttering pulse point. "But I also want to make love to you, decadently." His lips dance up your arm. "Voraciously."

He stands, leaning over the table to dwarf you completely, pressing delicate kisses along your shoulder and up your neck. "Over. And over. And over again." His voice rumbles low in your ear, sending tendrils of arousal straight to your core.

Your head falls to the side, invitingly. You're not entirely certain what's come over him, but you're not about to question it. A whimper escapes your mouth as he finally turns your face up towards his with a firm hand on your jaw.

"For another thing," he breathed against your lips. "I wanted to see who'd break first."

"You." His lips quirk momentarily at your quip.

"Si, nena. You prove to be quite stubborn." He growls the final word before capturing your lips with his. You moan softly, and when his tongue brushes against yours, you surrender completely.

Whining desperately, you rake your fingers through his hair and tug wantonly at his shirt as his tongue expertly coaxed a litenty of primal praises from your throat. His hand slid down your jaw to enclose gently around your throat, and he groaned as your moans and whimpers sent vibrations through his fingers.

You trid tugging him across the desk, but Miguel simply grunted, tearing his mouth away from yours to press bruising sucks and kisses down the column of your throat. You whined at began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Ah-ah" Miguel growled, catching your hand in his. Biting down on your collar bone, he pulled back and looked at you. "Greedy little thing... we do this my way."

His way meant bending you over the desk, wrists held behind your back in one of his large hands as he took you mercilessly from behind.

"Th-this the fucking you mentioned?" You panted between thrusts, groaning when the base of his cock grazed your clit. Miguel hissed at the way your walls fluttered in response to the stimulation and slowed his pace, wrapping his free hand around the back of your neck, pushing your further into the desks surface.

"Callarse la boca." He grunted, picking up his speed. Miguel's hips slapped against your ass, accompanied by his occasional moan and your profuse broken sounds of pleasure. The erotic sounds seemed to spur him on, and his grip on your neck tightened as he released your wrists to slap your ass soundly. You cried out, clenching around his deliciously hard cock.

"You like that?" He growled, slapping your ass again. "You like being fucked like a slut?" Your eyes squeezed shut and you moaned. He reased your neck and gripped your hair, turning your face roughly as he continued steadily pounding into you.

"Answer me." He hissed, slapping your ass again. You like being fucked like this? Like my own personal cock sleeve?" Your breathing was labored and you moaned weakly. You could feel the veins of his cock as he brushed passed your g-spot with ever thrust.

"I, Uh-huh, so good, Miggy...." He groaned at your needy tone. "Please, need, need it, so bad..." You whimpered, thrumming and flushed, teetering on the edge of climax.

"Shhh. I got you, bebita. I'll give you what you need." He shushed you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before grabbing your hips and pulling you back into his thrusts. You cried out as his cock bullied your clit and pussy with quick rhythmic thrusts.

"I'm gonna, Migs," You babbled, scrambling for purchase on anything to cling to. Folding himself over you, Miguel laced his hands over yours and murmured nonsensical praises in your ear, not letting up on his punishing pace.

"Let go, I got you."

With those words, you toppled over the edge, twitching and shuddering as you came all over his cock, and went boneless against the desks surface, lost in a haze of white hot pleasure as your walls clamped around his cock like a vice. Miguel groaned and his hips stuttered before his cock twitched, and he came soon after you, filling the condom with his cum.

Sighing heavily, Miguel scooped you into his arms before flopping back in his chair. Cleanup and damage control would be a job for later. Right now, you were sat, warm and sated in his arms.

And that was enough for him.

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 2

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

A/N: The response to pt. 1 was incredible! Thank you guys so much. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst/Fluff / WC: 1,341 /Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Kidnapping, canon-typical violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

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"What do we know?" Steve asks, rubbing his chin.

"Y/N and Becca have been missing approximately 52 hours; their last known location was Central Park; there are no leads as to who took them; Y/N's phone connected to a cell tower in Munich, Germany 42 hours ago but we've still had zero contact," Tony reports, reading his notes from a tablet.

The same information Tony reports is posted on the screen behind him alongside your official Avenger's photo and a photo of Becca from her 4th birthday party. It makes Bucky sick to see his wife and daughter on the screen as if they're just victims the Avenger's need to save--but they are.

"It just doesn't make sense," Natasha says, pulling everyone's--Bucky, Steve, Wanda, Sam, Clint, and Tony's--eyes to her. "How come we can track her phone? If whoever took them have it, they would have disconnected it. If she has it, she could send a signal, a hint, something to give us a lead."

"Unless she's being watched," Clint points out, anxiously messing with a pen, twirling it through his fingers.

Sam nods in agreement. "Yeah, maybe they--they being who took the better Barnes'--don't know she has the phone and she's hiding it. As long as it's got juice and they don't know it, we've got a chance at finding her." Bucky smirks lightly at Sam's attempt at a joke to lighten the mood; you would've laughed.

"Or it could be a trap," Clint offers in rebuttal to Sam's hypothesis.

"Trap or not," Steve says, "we've got to follow a lead. The longer we wait, the less likely we find them."

Bucky stays silent, sitting alone in the corner of the room. Listening. Worrying. Trying to stay calm. He's exhausted; he hasn't slept since his girls went missing. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he scans the room, eyes falling on his friends working tirelessly to rescue his family before returning to the photos of you and Becca on the screen. He balls his hands into tight fists.

"Tony?" Wanda asks, taking a few frantic steps towards a far screen that displays your phone's tracker.

"I see it," Tony says, typing away on his tablet. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., status report?"

"The cellular device belonging to Agent Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes connected to a cell tower in Novosibirsk, Russia approximately 3 minutes ago. The device is holding at 8% battery life," the A.I. reports.

Bucky sits up straight, eyes narrowing on the red dot indicating his wife's location. He recognizes Novosibirsk as a major city in Siberia. His stomach turns as gears turn in his head. He feels eyes on him and he pulls his gaze away from your location to see Natasha staring at him, lips pulled into a tight frown; he realizes she's making the same realization he is. His gaze flicks to Steve who's staring at the ground, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

"I know where they are," Bucky says, closing his eyes, breathing in painfully slow in an attempt to ease his frantic heart rate.

"Well?" Tony asks indignantly. "Care to share with the class, Terminator?"

Bucky's left fist connects with the wall beside him, birthing an indentation of his hand in drywall. Clenching his jaw tightly, Bucky can't bring himself to form the words.

"The Siberian HYDRA facility," Natasha sighs. Her tone indicates she is nervous.

"Wait," Sam interrupts, "that's..." He trails off, eyes widening as he looks at a livid Bucky.

"The birthplace of the Winter Soldier Program," Steve confirms.

—

"Mommy?" Becca calls softly as her eyes flutter open.

"I'm right here, baby," you quickly confirm, swiping a few flyaways from the little girl's face. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," you assure.

You are unsure just how long you've been in the aircraft, but you know it's been a few days. You've not seen the outside of the hanger you found yourself in since you woke up inside of it. No one has brought food, or water, or even so much as spoken near enough to you to hear. You think you felt a touchdown and another take off somewhere along the way, though, and you're pretty sure you're actively feeling a descent.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Becca complains, pulling you from your thoughts.

"I know, baby, I know," you pull your daughter into your chest, soothingly running your fingers through her hair. You're trying so hard to keep Becca calm, but it's becoming more difficult the hungrier and filthier she gets.

"Where's Daddy?"

"He's looking for us, sweet pea."

"How do you know?"

"Because," you pinch her cheek playfully, "your Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world, and he would never let anything happen to you. He'll find us."

Your response seems to appease her, but she doesn't have a chance to argue anyway as the plane touches ground with a jostling thunk and throws her off balance. You quickly reach out, steadying the girl.

"You okay, Becca?" You ask, hands holding her still as your eyes frantically run over her body. She nods.

About 30 minutes pass--you think--when the aircraft door finally opens. Behind the door are 3 tall, bulky men with rifles and 1 shorter, sleazy looking man who is clearly--somehow--in charge.

"Welcome! Welcome!" The mysterious man greets, clapping his hands together. You push bile down your throat as you stand as quickly as you can manage, pushing Rebecca behind you gently.

"Who the hell are you?" You ask with a grimace. "And where do you get off kidnapping innocent women and children?"

"Please, Mrs. Barnes and little Miss Barnes, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Igor Morozov, but you may call me Dr. Frost. I presume it may be easier for the little one," Morozov--Dr. Frost--introduces.

You take him in. He's small (perhaps 5'5 and skinny), and he does not exude power. His dark black hair is slicked back so much so that it appears greasy and hairsprayed directly to his scalp. His grin is unsettling, gummy and with a prominent gold capped tooth where one of his front teeth should be. He's wearing a military style jacket, pleated trousers, and dress shoes. You can hardly believe he is the man in charge; he looks like he's a man pretending he's in charge.

You say nothing, further stepping in front of your daughter to shield her from the men in front of you. Your hand grips her shoulder tighter than you think you've ever held her.

Morozov seems unfazed by your irritable and accusatory behavior, his sickening smile never leaving his face.

"It's such a pleasure to have the Asset's plaything and offspring in our midst!" He chuckles and it makes bile fill your mouth. You swallow it back down. "Welcome to HYDRA's Siberian Facility! You may recognize the place as a home of sorts; after all, the Winter Soldier was born here!" Morozov claps his hands together. Giddy.

You bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself. In most circumstances, you would jump at the opportunity to fight your way out and towards freedom, but, in most cases, you're not holding yourself back for the safety of your 4 year old. Rebecca came first.

"What do you want with us?" You demand, but you're sure you'll be denied answers.

"All in good time, Mrs. Barnes. All in good time," Morozov assures, turning around and walking away. Your fingers twitch as you note you wish you could strike.

"Mrs. Barnes, do follow me, please," Morozov demands despite his polite formalities. "And I advise you keep the baby to your side. You never know where she may wander off to if you're not watching," he says ominously.

You clench your jaw as you scoop Becca into your arms. She clings to you, little arms surrounding your neck. The poor girl is terrified, and you know you have to pretend you're not, too. For her.

You follow after Morozov and pray your phone hasn't died yet.

Please, Buck. Find us.

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ko-fi

[bones4thecats]

أهلا please can you write a story about Poseidon and his wife the goddess of moon, he love her so much but she lost her memory and forgot it and now he is trying to help her remember him despite his pain. Sorry for my bad language

Type of Writing: Request Character: Poseidon Name: Poseidon with Moon Goddess! Reader that Loses Her Memory Requester: @75rrgyt34

A/N: أهلاً بك! I hope that was right, I use google when it comes to languages I don't know fluently😅. I hope you do enjoy this, lil bubbles🫧!

⚠️ Content Warning: Trauma, severe wounds, child loss, trauma, and war ⚠️

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🔱 You were the Greek Goddess of the Moon, and the daughter of the Titan Goddess of the Moon, Selene, whom created you from a speck of the moon's dust

🔱 Due to the Titanomachy, or, as many nowadays call it, the Titan War, you and Poseidon started off on bad terms, since he had witness the fight your mother participated in

🔱 When she was taken away and imprisoned, you just watched while floating next to the brothers as she smiled at you and blew a kiss of stars, which now were littered throughout your hair, symbolizing the everlasting love your mother has for you

🔱 Poseidon would watch as you floated over the ocean with a small smile as a dolphin would jump up to try playing or when a whale tried to splash you with some water from their blowhole or a swing of their tail

🔱 While many would view those actions as a symbol that the Greek God of the Sea disliked you, he had no control over the animals, they were merely the ones living in his domain

🔱 He had control of the waves and how the weather surrounding the sea made it react, and it always seemed to go from rough and rage-filled to calm and filled with delicacy whenever you were around

🔱 You and Poseidon bonded quite well, as you were very quiet and peaceful like your mother, but you also had a darker side, one similar to Poseidon's normal mood

🔱 It took a very long time, and by a very long time, I mean around maybe a few centuries, for you guys to start courting one another, and another thousand or so years for you guys to get married and start a life together

🔱 In the first few months of your relationship, you had gotten pregnant and Hera said you were destined to have a baby boy, which you and Poseidon decided on the name Πρωτότοκος, or Protótokos, which means firstborn in Greek

🔱 Poseidon and you were extremely excited for the new chapter you were about to begin, but it all came crashing down when the Gigantomachy broke out

🔱 You were resting at home when Poseidon attending an important meeting with his brothers, Ares, and Hermes, and once it ended, he went home to prepare for battle, and to get you to Hermes and into protection

🔱 But, when he arrived at the palace, he didn't see you awaiting him in the front of the throne room doors like usual, and with the war, he felt a bit uneasy

🔱 Following his instincts, he fled into your shared bedroom and found you on the ground with many wounds dressing your once clean figure

🔱 The worst ones would have to be the big bashing your head had taken and the large stab sounds on your stomach alongside bruises

🔱 He froze and went to check your pulse, which was thankfully still there, and when you were stabilized by the nurses and doctors he ordered in to help you, he headed off to battle with nothing but pure rage in his heart

🔱 They may be able to hurt him, but nobody will ever touch nonetheless try killing the ones he holds closest to him, especially his wife and unborn child

🔱 When the war ended and he returned to hear the news of what happened to you, he was met with the horrible news of losing the child due to trauma, and your memories may not even be there, also due to trauma

🔱 Poseidon tried distancing himself as you awoke and began healing, but he couldn't leave you alone, besides, Zeus and Hades kept dragging him, more so Hades then Zeus, since Poseidon would skewer him

🔱 Seeing you look confused at him hurt, you were supposed to look at him with love in your eyes, not this distant unknowing of him and what you two had made and lost

🔱 He made it his life goal to help you restore your memories, no matter the cost, you were his wife, he made a pledge to you long ago that he'd be with you throughout any challenge that plagued your lives, and this was going to be the hardest one he faces, he hopes...

[thewulf]

With You? Always || Legolas

Summary: This was supposed to be a request but I took it in a very fluffy direction. Like no angst. Just teasing and reuniting with Legolas after the events of LOTR. Hope you guys enjoy!

A/N: Thank you for the cutest request anon even tho I didn't follow it! I had too much fun writing this one. It's so much fun to write these LOTR imagines. Thank you guys for sending them in!

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k +

TW: Insecurity, angsty, fluffy

“King Thranduil suspects he will be back by nightfall.” Your father spoke breaking you from the trance you had seemed to be in. Your eyes were scanning the emptying kingdom among you. Just like the Elves of Rivendell the Elves of Mirkwood took to the sea’s too, many more than you suspected would leave so quickly. You were yet to get the calling. You were sure your father had felt it just as your mother did so long ago. But he had a duty to the king as his head guard, and he wanted to be around for you and your life milestones, “His elk can sense Legolas but a few hours away.”

You let out a small gasp with glee, “The Elvenking is hardly ever wrong.” Your eyes upturned into the smile that had now graced your usually withdrawn face since he had left here almost two years ago. You hardly lived your thousands of years without Legolas in tow. It’d been well over a year since he set off to destroy the ring. Being that you had lived thousands it should have been quick, but it felt like more than a century since you had spotted Legolas’s nearly silver, blonde hair.

“Indeed, my daughter. It is unwise to not listen to the king.” He gave you a knowing smile before retreating from your room and heading to his chambers to get ready for dinner. Leaving you to be with your thoughts. Quickly you got ready making sure to take extra care of you appearance just in case he had arrived early enough for it. It would be rather obvious of your intentions for you had been rather careless since he had been gone. You found no point to go above and beyond since you knew your eyes only landed on Legolas. No one else stood a chance even if they tried.

Sliding on your finest evening attire that wasn’t too over the top you set off for dinner. You scanned the castles dining hall for any sight of him but only slumped when you came up short not finding his normally intricately braided blonde hair.

It wasn’t often Elves could be snuck up on but when your eyes were desperately searching for the one that had been on your mind nonstop it was rather easy to sneak up on you, “He has yet to arrive my lady.”

You jumped turning to the elf standing beside you, “Galion! Where did you come from?” You placed a hand over your rapidly beating and rather startled heart that felt like it got caught doing something it shouldn’t have been.

“From across the room.” He smiled giving you a bow, “I was hardly being quiet.” He gave you an answer you weren’t really looking for.

You nodded quickly looking away, “Right. Thank you Galion. I was searching for my father.” It was an obvious lie and even he knew that for he knew of the feelings between the two elves. It had been painfully obvious for centuries. Even King Thrandruil was growing tired of son not courting you. He had long since accepted you as an extended member of his family. He had practically raised you alongside Legolas. He was eager to see the two of you together before he set sail. He had wanted to rejoin his wife and was growing impatient to Legolas’s growing timidness to asking you the question.

Galion nodded knowing you were lying through your teeth. Being the kings longtime advisor, he had known you just as well as the king and your father did. He knew all your little quirks. One being that you couldn’t lie to save your life, “Right my lady. He’s in the corner with the king.” Galion pointed to the two elves sitting there snickering about something.

Ever since the Kingdom of Mirkwood received word from Legolas that he was safe, and the ring had been destroyed the usually stoic king that hid away made himself more present and smiled far more often than you remembered. You were excited to catch glimpses of the old king you’d grown to see as a second father. Ever since Legolas’s mom and his wife has passed the king has grown cold. But now that there was finally some good news and hope he was becoming more of his old self.

Your thanked Galion before making your way your father. You weren’t planning on eating with him especially not that you learned that he was eating with the king. It’s not that you didn’t like them. No, you loved your king. It’s that he seemed to know of your longing feelings of his son no matter how well you tried to hide it. He always found a way to bring Legolas up and embarrass you in the process. Surely he would show no mercy due to your father sitting next to him.

“King Thranduil, Father.” You bowed before the two elves with utmost reverence. You knew how precious your spot in the Kingdom of Mirkwood was. If your father wasn’t who he was you would be nothing but a peasant elf the king could care less about. You tried your hardest not to take it for granted.

Before your father could speak the king did instead, “You look rather put together tonight Y/N. Special occasion?” He asked with a hint of smirk on his face. And that was why you were trying your hardest to avoid said king who was beginning to antagonize your efforts.

“None that I am aware of.” You spoke another obvious lie. Your father watched in amusement as your usually cool demeanor crumbled over the look the king was giving you. He too was not dumb. All of Mirkwood would have to be blind had they not known you and Legolas were to be bound together. It was just the two of you who seemed to lack the awareness.

His eyes looked over your outfit before replying, “My son’s favorite color is red. It is most uncommon to wear that color here, no?” He waved his hands before him showing that nearly elf was either in green, gray, or beige.

“Is it?” You tried to play dumb feeling utterly nervous under his looming gaze. How had he managed to make you feel so silly was beyond even you. Because he was right. Red wasn’t so common for greens were usually the chosen Mirkwood shades.

His stoic expression broke with an innocent smile, “Indeed it is. He will like this dress on you Lady Y/N.” Your father cracked a grin from beside the king seeing your dumb expression. He too was tired of watching you pine from afar and wanted to see you happy and in good hands before he departed.

You coughed trying to think of anything to say to him. You eyed your father for help, but he simply shrugged leaving you high and dry. He was enjoying this interrogation far too much, “Oh, my king, this is not meant for Legolas…”

He held a hand up to you letting you know to quiet, “Be that as it may. Which is a lie. He will be most happy to see you even more so in that dress.” You dared not disagree with the elf as he was in a chipper mood. Surely his sons return had something to do with it.

“Aye.” Your father agreed which earned a laugh from the normally stoic king. Were they drunk? They had to be. But you didn’t see any wine on the table nor smelled any alcohol on their breath. So, they were just enjoying seeing you squirm? You’d have a word with your father after it was all set and done.

The kings gaze softened seeing you truly so dumbfounded at his conclusion, “He will be here within the hour Lady Y/N. Take a stroll in my private garden after dinner. Galion will escort you after supper. I will see to it that he meets you out there after his arrival.”

You gulped. Was King Thranduil trying to get the two of you together? It seemed as if you were not as sneaky as you thought yourself to be, “Oh, I would not want to impose my king.”

“I insist.” And that was that. He had you escorted through his chambers to the garden even you had yet to see. It was small but truly, one of them most beautiful spaces you’d ever had the pleasure of stepping into. You walked around admiring the roses and flowers that seemed endless as they tangled with the grass and trees. You had sensed why he had kept it to himself after all of these years.

“My father was right. You are a vision Lady Y/N.” The familiar voice of the man you loved snapped you out of the trance the dancing roses captured you in. For the second time that night you had been snuck up on. Most unlike you.

Your face broke into a smile seeing the blonde elf in person finally, “Is red really your favorite color?” You asked not fully believing the king.

He bowed to you, “It’s been over a year, almost two and that’s the first thing you ask me?”

“It is. Is that an issue my prince?” You gave him a dramatic bow in return. That was just one of the many things he had grown to adore about you. You never really gave care in the world of his title. To you he was always just Legolas your friend. For he hadn’t a clue of how you felt about him.

“Hardly. Indeed, red is my most cherished color. This color precisely.” He stepped closer to you grabbing at the extra fabric on your arm. If your heart could simultaneously stop and explode all at once that was what was occurring. He was so close so suddenly. Was Legolas flirting with you?

“Well,” You cleared your throat trying your best to respond to him as your brain tried its best to keep up with him, “Hopefully I wear it all right.” You joked around trying to shift the growing tension between the two of you.

His hands did not drop from your arm as his eyes snapped up to yours, “My lady, you wear it finer than any elf in this kingdom and all kingdoms beyond.”

What was he doing? Your face paled before your cheeks exploded with color. You were usually so good at hiding emotion such as this but his outright honestly instead of the joking he would normally play in had taken you off your guard.

He smirked now knowing his father’s push was really all he needed. You would not blush so had you no feelings for him. He did not wish to ruin the grand friendship he had with you for it was the most cherished thing in his life. For in his mind, you had no feelings for him.

“Oh, thank you Legolas.” He noticed you flexing your hands. He had long since learned that was your tell for being unsettled. He’d often caught you doing the same before an attack would commence or when you had a terrible feeling of something.

“There is no need to be nervous Y/N. It is just me, Legolas.” He hid his smirk away for a softer smile. He held his hands out for you to take.

Slowly you placed your much smaller hands in his, “Indeed. That is what’s making me nervous.” You admitted out loud before your brain could stop you.

“What do you mean?” He turned his head to the side just so as his eyes scanned over your face searching for something, anything.

“You have occupied my thoughts every day since you left.” You spoke quickly before you could decide it would be a bad idea letting him know you had feelings too, “Are you being sincere?”

He stepped forward placing a tentative hand on your hip, “Aye, my lady. I would not lie to you. You look beautiful tonight.”

You placed your hand on his face making sure he really was back, “I missed you Legolas. This had been the longest year of my life. For I did not know years could take so long.”

He tested the waters by bring you closer to him. He fully wrapped an arm around your waist. You thought your heart was going to leap out of his chest as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I survived out there because of you.” His hair tickled your neck, but you could hardly care as you processed this information he had just told you.

“Pardon?” You had asked him to expand on that ever so bold statement.

He brushed your hair behind you ears, “When we wanted to give up, when all hope was lost, when I surely thought this life was over…” He paused seeing the horror in your expression. You must not have known how dangerous the quest truly was. But he continued trying to get to the point, “I thought of you. Coming home to you in Mirkwood kept me going.”

He surely heard how fast your heart was beating now, “I am glad I could provide you the strength to come home to me. For I do not know how I would fare middle earth without you.” This moment in the garden was the most intimate the two of you had ever been with the other. The most truthful too. You would have to thank his father later for the push the both of you needed. He must have been planning to leave soon as he never meddled so obviously before.

“I could not let that happen. I have made sure of that.” He smiled, eyes gazing down lovingly at you. You’d seen the gaze before but told yourself he meant something else. You were mistaken clearly.

“Legolas.” His name slipped out of your mouth so effortlessly. By Eru were you thrilled you could speak his name out loud because he was actually in front of you.

Ignoring your soft plea he asked you, “May I ask you a very important question?”

Your eyes piqued in curiosity as you nodded, “You may.” Wondering whatever he may ask you.

He took your hands in his gently rubbing his thumb along your much softer skin, “I wish to court you. I want to spend the rest of this life together, meleth nin. Would you do me the honor?”

You repeated his words slowly, “Meleth nin…” You repeated back to him before continuing in your disbelief, “For am I dreaming right now Legolas?” You asked not sure if you were truly in reality any longer. For as long as you pined for the blonde elf from afar this was happening faster than you had imagined.

“I certainly hope not, it took me far too long to work up the courage to ask you.” He grinned feeling like he could do anything in the world. His love, you, had said yes to him. He was going to have you as a partner, lover and more for the rest of his life. He could not wait to start the next part of his life with you. A youthful pang of excitement went off in his heart as he felt a new sense of adventure in the near future with you.

You laughed giving his hands a squeeze, “Then it is my greatest honor to accept. May I ask for how long?”

This time it was his turned to blush. It was a rare sight to see the kings son so squirmy in any sense, “Give or take a few hundred years?”

You smiled, “I have you beat then my prince. I had a growing crush nearly a thousand years ago. I thought it would go away so I just buried it deep down. See what good that got me.”

“Half our lives?” His eyes went wide as if he was finally seeing you for the first time.

You nodded you head trying to hide the embarrassment of hiding yourself away, “I suppose it is then half our lives so far. It was when you got back from Minas Tirith with your father. I had missed you far too much for the feelings to be simply friendly.” It wasn’t so bad admitting it to him for it felt more of a relief. He was going to know your truest feelings finally.

He placed his hands on your uppers arms, “I am nothing but a fool. I did not notice.”

You half laughed, half groaned, “I did not give you a chance my prince.”

“Why did you hide away from me?” He asked sincerely as he took a handful of your long straight hair in his hands. He was certainly more comfortable getting more handsy with you after you had accepted his proposal. It was no question to you. He was the only one you would say yes to.

“I am nothing but a Silvan Elf.” You spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. When Legolas’s face turned to nothing but confusion you continued, “I heard the king talking, years ago now, about how lowly he view the Silvan elves he presided over. I would never have the approval.”

“What are you talking about meleth nin?” He sounded genuinely confused, “How long ago was that?”

You shrugged, “A long time ago.” You didn’t want to admit it was nearly two thousand years ago you heard his decree. Even by elf standards that was some time ago.

“You know even stubborn kings can change their minds given some time.” He pinched your side lightly letting you know your thoughts were mistaken for the king had all but forced him to tell you this evening.

He held his hand out after he admired you for a moment longer than needed. He could not help it though for he couldn’t believe that you were his, “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” You asked curiosity getting the better of you as you placed your hand in his.

He sighed turning back to you with that glimmer in his eye, “We may have an audience on the other side of the door waiting to see if you said yes.”

You let out a hearty laugh, “Unbelievable! Who is there then?” You followed him as he began walking.

“Your father and mine… and Galion” He smiled sheepishly almost afraid to see your reaction.

But your laugh let him know you didn’t mind, “Those meddling older elves. They need to mind their own business.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, that adorable blush forming over his cheeks, “I am thankful for their meddling for I never would have had the courage to ask you my lady.”

You gave his hand a squeeze before you walked through the thick wooden door, “I would have waited another two thousand years for you Legolas.”

He looked down suddenly bashful. You were beginning to adore the far more emotional side of the man you had grown to love truly throughout the centuries. It had made falling even further in love with him a less daunting task. You were more than excited to explore life as a courting couple. You’d make big decisions in this stage of life. How many children did he want? Where did he want to live? Was Thranduil going to give the crown to his son? Would he accept?

“You have always had such a way with words meleth nin.” He brushed the side of your face breaking you away from your thoughts.

You grinned at his kind words, “Meleth nin.” You whispered back to him for the first time. You could get used to calling him that. Your love. Your lover. Your everything.

He put his hand on the door before turning back to you, “Are you ready to deal with them?”

A smile broke out on your face in consideration of his actions, “With you? Always.”

He gave your hand a squeeze before opening the door before both of you. Sure enough not a second later both King Thranduil and your father pounced on the both of you with questions while Galion stood back with a relieved expression on his face. You laughed with utmost glee as Legolas pulled you into his chest shielding you from the questions and answering them all. If this is what it meant to be loved by him then you could surely get used to this.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a person in possession of a good blorbo must be in want of art of that blorbo. And on this front, I have suffered because there is really no Háma art out there despite the fact that he’s rad. (I won’t bore you all again with all of the reasons why he’s the best, but you can find that here.) So I asked @rinthecap to draw me a lovely and handsome Háma, and they delivered in the best possible way!!! Here’s my guy, with a lot on his mind as he watches his king slowly lose his grip on reality, but always at the ready to jump into the fray and help.

I love ALL of Rincap’s art, which you should definitely all go check out if you haven’t, and am extremely grateful for this beautiful and necessary contribution to a world that was severely lacking in Háma representation! ♥️♥️♥️ His face, his armor, his hair, it’s all aces!

And here, for good measure, is my Háma headcanon:

His father was the royal armorer in Edoras, and his mother worked alongside him; he did the metal work, and she handled leather. Little Háma grew up around their workshop, playing quietly in the back or listening to his mother tell stories while she stitched together vambraces or gloves. As he got older, he helped his parents with simple tasks, like linking rings for chainmail. When a mailcoat he worked on saved Théoden from a Dunlendish arrow and the king himself came by to thank young Háma, he nearly burst with pride. He knew right then that he wanted to dedicate his life to protecting the king and made it his goal to be captain of his guard someday.

Háma’s father was severely injured in a workshop accident not long after, and everyone marveled at how quickly he apparently recovered and was able to keep turning out work. What they didn’t know is that Háma’s mother took over most of the business, having learned metal crafting over the many years of work alongside her husband. They didn’t tell anyone who was actually making the pieces because they weren’t sure anyone would wear armor made entirely by a woman, but Háma knew, of course, and it filled him with both pride and frustration to hear people heap praise on his mother’s work while attributing it all to his father.

While he was working his way up through the ranks of the guards, Háma met and fell in love with Bryttalif, a midwife in Edoras. Brytta was herself pregnant and unmarried when they met, so she was viewed as a little scandalous. But they hit it off right away and he really didn’t care about town gossip or what other people had to say because she was just the sort of kind and gentle-hearted person that he was. The scandal was eventually forgotten because Háma and Brytta got married, which gave the whole situation a sheen of acceptability. He adopted her daughter Halwinë as his own and was absolutely crazy about her–Middle Earth’s truest Girl Dad. Brytta was pregnant with their second child when Háma was killed at Helm’s Deep. It was a boy she named Wilspell (“welcome news”).

Háma’s sword was recovered from outside the gate of the Hornburg after his death and was thereafter always used by the captain of the king’s guard, being transferred from person to person as part of a little ceremony whenever a new captain was appointed.

He was buried in armor his mother made.

[inmyloveworld]

open arms (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x kazansky!reader)

for @roosterforme's 80's "Rocktober" Playlist Fic Challenge!

word count: ~2.6k

warnings: top gun: maverick spoilers, mention of death/funeral, general anxiety

song inspiration: open arms by journey

a/n: thank you so much to emily for this challenge! i truly have not felt so inspired to write in such a long time so this challenge was perfect for me. (my writing’s still a bit rusty, don’t get me wrong, but practice makes perfect eh?) all my love to you always, my favorite FAVORITE tg creator <3

lying beside you, here in the dark, feeling your heart beat with mine.

It was no longer a rarity that you ended up here, nestled beneath gently worn sheets against Bradley's side. Your shared breaths tangled in the air before finding a synchronized rhythm. His steady pulse thrummed against your ear as his hand traced lazily against your side. Silence had never felt so comfortable. And yet, each night you spent in each other's embrace, your mind wrestled with what this all meant.

You couldn't pop that bubble tonight, not when tomorrow meant Bradley would be seabound once again. The reminder of his departure had you nuzzling closer to him. Part of you wished you could sink into his skin somehow; to both stay at his side and shroud yourself from the muddled emotions you kept at bay. Bradley responded to your movement with a soft kiss to the top of your head and a contented sigh slipping past his lips.

How was so relaxed, not knowing what was to come of this deployment? It was equal parts inspiring and horrifying to see the stoicism he held for his work. You knew better than most how much it meant for him to follow in the footsteps of his father. The potential dangers would never outweigh the pride and passion he felt for flying. So instead, you sat to bear the brunt of the worry whenever he was sent off.

Shifting up slightly, you dared to find his face. His eyes sparkled in the streaks of moonlight seeping from the window. They were fixed on the ceiling as if he were deep in thought.

"What's on your mind?" Bradley did not shift his gaze to you just yet. Instead, he took in another deep breath, lifting his head along the way. His exhale was exasperated and furthered your concern. You sat up more, a hand trailing behind to cup his cheek. "Bradley?" you tried again. "You know you can talk to me about anything. I would never judge you."

The eyes Bradley met you with were filled with uncertainty; and hesitation, too. If you had known any better, you would suspect his thoughts were mirroring your own. What are we? What is this? Do you feel the same as I do? What do we do about it? There were too many questions for too few hours left together. There was never enough time.

You had settled with the time you could share, the sunny days filled with laughter and the intimate nights that became second nature to you both. Any question of “more” was pushed further and further off the table with every assignment.

He gave you half a smile as he brushed your hair back from your face. "You're so sincere," he whispered. A light flush danced along your cheeks as you fought a shy smile. "You look out for me more than anyone. You always have."

"And you have for me, too," you reminded him.

we sailed on together, we drifted apart, and here you are by my side.

Naval life brought you and Bradley together. He was the son of the great and ill-fated Nick Bradshaw, while you were the daughter of the highly decorated admiral Tom Kazansky. Virginia was home to you both in the years of your youth and rarely did your mothers keep you apart as you grew. Bradley was your best friend, and him yours. 

You supported him on his journey to the Navy: trained alongside him for his physicals and quizzed him on examination materials. It was in those same moments you first felt afraid, both of what could happen to him in service and what you felt blooming in your chest. Half of that fear was suspended when your Uncle Pete pulled Bradley’s papers from the naval academy. The other half buried itself deep down as you acted once again as a shoulder for the frustrations of your best friend.

The decades following saw you both through all the stages of life: college classes, breakups, graduations, careers, apartments. Though your contact waned and waxed along the way, your paths never failed to converge. Like when he was stationed in Connecticut while you were living there, or when you found him vacationing in Key West during a work trip.

Your path led you back to San Diego, once your parents based themselves there. Only weeks ago had you moved across the country to support them both as your father's condition worsened. They pushed you to take some nights for yourself, and the Hard Deck was an easy recommendation.

Despite the many twists of fate that had reunited you for years, nothing could have prepared you for the whirlwind of emotions you felt seeing Bradley there. You were fighting to catch a half-decent breath as your heart beat rapidly in your chest.

It wasn’t long before he spotted you. There was some sort of unspoken second sense you had for one another. After a warm hug and some quips from his squad mates, you two were sharing drinks and laughing together like always. It was as if no time had passed since your last serendipitous meeting. He asked about your life, and you asked about his. Your throat tightened at his reason for returning to TOP GUN, but you shoveled those feelings, like always.

They resurfaced at the closing of your father’s funeral. Your Uncle Pete took to escorting your mother away while you stood still as stone at the gravesite. All of the aviators in attendance had departed from the cemetery. All but one.

It was quiet, apart from the slight whistle of the air. You heard the careful padding of feet behind you but cared not to face the intruder. A hand along the small of your back was all you needed to know who had stayed behind. As your face scrunched up in sorrow, Bradley curled you against himself. He kept you guarded through your tears, murmuring every word of solace he thought of into your ear. 

And when you urged you could not face the others in mourning, Bradley brought you to your hotel room. He held you through your grief for Tom, as you had held him through his for Carole. He promised that night to forever hold you in your hardest moments, and you shakily promised the same.

Somehow, everything felt like it would turn out okay: the loss of your father, the mission, and whatever came after. Through every peak and valley, it had always felt like that when Bradley was beside you.

living without you, living alone, this empty house feels so cold. wanting to hold you, wanting you near. how much i want to bring you home.

Housesitting seemed like a good idea in the moment. You had yet to find your own bearings on the West Coast as you kept your mother company in her grief. She was kind to open her home to you, yet you craved to return to the breadth of your independence. Crashing at an empty house gave you a taste of that.

It was a no-brainer to Bradley. By the time he had gotten his papers, you were his home’s most frequent guest. He trusted you more than anyone; though, he would never say as such to Nat. The younger lieutenant had already teased enough about her friend’s recovered friendship.

Pieces of that friendship were dotted around the house, you quickly discovered. You had tried your best to keep your mind away from it. The days not jammed with work assignments and housekeeping drew too long. No hobby or day trip could fill the void caving deep in your chest. Empty notification screens and inboxes tore it further apart.

You caved on the fifth week, finally diving into the details of the quaint beach house. Bradley had kept the memories of almost four decades perfectly preserved in so many ways. Virginia Beach carnival tickets from your teen years in a trinket box, a takeout menu from a diner in Connecticut stuffed into a desk drawer, an incredibly tacky Key West magnet hung on his fridge.

An entire photo album was dedicated to your shared Navy family: your aviator uncles and fathers, your mothers, and the pair of you. Faded tickets and receipts were pasted alongside the pictures of your years together once he had a mind for momentos. You felt your chest grow tighter at the thought that went into each page.

Five weeks had passed without a single word from him or any of the friends you now shared. You knew missions could be like this, your own father having gone AWOL for months on several different top-level occasions. And yet, it never left you feeling so empty before.

Bradley's room had stayed shut since he closed it before leaving. You had not dared to breach his privacy, despite his continual assurances that you could sleep in his bed while he was away.

“It’s practically our bed at this point, isn’t it?”

But the closeness was too much. You had needed to distance yourself from it, desperate to quiet the fright echoing in your mind. Now, you longed to drown yourself in the ghost of his presence.

Bradley had fixed up his things before leaving. Ever the neat freak, his floor was swept clean and his bedding was perfectly tucked. The only difference you spotted was a green woolen blanket peeking above one pillow.

Carole had gifted you that blanket. It had started as you needing it one night at her house and quickly became a regular borrowing occurrence. You only ever returned it when she was at her sickest. The hope was to provide her with the same compassion and encouragement she gave you as you grew up. After she passed, you didn’t think to ask where it ended up.

You clutched onto the material, desperate sobs shaking your body. Bradley had held onto it this whole time. He tucked it in safely where he had wanted you to be, to provide you the comfort you needed while he was preparing for a flight that held no guarantee of a safe return. Bradley Bradshaw was looking out for you again, just like he always had.

The weight of it all dawned on you as you lay cold as ever in that bed. How much you wished he would walk through the door, how much you yearned for the warmth of his body beside yours; how much you wished to tell him everything. In the light of your realization, nothing mattered more than the docking date just over the horizon.

but now that you've come back, turned night into day, i need you to stay.

You had wanted to go to the dock: to be the person Bradley bolted off of the ship to embrace, the one to welcome him home after weeks away. It was the silence that locked you in place. Not a single form of correspondence had reached you since he had departed. Frustration would be an easy crutch to rely on if you weren’t so riddled with fear.

Fear that your last kiss was on the front steps of his porch. Fear that you would never again hear his honeyed voice singing along to your radio. Fear that you had lost your one true companion in this life, past your ups and downs along the way.

Nat was making rounds to grab Jake, Bob, and Javy off of the carrier, anyway. “It’s no problem,” she had said when you called her not half an hour before you had been planning to leave. It was scribbled on your calendar, with a little heart that Bradley added on himself. Your eyes filled with hot tears as you stared at it.

You dreaded a knock on your door, accompanied by an officer wearing a sullen expression and desolate words that would blur in your ears. Or the sorrowful looks worn by his closest squad mates as they found you in the crowd of families and other loved ones awaiting their arrival.

The possibilities plagued any chance of restful sleep, that night above all the nights since his departure. Instead, you curled yourself against Bradley’s beat-up loveseat from college, eyes darting to the front door at every blare of headlights passing by.

The ungodly hour ticked on from the tacky bar clock on the wall: one of Goose’s favorite old house accessories. Draped around your shaky form was the blanket from Carole. Your father’s dog tags hung from your neck. Would you soon need memorabilia to remember Bradley by, too?

A soft creak of wood caught your attention, then another. Keys jingled at the front door as the lock began to turn. Tired from travels and anxious from his own arrival, Bradley trudged through the door with his bag in tow. 

You barely contained your gasp, drawing his attention right to you as you lurched up from your seat. The duffel fell from his hand with a light thud on the floor. Not a second was wasted before you ran to embrace him. Bradley caught you instantly as you leaped into his open arms.

The tears you had restrained for hours fell freely into the fabric of his uniform. Your hands clung tightly around his neck, scared to ever let go.

“I’ve got you,” Bradley soothed as he felt the rush of your anxieties manifesting. “I’m right here, darlin’; I’m home.”

“I was s-so worried,” you hiccuped. “I-I didn’t hear anything, a-and I-”

“Shhh, I know. I know; I’m so sorry.” He walked you both back over to the loveseat. Falling against it, Bradley held you closer to him as his wind-chapped lips buried into your hair. A deep inhale drew you closer to his shoulder, the resulting exhale elevating you to the familiar beat of his heart.

Only a few moments passed before you began to push at his chest. He was quick to brace himself for you to sit upright in his lap. Your eyes scanning him were unreadable. Bradley rubbed the tops of your thighs, clad in his old UVA sweatpants, as he waited on you patiently.

The words were right there. They had burdened the tip of your tongue through almost every stage of your intertwined lives. No matter what the outcome would be, no excuse was great enough to keep them caged any longer. You were done keeping this final piece of yourself from the person who had already put together the rest.

“I was looking around here, while you were gone,” you sniffled. Bradley nodded as a gentle encouragement. He could read your apprehension as clear as day. Still, he would never force answers from you that you were not yet ready to give. He gave you soft and composed reassurances instead.

After taking a deep breath, you continued. “We’ve spent so much of our lives dancing around one another; our whole lives, even.” You fought to keep your eyes locked in his, despite the adrenaline beginning to race through your system. “And no matter what’s happened, and what has come between us, we have always found each other again.” Bradley nodded again, his lips curving ever so slightly upwards. His thumbs continued to trace shapes over the decades-old cotton.

“You have made my every victory a celebration, every hurdle a little easier to jump. But I was always scared.” His smile dropped, a slight frown replacing it. “I was scared of how dark it would feel to lose the way your-” You hesitated at the word, debating whether it was too powerful to use. The feel of his hands squeezing tenderly at your hips stirred your voice forward. “The way your care lights up my life.”

You finally let your chin fall, to break his piercing gaze and take a moment to collect yourself. “I have hidden myself in fear for too long. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“I love you.” The words froze you. Processing them was not an easy feat, even more so when you had not seen him speak them. You flitted your widened eyes back up at Bradley. He was staring at you in a way you never recognized before, though no different from how he’d regarded you all along. It was only now you could put a name to it. 

“I love you,” Bradley said again, to prove to you both that he really had. “You have always been my home and my safe haven from everything I've gone through.” He released his soft grip on your hips to caress your face instead, thumbs swiping at the tears still falling from your eyes. “Your love lights up my life, too.”

so now i come to you, with open arms. nothing to hide: believe what i say. so here i am, with open arms, hoping you'll see what your love means to me.

[justabigassnerd]

Daddy's Little Girl

Pairing - Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x daughter!reader

Word count - 1,484

Warnings - mentions of throwing up, sickness, mostly fluff

Summary - after a long night of being unwell, your dad is there to help you feel better

A/N - sorry it's been a while since my last fic, I'm still fighting for my life out here. this fic was an anon request (actually two) so I hope I did it justice. as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

Maverick knew that having a young child meant that there would be days when you would get sick, and he would have to dedicate a few days to taking care of you. It’s part of what parenting entailed, and he knows he’d do just about anything to make sure his little girl is comfortable and looked after when she’s sick.

This time, you had clearly picked up a stomach bug from being at preschool and you had spent a large majority of the night emptying your stomach into the bucket Maverick had placed by his bed. He rubbed your back and kept your hair back from your face as you were sick and wiped your tears away when you had finished throwing up.

It took until the early hours of the morning for you to stop being sick and you soon curled up in Maverick’s arms, falling asleep almost instantly as Maverick brushed your hair away from your face and watched you sleep softly. He didn’t care if he got sick, all he cared about was you and whether you were okay. He couldn’t allow himself to do more than doze for the rest of the night in case you needed him at any moment.

By the time the morning had fully rolled around, Maverick had woken up before you, gently wiggling out from underneath you, picking up the bucket and taking it downstairs to clean it out before making himself a coffee and filling a bottle with water for you.

“Daddy!” Upon hearing your panicked cry, Maverick abandoned everything and darted up the stairs, every worst-case scenario making its way into his head as he took the steps two at a time to reach you faster. When he threw the door open, he was relieved to see you looking relatively okay aside from the tears that filled your eyes. Upon seeing your dad, you lifted your arms, and more tears worked their way down your cheeks. Maverick crossed to you, picking you up without hesitation and wiping your tears away softly as you cling to him, snuggling as close as you could.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Maverick coos softly, fighting the urge to bounce you lightly in case it upsets your stomach. You don’t respond, snuggling impossibly closer to your dad as your tears stop. Maverick rests the back of his hand against your forehead, relieved to notice that while you’re still warm, you’re not as warm as you were during the night.

“Let’s get you a quick bath, huh? That’ll help you feel a little better.” Maverick says, heading into your room to pick out a fresh pair of pyjamas and then heading into the bathroom and running a bath for you. When you’re in the bath, Maverick kneels alongside the tub, washing you gently and checking up on you, making sure you didn’t feel like you were going to be sick. You perked up a little bit, but you still weren’t at one hundred percent. When you’re cleaned up, Maverick drains the tub and then wraps you in a warm fluffy towel before lifting you out, drying you off before getting you into the new pyjamas.

“I’m going to make us some breakfast, do you think you could handle some toast? Does that sound good?” Maverick asks as he enters his bedroom once more, moving to put you down on his bed, stopping when you cling to him and whine.

“No daddy, don’t go.” You whine, refusing to let go despite his attempts to put you down.

“Hey, I’ll only be downstairs. You get to relax in daddy’s comfy bed, that’s way better than being in the kitchen.” Maverick attempts to bargain with you as you refuse to detangle yourself from your dad’s arms.

“No, wanna stay with you.” You whimper, clinging tighter to Maverick’s shirt so he can’t put you down. Maverick feels his heart breaking at your words, not being able to find it within him to deny your request.

“Okay, you can come with me.” Maverick says, setting you on his hip once more and heading downstairs to the kitchen where the bottle of water and now cold cup of coffee sat on the counter. Maverick sits you at the kitchen table and turns his attention to pouring out the cold coffee and making a new one and putting some bread in the toaster. As he busies himself with making something to eat for both you and him, he feels you wrap your arms around his leg, and he glances down with a soft smile.

“Was the chair not good enough, squirt?” Maverick muses jokingly as he ruffles at your hair, picking up his new mug of coffee and taking a sip. He hands you your water bottle just as the toast pops out of the toaster, he places one slice on one of your small plastic plates and two slices on his plate. He butters your toast and cuts it into small squares. Maverick moves back to the kitchen table, placing the plates and his mug on the table before sitting down and lifting you onto his lap so you could both eat your breakfast.

“Not too fast. We don’t want to upset your tummy.” Maverick says gently as you take a big bite out of the first square. He knew you were most likely starving due to the fact you’d been emptying your stomach most of the night, but he didn’t want you eating too fast in case it ended badly. Listening to your dad, you begin to take smaller bites as well as taking sips of water when Maverick gently prompts you to, reminding you of the importance of staying hydrated, especially when you’re sick. He knew you might not pay much mind to his words, but he figured if he started reminding you of the importance of taking care of yourself when you’re sick, you’d remember his words as you grew up and take care of yourself when you were unwell or burnt out. When both of you finished your breakfast, Maverick had to carefully navigate moving the plates from the table to the dishwasher with you still sitting on his hip before filling up your water bottle once more and handing it to you upon your request.

“Alright, kiddo. I think it's time to rest up a little more. You need to rest to make sure you feel better.” Maverick says as he brushes a strand of hair from your face, fighting back a frown at the temperature still clinging to your cheeks.

“Okay, daddy.” You say, cuddling close to your dad as he stops in the kitchen doorway.

“We have two choices here. We can go upstairs and watch a movie in daddy’s room. Or we could watch a movie in the living room. Your choice.” Maverick says, giving you the freedom to choose where you want to chill out. You think deeply, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Daddy’s room.” You eventually say, winding your arms around his neck and snuggling close, the coolness of the water bottle against his neck making Maverick bite back a wince.

“My room it is.” Maverick concludes with a grin, heading up the stairs and into his bedroom. He puts you on the bed before climbing in himself and as he grabs the remote, you’re instantly curling into his side, resting your head on his chest. Maverick skims through the various movies until you point out one, you’d like to watch. When you find a movie you like, he hits play and puts the remote down on the bedside table.

“You let me know if your tummy starts hurting, okay?” Maverick mumbles as the opening credits play, running a hand up and down your back as you nod against his chest. Maverick kept a close eye on you as you remained focused on the movie, giggling at the antics of one of the cartoon characters on the screen.

Maverick knew that having you cling and cuddle up to him was a risk of him getting sick too, but he didn’t care at all. All he cared about was your comfort and that you were feeling better. You were his world, his everything and he’d do just about anything he could to make sure you were comfortable and loved even on the days when you weren’t feeling well. He hated whenever you were sick, be it the tiniest cough or the sick bug you were dealing with now. He wished he could do nothing more than to take it away from you, so you didn’t ever have to feel sick or in pain. You were his little girl and he’d do just about anything for you.

As he watched you watching the movie, he couldn’t stop a small smile from gracing his face. He got lucky with you and he’d never let you forget how much he loved you.

[americaswritings]

When we fall | Part 3

Warnings (for all parts): Fluff, angst, description of injuries and blood, gun use, cursing, probably unaccurate policing/medicine

Summary: You moved to Chicago to start a new life. Working as a doctor alongside your brother Connor you make new friends and although you swore to yourself not to let any man in your life at least for a while, your promises fail when you lock eyes with a handsome stranger in a bar.

Words: 6k

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Doctor!Rhodes!reader

A/N: And here is the last part of the short series. The events are inspired by a chicago med ep. I really hope you enjoyed it :)

Part 1 | Part 2

“We’ll take care of you and your daughter.” You smiled at your patient reassuringly, noticing someone moving towards you in corner of your eye. Turning your head you saw a man with tousled hair standing at the threshold, his eyes almost hazy as his gaze skipped around the room.

“Where’s Leah?!”, he barked out, his eyes only focused on your patient. Your gaze flickered towards her, taking in the fear in her eyes and the gasp that left her lips. “Jake? How did you find us here?”, she whispered, oblivion dripping from her voice.

“Did you really think you could just leave and take our daughter with you? She’s my daughter too!” He took a threatening step closer, eyes narrowed. “Now, where is she?!”

Your patient’s breathing had quickened and a look at the heart monitor told you she was about to have a panic attack. “Sir, I need you to calm down and take a step back”, you said forcefully, drawing his attention on you. His eyes jumped to you, anger brimming in them.

“Like hell I will! I’m taking my wife and my kid home now!” Your eyes flickered towards the nurse, giving her a little nod to signal her to call the security service, before you met his again. “I can see you’re upset. But your wife and your daughter are sick. They need treatment and rest-”

“Shut up!” You flinched as he yelled at you, his loud voice alarming multiple people around you. “Everything okay in here?” Will appeared at the door, his eyes scanning the room until they landed at yours, staying there as he waited for an honest answer.

The man shook his head furiously, but he took a step back. You almost exhaled in relief. “I want to see my daughter! Now!”, he demanded, but before anyone could gave him an answer, he turned and ripped open the curtain to the next room.

You heard squeals, alarmed voices mixing with the sound of another curtain being ripped open. “Sir, I need you to leave now!” Will leaned forward to grab the man’s shoulder when suddenly he yanked out a gun, twisting around and pointing it right at Will’s chest.

A gasp escaped you as you watched Will stumble back, his hands raised. “Look man, we’re just trying to help, okay?” But the man, Jake, didn’t seem to hear any of it, his eyes filled with hatred and something that scared you even more; desperation and determination. A dangerous combination.

He wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted.

“What’s going on here?” You heard Connor’s voice, saw him step out of a patient’s room and move towards the intruder. From his angle he couldn’t see the gun, couldn’t know the severity of the situation.

“Connor, no!” Your legs moved forward at the same time as the man turned around, the gun pointed at your brother. Everything seemed to happen so fast and in slow-motion at once as your body reacted purely on instinct, the fear for your brother carrying you forward.

You didn’t know if he meant to pull the trigger or if it was out of reflex, but you had no time to think about it as a shot rang out.

You would have screamed, but no sound left your mouth as the impact hit you, sending your body tumbling backwards until it hit the wall. Only moments before your feet had carried you forward, but now they suddenly couldn’t take your weight anymore, your body sinking to the ground.

Around you screams were erupting, but they sounded drowned out, as if you were underwater. Your name was being called, but it all seemed to blend into a haze.

You tried to peek at where you felt a sudden pressure in your body, shock mixing with confusion as you saw blood staining your clothes. Just seconds ago you had been standing in a patient’s room and now you were on the ground, your own blood pooling around your feet. It didn’t make sense.

From the periphery of your eye you saw people running. Some moved towards you, but most of them the opposite way. Away. They were running away.

And they were pushing, tripping, falling over each other. “Put down the gun!” You saw one of the security men approach, his own gun drawn at the attacker. Another shot cut through the atmosphere, but to your horror it was the security man that fell, blood splattering from a wound to his front.

“Everyone just back off!”

Jake’s sharp voice snapped you out of your shock and all at once reality hit you. Pain sank in, slowly at first and then in a stream of hot sensations. Tears formed in your eyes at the burning pain and you grit your teeth, trying to will it away, because you knew you needed to be aware of what happened next.

Lifting your head slightly you found the ER had mostly cleared out, only a few people remaining. Among them were Will and Connor, both of their bodies’ turned towards you in a way that suggested they had tried to get to you, their hands raised.

“Just let me get to my sister, okay? I’m a doctor and she needs help.” You stared at Connor, seeing the panic he tried to restrain as he appealed to the man reasonably. Jake’s eyes flickered towards you, hesitance written over his face.

“You didn’t want this to happen, do you?” Connor asked, his voice strained. “So let me make this better. Let me help.” He was pleading now and another wave of panic filled you as you realized he was only mere seconds away from doing something reckless.

For a moment you thought you were going to throw up from the sickness that cursed through your body, but you feared you wouldn’t even be able to move your body in the state you were in.

Jake let out a frustrated breath, gesturing towards you with his gun. “Okay. Okay!” Connor rushed over to you immediately, his concerned eyes meeting yours. “Are you okay? How do you feel? Can you tell me where you’ve been hit?”

You tried to follow his questions, your mind spinning. Instead of an answer you let out a groan as Connor found your wound, pressing down on it. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

Now that he was here by your side a weakness took over your body and you welcomed it. Welcomed the dark, because it felt easier to lean into it than fight it. But it never swallowed you. As much as you wished you could just pass out, the pain didn’t end, keeping you caged in your body.

You didn’t need to ask him how serious your condition was. The urgency in Connor’s movement alone was enough for you to confirm it was bad, the seeping hot pain a further indicator.

You saw Jake still waving his gun around, speaking in an animated tone with Will and Maggie. To your left someone had crouched down next to the security guard and you felt a flicker of relief when you saw it was Ethan.

A cough rose up your throat and your body shook, sending an ache through you. When you wiped your mouth you noticed your skin had turned red.

“No, no, no”, your brother whispered, his eyes frantic. “Connor”, you said, your voice a little hoarse. He paused for a moment, both of you locking eyes in a quiet exchange. “I’m scared”, you whispered, feeling a few tears escape your eyes.

Connor swallowed, his eyes filled with desperation. “I know”, he leaned closer, “But you will be okay. I will fix it, okay?.”

You nodded slowly, needing to cling to his words. To hold onto the reminder that you would be okay. That your life wasn’t over when you hadn’t even started fully living yet.

It didn’t make sense. You had woken up a few minutes before your alarm clock, had been in an oddly good mood as you had gotten ready for work and even your patients had been unusually patient and grateful. Today was a good day. Not a day that could turn into such a catastrophe in the blink of an eye.

This didn’t happen. Maybe in books or on tv. But not here, not to people like you.

“Hey!” Dr. Goodwin appeared in your vision, bending down to Connor and you. “What’s the status?” You hadn’t seen her before, but knowing she was here already gave you a sparkle of hope. As the hospital’s executive director it was her job to find solutions, even in the face of the worst possible events. She would get them out of here, somehow.

“She’s been shot in the abdomen. No exit wound so the bullet is still inside. I believe she’s bleeding internally.”

You saw a shadow cloud Dr. Goodwin’s as she looked at you and it was as if you could see the wheels in her head turning as she assessed the situation.

“What’s going on?”, you asked weakly, needing to know if the others were safe. “Mr. Whitman demands to take his wife and daughter and leave. I was on the phone with the Chicago police department. They told me he’s got a history of domestic abuse and violence. The wife filed a report on him and moved states to get him out of her life.”

“And he found her now.” You gulped, slowly piecing the pieces together. Dr. Goodwin nodded, graveness written over her face. “So what’s the plan?” It was Connor, his voice urgent.

Dr. Goodwin sighed, taking off her glasses and pinching the brick of her nose. You had never seen her like this, so defeated, and it filled you with unease.

“The police is here and a squad team too. But there is no way we can let them inside or get someone outside right now without Mr. Whitman noticing. Right now they are preparing for getting just one person in. Unarmed.”

“What help is that going to be?” Connor let out a scoff and it annoyed you how quick to judge he was, and more so, that you agreed with him. What would another person talking to Jake change?

“It would be a trained officer, who has the experience and skills to deal with these kind of high pressure situations. The plan would be for him to try and talk to Mr. Whitman first and if that’s not effective either, assess the situation and make a move or get back to the team and share valuable information with them.”

You could see Connor still shaking his head, but Dr. Goodwin stood again. “It’s the only thing Mr. Whitman has agreed to. You know I would prefer to get everyone else out, but he has been clear. If one person leaves, he is going to make use of his gun again.”

“And what are we supposed to do now? Just wait?”

“Connor”, you tried to calm him, but his eyes snapped to yours. “We need an OR now! Monique!” The blonde nurse standing next to Ethan looked over. You could see the fear written all over her face. “Can you take over for a moment?”

She gave a nod, her eyes flickering to Jake who didn’t let them out of sight. Crouching down next to you the two quickly exchanged their hands applying pressure onto your wound, the sensation making you let out a groan.

But you pushed away the pain, trying to focus on Connor. “What are you doing?”, you hissed as you watched him get up, wishing you could hold him back.

“Dr. Rhodes, we should wait for the officer to arrive. Right now the situation is stable and I can’t risk-” “Stable? Is that what you call this?” Connor pushed himself fully up now, the movement catching Jake’s eye.

“Sit back down!” But Connor lifted his hands, taking a cautious step forward. “My sister likely suffers from an internal bleeding. We need an OR to-” “No! Nobody goes anywhere!”

Connor’s face fell, his shoulders sinking, but he took another step forward. The grip the fear had around your heart tightened. “Please, I need to stop the bleeding. You don’t want her to die, right?”

Jake stared at you for a moment before his attention was back on your brother. “I just want my daughter and my wife!”

“And we get that. We do. But she-”, he turned halfway towards you, his eyes not leaving Jake for a second, “has nothing to do with this. Let me save her life.”

“I said no one goes anywhere! You save her here or you don’t save her at all. It’s on you!”

You watched Connor open his mouth again, but before he could say another word Jake stepped forward, his gun pointed directly at his chest.

“Do I look like someone who’s joking?!”, he yelled, making everyone around him flinch. Connor made himself a little smaller, taking a small step backwards while shaking his head. “Yeah, so you better listen to what I’m saying! No get your ass back down there!”

You didn’t have the heart to watch Connor when he returned to you, to see the defeat and hopeless on his face. The fear.

He had barely sat down again when another turmoil broke loose, gaining everyone’s attention. It had to be the officer Jake had allowed in, though you didn’t want to know what he would get in return for the favour.

Although you didn’t feel much hope regarding the plan, you trusted the police to make the right choice. This couldn’t be their first hostage situation, so they knew what to do, right?

What you hadn’t anticipated was that the officer coming in could be someone you knew. Someone you knew very well.

Jay.

No.

You blinked a few times, but it was unmistakably him.

His voice. His physique.

A touch at your hand drew your attention away from him for a moment and you noticed Monique had reached for it. Only now you saw you had balled your hand into a fist, all the tension left in your body visible in that one grip. Slowly she loosened it, taking your hand into hers instead and squeezing it in reassurance.

You didn’t know the young nurse so well- she was a little more on the reserved and quiet side- but the gesture filled you with deep gratitude, giving you the strength to look up again and face this new reality.

Jay hadn’t noticed you yet, his whole focus on calming Jake enough to make an uneventful entrance. When he seemed confident in the situation he scanned the room, assessing the conditions they were dealing with.

He did it with a professional calmness you wished you could have right now, his face only giving away his emotion when they fell on his brother. “Hey, man. You alright?”

He stepped forward, avoiding any rapid movements and Will nodded. “I’m okay. But Mrs. Kaden is in a bad condition. The stress on top of her physical state worries me.”

He said something else, but he had lowered his voice that it was impossible for you to understand anything. Jay nodded. “What about the two victims?”

“The security guard got hit at the shoulder. He’s stable.” “And the other one?” Will shook his head, his eyes filled with sadness. “She’s over there with Connor. It doesn’t look good, Jay.”

It was strange, listening to them and knowing they were talking about you. Waiting for the moment Jay’s eyes fell upon you.

You didn’t know what kind of reaction you were anticipating, but nothing could have prepared you for the utter shock that filled Jay’s face as he looked at you.

You watched him do a double take, every trace of his confidence and expressionlessness gone, replaced by a turmoil of emotions. He almost lunged forward, stopping himself when Jake’s warning voice filled the air.

You could see Connor’s questioning gaze on you, but you were focused fully on Jay as he made his way over to you with careful movements.

When he crouched down in front of you, he was close enough for you to see a hint of fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

Your petty argument, the distance, it all seemed forgotten as you stared at him, not strong enough to hide your own fear. “I got shot.”

Although it was obvious, it was the first time you had said the words out loud, had acknowledged the fact that this was really happening to you. It felt surreal, even with the burning pain spreading through your body, making it impossible to keep your composure.

Jay’s eyes softened as he heard your husky voice, the effort it took you to form the words another sign how bad your current shape was. For a moment his eyes drifted over your body, his face twisting in pain as he stared at your blood, before he looked up again.

“He said he’s going to kill us if he doesn’t walk out of here with his wife and his kid.” Jay nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I know.”

“But- you’re here now…right?”

“Yeah, I am.” Jay tried to force an encouraging smile on his face, but you knew him well enough to know it was strained.

“You’re here”, you repeated relieved, your voice almost giving up at the end and you coughed. Jay stared at you, his eyes a little widened, his pupils dilated in fear.

He was scared. For you. He was scared for you.

“Her pulse is up to 120 and she’s sweating.” It was Monique and you saw her exchange a look with Connor. “What’s her condition?” Jay was talking to Connor now, as if he had only now realized he was there.

Under different circumstances your brother wouldn’t have let go what had just happened right in front of his eyes. He would have teased you until you would have told him the truth about Jay and you. But now he did, just like that, knowing there was no time for it as yours was running out.

The thought sent another wave of fear through your body, but with the hot pain and the growing weakness you felt too overwhelmed to do anything about it. So you tried to focus on the feeling of Monique’s hand holding yours, on Jay’s closeness and your brother’s words.

“The bullet likely caused internal bleeding. She’s losing too much blood.” Connor almost ran a hand over his face like he always did when he was stressed, stopping himself when he saw your blood on his hands.

“What do you need?”

“I need an OR. I need to find the bleeding and stop it.” His voice was a mix of desperation and determination and Jay listened intensely. His mask of professionalism was back in place, the sight having something grounding to it in the midst of this chaos, but you could detect a few flaws where his emotions threatened to pour in.

“I’m here to negotiate”, he began, eyes cast towards Jake, continuing lowly, “but really I think this will take a different ending.”

You wanted to ask him what that meant, but it seemed too difficult and you were forced to watch him get up instead. As Connor tried to get up too you tried to catch his wrist. You failed, but the movement still let him pause.

“Don’t go, please”, you whispered, your body shaking. You wished you could stop it, but you had lost all control over it, and when had it become so cold?

You felt Jay’s eyes on you as Connor leaned down to you, placing his hands on the sides of your face. “You’re sweating and your pulse is way up. Your skin is ice cold and you’re pale. I don’t need to tell you what that means. We need to do something now.”

You felt tears run down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, silently pleading him to stay. He had already risked it with Jake once. What would he do when Connor tried it again and this time he wouldn’t give up?

“I’m coming back.” Connor stroked your cheek once before pressing a kiss against your forehead. Then he was gone, his touch only a faint memory as your head sank back against the wall.

As the two walked away from you they blurred into nothing more than silhouettes. Muffled voices filled your ears, but they were too drowned out for you to understand anything. Monique was speaking to you too, the level of her tone indicating she was saying something to soothe you, but her words never reached you either.

A part of you wanted to pass out. As much as you wanted to know what happened, with Connor and Jay not by your side any longer all your fight had left you. The pain felt unbearable now, as if someone had lit your body on fire and the flames were eating at you, slowly burning you alive.

Your throat was closing and it was getting hard to breathe. Every once in a while you choked on air, raspy coughs escaping your mouth. And it was so cold. Colder than the winter in Chicago.

The last sound you heard before the darkness finally swallowed you was a gunshot.

-

The first thing you felt when you woke was the heaviness of your body, as if an invisible weight had been placed upon you.

You could hear the steady beeping of a monitor, the sound having something reassuring to it. You listened to it for a while, too tired to pull yourself out of the haze yet.

But then the events of the day came crashing back to you, the image of Jay and Connor both leaving your side to get Jake to let them save you. The sound of a gun going off.

You blinked your eyes open, your vision only slowly clearing. But eventually it sharpened, revealing the inside of a hospital room.

You weren’t surprised at the sight, but you still paused when you took in the IV you were hooked upon. “Look who’s awake.”

Turning your head you found April at the door, a smile on her lips. But you could see it wasn’t as effortless as usual and you wondered where she had been when all of it had happened.

Had she gotten out, left to wonder about Ethan’s and everyone else’s wellbeing? Or had she been hiding in one of the other patient rooms?

“How are you feeling?” She stepped into the room, beginning her check-up on you. You let her do it, squinting when she shone a bright light in your eyes. “I’ve felt better before”, you answered truthfully, growing slightly more aware or the pressure in your abdomen.

At least it didn’t hurt yet. You didn’t want to think of the moment the pain meds would wear off.

“Where’s my brother?” April had finished her tests, squeezing your hand. “He’s still in the hospital. I told him to go home and get some rest, but he insisted on staying.”

April shook her head, clearly disapproving of your brother’s choices. “But I did get him to take a shower. He should be in the on-call rooms right now. Do you want me to go and get him?”

You thought about it for a moment. “No, let him sleep. It’s been a hell of a day for him too.”

April nodded, a small smile on her lips. “What about detective Halstead? Do you want me to send him home too?”

You stared at her in surprise. “He’s still here? Wait- how much time passed?”

“5 hours. And yes, he’s here. Actually, he just got himself a coffee. I might have forgotten to mention how disgusting the one from the vending machine is.”

“You’re evil.” You narrowed your eyes at her, chuckling. April shrugged. “Can’t have anyone know our secrets. So what is it with you and the other Halstead. Is he the one you’ve been texting this whole time?”

You hesitated, ready to deny her words, because you were used to keeping it a secret. But you weren’t sure that was possible after today, and honestly it all seemed so unimportant know that you had almost lost your life.

“We were. But things are kind of- complicated between us so I’m not sure where we’re standing.”

“Well”, April walked towards the door, a smile on her lips, “whatever it is it can’t be so serious. You should have seen the way he looked at you when you came out of surgery.”

Your chest tightened as a wave of emotions flooded you. “He really stayed for me?”

April grinned. “He might have claimed there to be paperwork at first. And then that he wanted to look after his brother. But Will went home hours ago and guess who spend the whole time of your surgery pacing the waiting room.”

April winked at you. “I’m going to search for Ethan now. I wanted to wait for you to wake up before leaving.”

Warmth filled you and you had to blink away the tears, touched by everyone’s concern for you. But the mention of Ethan’s name had also reminded you that you hadn’t been the only one hurt today.

“Is everyone okay? The security guard, did he make it?”

“Oh yeah, we’re all okay.” Before she could say another word someone else appeared in the doorway and April left, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Hey.” You didn’t think you had ever heard Jay speak so softly. It made you want to pull him close and snuggle up beside him, be safe in his arms and forget everything else.

“Hey”, you said, trying to sit up a little, but realizing it was a pointless mission.

You supressed a grin when you noticed the coffee cup in his hand, but Jay had followed your gaze, lifting it up. “That’s the worst coffee I’ve ever had”, he declared, “and we’ve only got a new machine at the precinct last year.”

You chuckled lightly. “We have the good one hidden in the break room. But don’t tell anyone I’ve told you that.”

Jay grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Pulling a chair to your bedside and setting his cup on the nightstand he sat next to you, his eyes flickering over your face.

“I prefer when I am the one taking the bullet.”

He smiled, but it was a sad smile, the stress from the past hours visible on his face. “What can I say? You made it seem so effortless.”

But Jay didn’t seem amused, his eyes heavy. “When I heard about the hostage situation, I hoped you weren’t on shift. I called you, but you didn’t pick up.” He blew out a breath.

“And my brother didn’t either so-” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s why I needed to be the one going in. I needed to know if you were okay.”

“And they let you?” Although you knew they had, you were surprised Jay had been chosen. You didn’t doubt his capability as a cop, but just like you weren’t allowed to be on a personal case you had believed Jay’s involvement would have been a red flag as well.

“Not at first, no. But I was very convincing. And Voight’s not too strict about the rules anyway.”

You didn’t want to imagine the length Jay might have gone to, to get what he wanted. Especially with Voight, who didn’t appreciate anyone speaking up against him or acting out of line.

You stirred a little, your body beginning to ache. “What happened after I passed out?”

Jay’s brows drew together and you could see the graveness in his eyes. “He wouldn’t let you go.” His jaw hardened. “Like I said, negotiations didn’t work with him.”

“Does that mean…-”, you trailed of, your heart heavy. Jay gritted his teeth. “Our backup plan was for me to lead him somewhere the squat team could take the shot.”

“So he’s dead now?” You didn’t know what to feel when Jay nodded his head once. Certainly not regret, not after what he had done, but there was no relief either. Instead you just felt numb, like the turmoil of emotions you had experienced in the past hours had left you completely empty.

“And the mother and her kid?” “They are okay.” Jay seemed as relieved to deliver those news as you felt and for the first you truly allowed yourself to take a big exhale. “As okay as they can be under these circumstances.”

“How could he even walk in with a gun?” You shook your head in disbelief, wishing for answers you know you would never get. “The hospital’s head launched an investigation”, Jay told you and you imagined the stress Dr. Goodwin must be facing even now that it was over.

“That’s good I guess”, you muttered. “Yeah.” But Jay seemed somewhere else with his thoughts and for a moment you feared he would go back to being distanced towards you.

But to your surprise he leaned forward, his hand almost touching yours on the bed. “What happened?”

You scrunched up your nose in confusion. “To you. What happened to you? How did you get shot?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you would have to face that question again once Connor was up. He would be upset, but as much as you regretted your action, wished things had gone differently, you couldn’t say it had been a mistake. Not if you had prevented something worse, like a bullet hitting your brother.

“It all happened so fast.” You closed your eyes, trying to recall the moment. But your memories were hazy, the images blurry, only in fragments.

“I saw Connor coming out of a patient’s room and he- he couldn’t see the gun. Jake would have shot him. He- I- I had to do something.”

When you opened your eyes again you saw Jay’s green eyes staring intensely at you, his brows furrowed deeply.

A shadow covered his face, but it vanished before you could ask about it.

“So you’d rather get yourself killed?” It sounded a little accusing and your face fell, anger filling you. “Don’t you think I know that now? But you would have done the same for Will. I know you would have.”

Jay shifted. “That’s different”, he said, but you tilted your head at him. “I’m too tired for that conversation.”

Jay looked hurt and disappointed, but you didn’t regret your words. You couldn’t take his arguments now, not now when you were still coming to terms with the reality that you had almost lost your life.

“I didn’t know you were so selfless. I mean-”, Jay rubbed the back of his head, “I knew, because of your job and how you treat your patients, but taking a bullet for someone else? I didn’t know you were a hero.”

He was smiling now, trying to loosen the atmosphere, but this words had the opposite effect on you. “I’m not”, you said quietly. “I didn’t even mean to do that. My body just- reacted. That’s not bravery or selflessness.”

This time Jay touched your hand, the unexpected gesture drawing your attention back to him. “It’s always an instinct. It happens too quickly for anyone to make a conscious decision. It can be a reflex and still be brave. Because you didn’t hesitate.”

You hadn’t thought of it like that before and you started at him, your thoughts swirling in your brain as the desire to be close to him clouded your mind once more.

“Does it ever get easier?” You blinked, a little scared to be so vulnerable in front of him. “On tv they are fine after that. They are so cool about it. But what if I’m not fine? What if that was probably the worst thing that ever happened to me and I’m so scared?”

You bit your lip, forcing back the tears. But the truth was you weren’t ready to die yet. And coming so close to death had left its marks on you. You could feel it everywhere, as you gazed around the room, took in all the sensations you could feel, looked at Jay beside you. It was all so much.

“Hey.” Jay squeezed your hand. “That’s acting. It’s fake. You almost died. You’re not supposed to be fine right now.”

A tear escaped your eye and you wiped at it, trying not to be furious at yourself for losing your composure in front of Jay. “I don’t know how you do it. Getting shot at and still running towards danger and not away.”

Jay seemed sheepish out of a sudden, no hint of his usual confidence and wit. “It’s my job. Just like I could never do what you do.” You felt yourself smile a little, his recognition making you feel a little less small in the hospital bed. “And sometimes there are- things that happen on this job that you don’t just get over. We all have things we’re dealing with. Even I.”

Now you squeezed his hand, trying to show him you were there if he ever needed to talk to someone. Jay looked at you with gratitude in his eyes. He understood, even without words.

Silence settled in, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. There came no pressure to come up with something to say, no need to say anything at all and you could see it was the same for Jay, his thoughts drifting.

“So Connor huh?”

You hadn’t expected the question, drawing your brows together. “What?”

Jay licked his lips, inhaling. “I saw you two together. And then today-”, he trailed off, gazing to the side as he collected himself.

“I don’t know what you saw-”, you began, but Jay raised a hand. “Don’t deny it. I’m not blind. It’s obvious how much you care for each other.”

You started at him, rendered speechless as you tried to imagine what he could have seen. But it didn’t matter, because Jay was- “You’re jealous!”

He twisted in his chair, pulling his hand away. “I’m not jealous”, he said, but you shook your head, grinning. “Yes, you are.”

Annoyance flashed over his face. “I just don’t like to be played with.” Your smile faded a little, but the relief you felt only grew as your slowly began to piece it all together.

“That’s why you acted so cold towards me out of a sudden. You saw me and Connor and you thought-” You almost let out a laugh, only suppressing it as you took in Jay’s unamused expression.

“Well detective Halstead, Connor is my brother.”

You watched with delight how his face turned into confusion, surprise and then hope. “He’s your brother”, he repeated in disbelief and you nodded. “I told you I came to Chicago, because I have family here.”

Jay let out a groan, the previous tension melting from his body as your words sank in. “But Will-”, he paused, clearly rethinking something his brother had said to him, “that bastard. When I saw you together I asked him about you and he warned me not to try anything, because of Connor. He never thought to mention once that he’s your brother.”

“You asked Will about me?”

Jay narrowed his eyes playfully. “That’s what you’re concerned about?”

You let out a laugh. “Not concerned, no. I just- you asked your brother about me.”

Jay raised his brow. “Why is that so hard to believe? I mean, you asked him about me too.”

Your face flushed. “I did not!”

“Yes, you did!” Jay chuckled, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Will told me about it. It’s why he got so suspicious so fast when I brought you up.”

“And then he mentioned Connor and you figured-” “he said that if I tried anything with you I would have to deal with Connor Rhodes. And it’s not like you two have the same last name.”

“Different moms”, you explained and he sighed. “I should have just talked to you, but I got so mad and then I heard you two talk and I just- reacted.”

“You should have”, you agreed, “but I should have been more open with you too.”

“So, let’s try again?”

His voice sounded so soft when he said it you felt yourself melt under the covers. “If you’re ready to deal with Connor Rhodes”, you pointed out playfully and Jay shrugged, his natural confidence back.

“After I helped save your life I’m pretty sure I’m well in with him. Which reminds me, you owe me three times now.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the tiredness return to your body. Soon enough you would be drifting off again. “It’s twice, considering you cancelled our first date.”

Jay grinned. “Fair enough. But I’m taking you out once you’re out of here.”

You smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

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[hier--soir]

okay hear me out…

joel and reader find their way back to Joel’s old house in Texas somehow. the angst. the drama. the COMFORT FROM READER TO JOEL MY HEART.

you’re breaking my heart here, kelp. this one hurt. i’m sorry it took me nothing short of a century to write, but i hope you enjoy this in some kind of way.

warnings/tags: set after tlou pt one timeline, established relationship, angst, grief, mentions of the death of a child, panic attack, hurt/comfort, the real birthday card sarah wrote joel from tlou game brb bawling. wc: 2.6k

Joel’s home in Texas sat at the end of a cul-de-sac.

The houses on the street were run down after decades of rain and sun making the wood deteriorate. The bodies of the buildings sagged as if they’d exhaled a breath one day, and never inhaled another. Your eyes wandered over them as you rode past, trying to imagine what the street had looked like all those years ago when Joel had lived there. Did your best to picture him cruising down the road in his truck, young and carefree, listening to the radio as he drove home from work. The idea made a small smile drift across your face, but it faded as you glanced back to him. He rode a few paces ahead of you, and his broad shoulders were tense, hinting that he was gripping the reins of his horse for dear life.

The pair of you had been travelling for something like a month, all the way from Wyoming, to reach this point. And for most of the trip, he’d remained the Joel you knew and loved. Quiet, and funny, with the warmest smile. But as you’d neared Texas state lines, he’d withdrawn. Started to shut you out; talking less and seldom laughing at your jokes. You knew it was hard for him, to return after so much time, and so you didn’t push him. But that didn’t mean your heart didn’t pang nervously as he pulled his horse to a halt outside of a house.

Closure, Tommy had called it.

“You gotta go back, Joel,” he’d said one night at the dining hall in Jackson. “Even if it’s just once. You owe it to yourself.”

It had taken months to convince his older brother. After three years living in Jackson, Joel had become so comfortable in his new life. He had come so far from being the man you’d heard stories about when he and Ellie first arrived in the settlement.

He’s dangerous, people would whisper. He’s killed people.

And at first, you’d feared him alongside the rest of your community. Until he wormed his way into your heart, and shared himself with you. Yes, he was dangerous, and yes, he had killed, that much you were aware of. But in time, he confided in you. Things about his past that he’d never been able to verbalise to anyone, whispered in your ear while hidden under the sheets of his bed. He trusted you, and you trusted him. And so when Tommy finally wore him down enough that he agreed to go back to Texas, he said he’d only go if you went with him.

“Just to see it,” Joel had said adamantly on the day you left Jackson, as the pair of you saddled your horses. “It’ll be nice just to see it.”

“Long way to go just to see it,” you’d said quietly, stomach twisting with an unfamiliar feeling. You knew what lay within his house in Texas. Knew what memories resided there, festering inside the walls. The ghosts of who he once was, of the life he was supposed to live. The memory of… her. The daughter he’d lost.

He talked about her more and more, the longer you knew him. Shared stories, confessed to you when things reminded him of her, and the way it made him feel. He dreamt about her often. A few mornings out of every month he would wake with a thin sheen of sweat on his face, muscles tense as he cried out for her, begged her to stay. And you would soothe him, brush the hair off his forehead and hold him, lulling him back to sleep with soft words in his ear and gentle kisses against his hairline.

Standing outside of the house, the thought flitted through your mind once more. Your eyes darted warily between the old property and him. Staring at the profile of his face, you tried to discern an emotion; tried to gage any hint of feeling there. But Joel’s face was blank, forehead smooth, mouth a thin line, as he tied the horses up.

Without a word, he was walking up the driveway toward the front door. Pulse quickening, you trailed behind on numb legs, hand gripping the gun holstered on your hip. If you hoped for anything, it was that infected weren’t holed up inside the house you’d travelled so far to see.

The front door gave way easily under his weight, and a cloud of dust exploded around the pair of you as you stepped past the threshold. And it was… a house. No, a home. No sounds came from within, no rustling or footsteps or clicking. It seemed uninhabited. Safe. You stood behind Joel, waiting for his signal.

Joel cleared his throat, peering around with a tense jaw. “Look around. See if we can find anything useful to take back with us.” You noticed he didn’t refer to Jackson as home.

He wandered slowly through the lower level of the house, not touching anything at first, as if he were hesitant to lay his hands over the things that had once been his possessions. You watched him silently, carefully, allowing him to take the lead. And when he ducked through a set of double doors into a different room, you couldn’t help but analyse the space, how things had been left, all those years ago.

The place was clearly well-lived in. A few plates and bowls rested in the sink, a mug on the counter. A DVD rested on a coffee table by the couch, some 80s action flick with two guys on the cover. Curtis and Viper 2, it read in bold red lettering, This time it’s a family affair. You smiled curiously but didn’t pick it up to read the back.

Rustling came from the doors Joel was behind, and you figured you should start looking around as well. You padded heavily up the stairs, dush and grime loosing into the air as your boots worked against the old carpet. The landing was large, and you could see a few doorways from where you stood. Peeking through the first one, you saw a large bed, a TV mounted on the wall, and a treadmill. You huffed quietly, trying to picture a world in which Joel would run on a machine while watching television. The image was difficult to conjure.

“Y’find anything?” Joel’s gruff voice carried up the stairs.

“Not yet,” you hollered.

“Check the bathroom,” he called. “Might be some painkillers in there. Old antibiotics maybe.”

“On it.”

You moved further down the hall, nudging your boot against a closed door before peering in.

Posters covered the walls, dusty and faded from years of sunlight shining in the window. A double bed with blueish green covers, two sets of drawers. And pictures… so many pictures, tacked against the pink walls, depicting smiling, happy faces. Some that you’d come to know well, and one that you’d never seen before.

Stepping further into the room, you stared at the photograph stuck above her bedhead. It was of Tommy and Joel, with a small girl tucked underneath his arm, her arms wrapped around his middle as she beamed at the camera. Sarah. You swallowed down the ball of emotion that had settled in your throat.

“Found some scissors and tape,” Joel hollered, and you gave a half-hearted shout of acknowledgement in return.

Your lungs tightened, and suddenly your breathing was shorter, the knowledge that you were standing in his daughter’s room almost suffocating you. You turned quickly, with every intention of leaving the room, until something on the dresser opposite her bed caught your eye.

A small, faded card. White paper that had yellowed and faded over the years, that had a cartoon drawing of a dinosaur wearing a party hat across the front. The word ‘CONGRATULATIONS!’ was scrawled in red print below it.

Your fingers ghosted across the paper, feeling the thinness of it; the delicate fragility of something that hadn’t been touched by another human being in over twenty years. Careful not to cause any damage, you opened it. Your eyes turned blurry as they trailed over the words scribbled on the card.

Dear Dad, Let’s see… you’re never around, you hate the music I’m into, you practically despise the movies I like, and yet somehow you still manage to be the best dad every year. How do you do that? Happy Birthday, Pops! Sarah.

A tear rolled off your chin and landed on your shirt, leaving a dark stain. You sniffled sharply, wiping the wet sensation from your face. The flimsy paper shook in your grip, and you found yourself anxious that it would disintegrate at any moment.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Joel’s voice was steely, low. You flinched, the card tumbling out of your hand and back onto the chest. Your partner loomed tall in the doorway, staring you down. His face was thunderous, expression a mask of fury that you’d never expected to have directed at you, in this lifetime or the next. Dark eyes glared at you, as his mouth twisted into a snarl, lip curled up to reveal gritted teeth.

“Joel,” you breathed, wiping furiously at your cheeks again to remove any sign that you’d been crying. “I’m sorry, I was jus-“

“Why are you touching her things?”

You noticed his eyes never moved off you. He didn’t dare look around the room, her room. “I’m sorry,” you repeated feebly. “I didn’t- I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

He diverted his gaze, staring down at what you had dropped.

“What is that?” he asked. His voice was quieter, softer. It was like every one of his features pinched together in the middle of his face, and he took a slow step into the room.

“It’s a card,” you told him, slowly reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. He met your gaze, silently asking you to tell him more without him having to ask. “The birthday card she wrote for you. I’m sorry, I know it’s personal and I shouldn’t ha—”

“She never gave me a birthday card that year.”

“What?”

“No card. Just the watch.”

Your eyesight blurred as you stared at him. He moved slowly, as if he had to beg his limbs to work and even then, they dragged along the ground. When he picked it up, the card looked so small in his large hands. Long, dirt-stained fingers gripped the withered paper, splaying it open so he could read it.

And for a moment, everything was still. No movement, no sound, nothing could interrupt the way his eyes danced along the messy handwriting, devouring every letter. A few minutes passed, and you realised he was reading it over and over again. His chest began to rise and fall faster, as short sharps breaths rattled in and out of his lungs.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice hoarse with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and you shook your head and took a hesitant step towards him, but you were too slow.

His knees buckled, and he dropped onto the carpet with a heavy thud. You cursed, crouching beside him to get a better look at his face. Silent tears streamed from his eyes, rolling down the hills of his cheekbones before disappearing into his beard. His chapped lips quivered as he silently mouthed the words written on the card, not meeting your eye. You placed a hand on his back and stifled the sound of despair that worked its way up your throat.

“Joe—”

“My baby girl,” he choked out, finally looking at you.

“I know,” you hushed desperately, rubbing soft circles on his back. “I know.”

“N-never saw this,” Joel grunted. It seemed painful for him to speak, and his left hand reached up to press against his chest. Fear spiked inside you, and your hand tightened on his back. “She never—” he paused, upper body swaying.

His mouth was downturned, low breathy sobs escaping his lips as he tried to regain control of his body. But it was out of his control, and you could see the fear crawling under his skin as memories of Sarah wormed through his brain, and twisted his insides.

“I know,” you repeated gently. “I need you to breathe, Joel. Can you hear me?” he nodded faintly, fingertips crinkling the corner of the card where he held it. “Need you to breathe with me now. Slowly, in and out, like this. Don’t go passing out on me.”

He shook his head quickly, but copied the sound of your exaggerated breaths, sucking in air before expelling it heavily. “My girl,” he muttered, and you nodded, kissing his shoulder quickly. “I failed her, I—"

“No,” you said sharply, and finally he looked at you. Bloodshot, grief-stricken eyes stared at you as you shook your head. “You did everything you could. She said it herself, you’re the best dad. She loves you so much, Joel, I can feel it.” His chest shook, and he was silent, breathing heavily as he absorbed your words. You rested your hand atop the one on his chest, slotting your fingers in-between his. His heartbeat thudded aggressively against his sternum, vibrating against your hands.

He squeezed your fingers painfully tight, closing his eyes. “I wish I could just—” he gasped quietly, voice rattling. “Wish I could see her, need to see her.”

You dropped to your knees, pressing your back against his shoulder and cradling him in your arms as he shook. You pressed your hand firmer against his.

“Right here,” you whispered. “This is where it is – her love for you. She’s here, every single day, every second, you just have to let yourself feel it.”

“I don’t know how,” he said desperately. You soothed him quietly, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as he leant heavier against you. “I don’t think I can.”

“You can,” you murmured against his hair, feeling the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. “I’m here, let me help you.”

For a while, the pair of you stayed like that. Resting on the carpet in his daughter’s bedroom, leaning against each other’s as a thick silence blanketed you.

You didn’t move a muscle until he said he wanted to leave, and watched him pack the things he’d found into a bag, keenly aware of the way he slid the card between the pages of a thick book and tucked it into the bag as well, careful not to crease it.

Joel was quiet as you left the house, quiet as you untied the horses. Quiet as he rode down the street, with you a few paces behind, heading away from the cul-de-sac, the broken-down houses, Curtis and Viper 2, and the pictures on Sarah’s bedroom wall. For a few days, he didn’t say much at all, and most nights on the trip back to Jackson, as the pair of you settled in your sleeping bags to rest, he would look. He would wait until he thought you were asleep, and then you’d hear him take the book out of his bag, flipping through the pages until he found the birthday card, so he could read her words once more.

And you weren’t naïve. You knew that a part of him would forever be broken, after Sarah’s death. A hole in his heart that nothing and no one could mend – not a second daughter, nor a relationship. But so long as you lived, you knew you would be there, right behind him. To hold him and remind him to feel that love; to breathe it in, to savour Sarah’s love and kindness in his heart, in the hopes that remembering the light would help shut out a little of the darkness.

[plasticfangtastic]

american royalty. ch. 2

A Homelander x F!reader fanfic.

a/n: will post ch. 3 this week but sadly my other fic will be posted next week, enjoy this slow burn dadlander fic, and thx u to all the readers. prev. chapter:

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you & the lie that tore you two apart. Now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago?

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Two

Red

It had been a very long day, business was booming nowadays and since that influencer had made a couple videos on your pizzeria, you had been more than just busy, you began to run out of ingredients.

 In the last four years, the restaurant had grown, it had been there since 2002 ran by your boss’s father and his brother, who had ran their own pizza shop since the 80’s but as the economy and other events hit, they had decided to relocate and re-brand, now managed by their son– a man you owed so much, had his heart not been filled with kindness you would most likely be in the streets. So you made sure his restaurant was the best, you had accolades, you’ve worked in some of the best restaurants, you were once a very prominent fast rising figure of the New York culinary scene– until Homelander came along.

Your talent revamped the restaurant and now your food was once again on the spotlight, for the first time since you left Vought, you were happy with yourself, even if it was pizza. Cooking made you happy, and this job needed you, you didn’t live in fear of sleeping in your car anymore, you didn’t need to worry that your daughter would sleep on somebody’s couch again, you were able to quit your third job and go casual on your second thanks to this place, right now you didn’t live in the best of places but you were saving up and in a couple months you’d have enough money saved up to move, and send your daughter to a better school, somewhere were her talents wouldn’t be wasted.

So here you were ten minutes before closing, another extra couple hours of overtime for your dream two bedroom apartment, where it would be safe for her, where you could finally feel like your life had moved on from him, that the door opened up and your cashier squealed.

It was a quaint looking restaurant, the wood seating was new and the wall decor had been changed trying to look less cluttered, with Art Deco lighting fixtures as the stand out feature. The place had been remodeled recently it seems, the kitchen and its big brick oven looked clean but ancient to Homelander, he stared at the menu board and metal boxes of accouterments by the counters, taking in that this was in fact a pizza place, that you of all people did in fact work at a pizza place. You who could whip up amazing fare, now made greasy cheap slices, but he had seen people come in and leave endlessly these past few days, people taking selfies, and recording themselves with your food, nothing he understood.

He looked back at the teenager on the counter offering his signature smile as she blubbered her script, then as you took a step closer knowing you couldn’t hide in this open kitchen you finally looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

Your throat collapsed and your whole body became prickly and tight, your heart was beating so fast you thought you might be having a heart attack, you looked at the clock cursing that it wasn’t over, you were almost done packing the kitchen and readying for tomorrow, having a customer at this hour was awful but having him here was about to take you to an early grave.

“What’s your best seller?” Homelander muttered looking straight at you with an aloof stare, then back at the cashier– is pizza night at my house, sorry for coming so late hope that’s not a problem?” he said exceedingly politely.

The teenager blushed and looked back at you as if asking you to pinch her.

“That would be our pepperoni queen– is two types of cheese, extra pepperoni, with our signature house made marinara, with a dash of vodka sauce in our sourdough thin crust… chili oil is optional” You had managed to say trying to ignore those piercing blue eyes, you moved back to your place staring at the few remaining trays of dough balls left– our second best seller is our chicken florentine pie.”

Homelander admittedly detested pizza, it was greasy, gooey and heavy, it was fattening and gross, but there was a familiar aroma in the room, something that was making his mouth water lightly. Looking back at the girl, he ordered both in their smallest size offered, he sat by one of the wooden booths for the ten minutes he was told to wait, and not once did he made a comment, maybe that’s why your heart stung so much, why it felt as if you were about to collapse– that after seven years, he had completely forgotten about you, while only now did you began to feel as if you could heal from all the suffering he’d cause you, how insignificant had you been all along, how you love never registered.

You both had talked of moving in together and buying a home, he wanted to buy you a restaurant, and you wanted to give him your life, you had never loved somebody as much as he made you love him, and now you were just some bum wearing a graphic t-shirt making him dinner.

You packed his food, your boss Kaleem had given him extras on the house, practically begging for Homelander to give them a photo for their socials and you simply stare as he did his superhero thing, you took one of the delivery bags knowing he would lose the food if he flew with them in hand.

After the photoshoot, Kaleem and your cashier had run to the back to show the picture to the only other staffer left at this hour.

You both looked at each other as he took the bag off your hands, you wanted to cry, your eyes welling up but you looked down afraid of him, no doubt he could hear your heartbeat tickling his ear.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?” 

You could’ve collapsed into tears right then and there, it was worse to be remembered.

Growing angry at the sound of his soft voice, and that concerned expression in his face.

“Yes…”

“How you been? Didn’t think I'd ever see you again.”

“Should’ve killed me back then… got fucking close to it tho.” You dropped all pleasantries, hearing him talk and not hearing the word sorry 5 seconds in, had infuriated you. His stupid face, those stupid eyes, and that clown suit was too much for you, maybe it was the poor diet and lack of sleep but right now you wanted to ban him from Lucci’s– hope you enjoy the food.”

You pushed the bag jumping from the kitchen to the front as you headed for the door, holding it open for him.

“I’m doing alright. Now leave!” 

“You don’t even want to know why I'm here?” he was taken aback by your brashness, you had always been sweet to him, tender, barely ever angry before, so why now?

“You got a little kid now, I gather like any other kid, he likes pizza… and good for him because mine is the best!”

“Not really… I actually wanted to see you. I… I just wanted to ask you something–

“Mother!!”

Your daughter emerged from the depths of the kitchen, she carried a kindle in one hand and a giftcard in the other.

“Is it okay if I use my present now? They got some books on sale and you said not to buy more books until I finished… oh…”

In the light and in front of him, your daughter truly looked like your mirror image, copy and pasted into a miniature. Her hair just past her chin, and her bangs indeed covered her eyes, peeking behind those curtains were the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen, there was no unnatural shine to them– just blue. Her lips so thin and her complexion just a tad paler than your own now that he gave it a proper look, she was so small-- too small for her age.

“Is okay honey, is your birthday you can get any books you want” Your tone shifted entirely lowering yourself to take her face and plant a quick peck on her cheek– now go back with uncle Kaleem and let mommy close shop, okay? We’ll go home in a minute.”

“Is it your birthday young lady? Congratulations.”

Homelander threw his best smile, giving the kid a cautious pet, catching the rage in your eyes as his gloved fingers touched your daughter.

“Thanks. Is not a milestone birthday so it is not worthy of congratulations… seems inane to celebrate it” she looked at her mother with a jaded expression– " I'll go get my bag, have a good night, sir.”

Homelander pressed his lip as the most deadpan voice came out of this little girl. Her oversized black sweater and the black tights made her look oddly unhappy, but the kid just stared at him with boredom, no surprise or interest when she stood next to America's favorite son.

He wondered if that was an adult or a seven year old for a second.

He worried if the kid had told his mother about that other night, but looking back at you he went with 'maybe'.

“What’s your name?” he asked, still forcing a smile– "my… you seem like a smart girl getting books for your birthday.”

“Helena.”

The kid couldn’t muster the energy to give him anything but her dead ass voice, she began to walk away not caring for manners, nor Homelander.

“She’s… cute.” he said watching that tiny figure walk away and surviving after her second nsult– great pronunciation for her age, does she even know what she’s saying?”

“Helena is not like other kids.”

“How so?” 

You looked at him more tired than anything, rubbing your temples as you made yourself waste spit to talk to him.

“She’s a Supe… by the time she was two she could speak in full sentences, by three she could read at a first and second grade level, and by five she was teaching herself calculus and piano… she’s a genius; I thought she was a normal genius until… her other powers manifested– none of this matters! Just go!” You shook your head in frustration.

“You gave her V?” He said while staring at Helena.

“... I didn’t know what V was until the news broke out, I thought Helena was chosen by God! That the world blessed her with those powers, but when that story came out I’ve been wanting to ask you– did you give her V? but… if you didn’t… who… are you lying to me, John?”

Homelander looked past the concrete walls looking back at that little girl, he didn’t know what to say or do, before you could utter another word he left.

Ryan nose picked the meal quickly, glad that it was friday and his dad would let him stay up ‘til late, Homelander just dropped the meal on their new table and the kid was quick on his feet, the food was still warm, only now did Homelander noticed the extras, couple of small containers holding chili oil and freshly made ranch, garlic knots and a lemon meringue pie, it was too much but Ryan hadn’t hesitated to dig in, before Homelander could ask him to wash his hands he had ripped a slice of pepperoni.

“This is so good!” He said so cheerfully– gosh I was starving, dad.”

“I sure hope so, bud… let’s leave the pie for tomorrow…” he looked grossed out, Ryan sat opening up the garlic knot’s containers– not gonna eat?”

Homelander sat down to join him, the thought of touching all those greasy surfaces was making his stomach hurl, but he relented, taking a slice. 

He was young again, and you were there coming back with some drinks as he ate your chicken florentine, this was the same recipe, the chicken was so juicy and the cheese wasn’t greasy. Ryan was shocked to see his father sound so happy as he took another bite.

It was the first time they both ate together where they felt completely comfortable with each other, maybe it was seeing Ryan not pick at his food that made Homelander able to just talk, Ryan told him all about his homework, and the videogame he was playing, he really liked Fifa at the moment even if he himself cared not for the sport.

Helena watched as her mother stood silently hovering above the sink, you hadn’t moved much for a couple of minutes, your daughter more annoyed than anything else regarding this display.

“How do you know Homelander?” she asked with a yawn.

“Huh?” you woke up from your trance– you should be in bed, darling.”

“You too. So… How do you know the clown?”

“Honey, don't say that!”

“He walks around wearing a onesie all day… like a clown… like the rest of those super clowns”

Your daughter always spoke with a creepy maturity, her voice didn’t belong to a kid.

“... He used to be my boss… he was a really bad boss…”

“You used to work for Vought?” She softened her stand.

“Honey… I don’t really want to talk about this… it's late and we are going to the museum tomorrow so you should get some sleep, mommy is just tired… hope you had a good birthday.”

“You should rest too, mother.”

Your daughter's eyes glowed momentarily turning th blinkers off before she made her way to bed, you stared at her door, thinking if she could see you.

No mother should think their child was creepy, Helena was just difficult and abrasive, to be a small kid with her brain must be unbearable. You could recall the moment she asked you about V so vividly, she looked angry, but you had no honest answer to give her, you had to lie, god knows if you got the details right about how these people committed these crimes. Helena simply had no ability to relate to people, and without the funds you couldn’t help her meet her potential, not while you were both stuck living in public housing, not while scraping every penny.

Her few friends forced her to dumb down and even they found her uneasy, only the old people seemed to handle her best, she loved to listen, and her teachers always thought of her as  a delight, yet she knew no other Supe beside herself, those pageants were expensive, and networking meetings were hard to get in, talent agencies were costly– having a super-abled kid and trying to make them into a Supe was locked behind a massive paywall, all you could hope was that her genius would let her enter a university early on scholarships.

There was always Godolkin, but god knows if they would let her enter at a young age.

It would be easy if her father was involved, if John was there in her life, she would have the world but he didn’t want her, he had made that clear years ago.

So why did he lie about the V? 

It had been two weeks since you seen Homelander, but he saw you a lot, he'd come back and forth-- watching you and the child with ardent curiosity, seeing you made him reminisce, of those many nights and afternoons, of the way no matter how tired you were, you always made sure to look happy when he showed up, the way you looked so at peace while cooking, of the feel of your skin against his and the taste of your precious lips as you kissed him good morning. 

He followed you, on your only day off as you took Helena around the city, watching you share a slice of overprice cake while taking notes, and ate cheap chinese for lunch, you waited for two hours as Helena played chess and checkers with some oldies at a chess shop, some russian man gave her lessons-- some of these people dressed nicely perhaps pros. Some won over her and some lost but the games were quick, your daughter seemed happier when she loss than when winning.

Something about that didn’t sit well with Homelander.

Somehow he found himself in your apartment, cracking open the window to sneak in while you headed back home– the tiny apartment felt more like a closet than a habitable space, the ceilign was run down, and the appliances ancient but well kept, your bedroom was simple, cooking books and boxes sat on top of your dressers, a single’s bed with plush comforters and pillows stuck against the wall, with a wardrobe in front of it, and a cheap fan tucked in the corner. He left for your daughter’s room just a few feet away divided by the bathroom were most of the clutter and laundry lived, her bedroom was just as plain, but the books didn’t seem fit for a small child, her desk tidy and organized, he picked up a notebook from the pile, seeing math equations that hurt his eyes within seconds. All her stuff were nice and new, she had a decent computer on top of her bed, an old dresser, but there was an absence of toys– compared to Ryan’s bedroom that was filled with anything he wanted and decorated expertly. A clock adorned her walls but not much else, the few things that looked messy was a tiny plastic chess set, the kind with magnets on the bottom, and some DIY stem kits.

He took to the bathroom, it was old and falling apart, mold was growing in the corner much to Homelander’s disgust, trolley held dozens of beauty stuff and shampoos and detergents, a shelf on the wall held towels and toilet rolls. Homelander looked at a sparkly hairbrush, picking a couple strands of lost hair knowing by their lengths and color that they weren’t yours, and cursing himself for doing this as he place them on small plastic bag he had hid in his glove.

[nerdyjournals]

Flowers have sad meanings too

Florist!Y/N

Many believe that working in a flower shop is all gumdrops and rainbows, but it's not. It's stories of heartbreak and sadness. I wish I could remember their names, but I can't grieve every one of them. No matter how hard I try.

Author's Note: 3/8 of these mini tales are based on encounters I have had while working in my field. They are INSPIRED and not exact.

DISCLAIMER: ANY SIMILARITIES THESE ENTRIES HAVE TO A PERSON, PLACE, EVENT, OR SITUATION IS COINCIDENTAL AND NOT INTENDED TO MIMIC ANYONE.

WARNING: THIS PIECE TOUCHES ON DEATH AND ITS AFFECTS, SUBJECTS OF DEPRESSION, AND ASSUMED SU1C1D3. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO SUBJECTS LIKE THESE, PLEASE SKIP THIS POST.

Boy #1

He was a boy with his whole life ahead of him. His mother said that he was very protective of his siblings, so protective that it's what took him.

She said it was a break in, one that happened in the dead of night. She never heard it. All she heard was the sound of her daughter screaming for help as her husband tackled the man to the floor. She didn't even hear the gun go off.

He was on his way to college in the fall, full ride. He was very talented. They hope to release his works down the road, but for now, some things stay locked away. Not because they're bad or sad, but because the grief was too fresh.

Boy #2

He was an interesting story. A quiet kid that everyone thought was mean, but was a very sweet guy and an only child. He loved animals.

His flowers were ordered by his friends because his parents were too shattered by the news. One of them couldn't keep it together, ended up telling about him. He was off volunteering to help build houses when one of them collapsed on top of him and a few others. They came out with minor injuries, but he wasn't so lucky. They spew out so many things about his kind heart but stone-like demeanor. It hurt to see that it was also his undoing.

Other families came and ordered, many of them being young kids in the dance classes he taught. Many of the kids still not understanding why their favorite teacher wasn't coming back. His parents finally arrived to order, but my heart was too fragile to be there.

Boy #3

His sister wouldn't stop talking about how he had wanted to do a lot with his life. She said that he was going to the gym everyday to get stronger. He was a gentle soul, a loving gentleman. Sickness took him far too soon.

It started off with a bad cough and a fever, she said. Then it just kept getting worse. By the time he was eighteen, he was fully living in his hospital room. It broke her heart to see how he dwindled away until he was almost nothing but skin and bones. She was thankful that he went in his sleep, going painlessly.

She couldn't stop repeating that she felt like a bad sister, that she should've done more to help him recover. It broke me a little more on the inside when I couldn't tell her that it wasn't up to her to fix him. I could only stay silent.

Boy #4

Only one person ordered him flowers, but it was a lot of flowers. Other than his parents, this boy received flowers from dozens of people. Friends, teachers, acquaintances - you name it. They all ordered through one person as they were the only one in town.

The pieces were extravagant, ranging from small vases to large sprays. They said that they wanted to reflect him; an artist surrounded by colors. No one knows what took him; whether self or sickness. They just found him in his studio one cold winter morning, slumped over an unfinished painting.

They said he'll have a gallery set up after the service, show off the wonders he created. I might go. If not just to see a fellow tortured soul. One day, his name will be known alongside the greats. For now, he'll be known to me.

Boy #5

His flowers were ordered over the phone by his mother, said something about it becoming too final if she stepped into the store.

I heard about this boy on the news. They found him in his car, just off the highway. He was so young, but the demons got to him before anyone else could.

I could only sit silent as she cried in my ear, blaming herself for not helping him. Little does she know the demons live in everyone. Including mine.

Boy #6

This boy was proof that the brightest smiles hide the darkest demons. His sisters couldn't hold themselves together as I flipped through the binder. The older one said that she blamed herself, saying that she should've seen the signs.

He went as he slept, passing in silence. She said that he had been bullied for years, but since he stopped talking about it, they assumed it stopped. They found him gone in the morning. I can never understand how some people find it acceptable to be so harsh to another.

They showed me his photo. He had a bright smile, one that was even wider with his family. It almost breaks my very soul that he suffered alone.

Boy #7

This was my first family order. The poor family was lost due to a faulty monoxide detector. The remaining members were in the middle of suing the landlord on top of mourning the family.

They didn't know until the son failed to show up for school for three days, unlike him they said. Same for the parents.

The boy was said to start high school next year. They were all excited since he would be attending the private school near the edge of town, one that was hard to get into without good grades. Now, the world could never see what he would amount to.

Boy #8

He was a child.

No mother should ever be allowed to outlive her baby. He was innocent, a victim of medical circumstance. They never said what he had, but they ordered him a beautiful urn display.

His younger brother, one still so small, would almost never know about the brother who left too early. His older brother was deployed, but is in an emergency flight back over to give his good byes.

A child...goodness.

[ranna-alga]

I think about this conversation between Ellie and Tommy in TLOU2 a lot, particularly this line, because what if it was Ellie that died instead of Joel?

(Disclaimer: this text will make absolutely zero sense probably since I put very little thought into it and there are likely some plot holes. You can choose to dislike it or not but this is all hypothetical so let me have my depressingly whimsical wonders here)

Imagine it this way: Joel's death scene pretty much plays out the same way as it does canonically, except that the roles are reversed: Joel is the one who is pinned down and forced to watch Ellie be brutally murdered in front of him. Perhaps, in whatever way, Abby's group discover that she's The Immune Girl™ that Joel killed almost the entire Saint Mary's hospital for - the reason why Abby's father was murdered. If she's here, and is still as close with Joel as Abby may assume, then he couldn't be that far (say that members of the group saw Joel and Ellie moving together for a while before taking separate directions for whatever reason or something). The plan was to originally kill Joel, but Abby can't help but think: why do they get to live a picture-perfect life with each other as father and daughter, when he was the one who robbed me and my actual father of that life and she was the reason my father was in that position in the first place? How can he commit the sin and live without consequence after? Knowing that Joel would be looking for Ellie, the attack on her would start and continue even when Joel finds her and is made to watch - a sort of 'you took away the thing I cared about the most in this world, so now I will do the same to you and make you feel the pain I felt' message to Joel from Abby.

This would have been the second time he watched his daughter die. The second time he lost the one thing he lived for. The second time he's failed - as a protector, as a survivor, as a father. He had only four years with her, two of which was lost due to her anger towards him for what he did at Salt Lake City. And only the night before her murder did she confide in him about possible forgiveness, only for that to be taken from him? For her to be taken from him? After everything he did for her to ensure her safety, even if it meant the cost of her trust in him. Every part of him that died alongside Sarah was brought back to life slowly but surely thanks to this girl who stole his heart in only one year after two decades of being an empty shell of violence and resentment towards the world and himself.

His biggest fear came true - losing Ellie, failing her too - and it happened right in front of his eyes, just like Sarah.

Remember when it was heavily implied that both Tommy and Joel had a very violent and vicious past during the early years of the apocalypse where they were their darkest selves? Joel would have likely reverted back to that in this scenario. Absolutely nobody in Seattle will be safe. That man would turn that militarised city into a fucking ghost town, no doubt about it.

As for Tommy... Would he have been the same? Would he also want vengeance for Ellie as much as Joel did? Or would the pain of having another niece die + watching his brother descend into bloodlust and resentment again be simply too much to bare? Could he tolerate losing his brother and not get him back this time ever again?

It took twenty years after Sarah's death to find solace in life thanks to Ellie. He can't wait another twenty for another one - he can never go back, never again. He failed to save the lives of those he cared for (Sarah, Tess, Sam/Henry) and he feared the same for Ellie. But at least they made it into Jackson, their new home, alive and safe. But now? What more does he have to live for? How much more stronger would his self-hatred become for failing again and again and again where he can no longer see the light Ellie brought to him?

Knowing now that the surgeon he killed was Abby's father, he probably thinks it was an error to kill him instead of just knocking him out so that this WLF ambush costing Ellie's life wouldn't happen. But one thing he's certain he doesn't regret? Dooming humanity of a cure, because taking both of his daughters away from him proved Joel's decision to save Ellie from the Fireflies: to him, humanity didn't deserve to be saved, not anymore.

TLDR; I may be aromantic asexual but I'm still a proud Joel Miller simp who loves the thought of Joel in the bloody Santa Barbara appearance Ellie had in the canon TLOU2. No shame.

[wardenparker]

At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria. 

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak. 

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo. 

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead. 

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light. 

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach. 

Tonight you fear it might be you. 

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way. 

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you. 

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky. 

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man. 

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo

Alan Tags: @nrthernsong @inept-the-magnificent @trulybetty @justcallmebirdie @jefferson-in-the-tardis @thesluttylittleknee @munsonownsmyass @laurfilijames @hudson-bay-girl @ruflirtingwithme @rhoorl @scorpio-marionette @absurdthirst

My Masterlist!

[lovelyflowers-world]

Remember Me

Angsty angst angst

Tw: mentions of death

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Remember me

A girl of only the age of four sat on a man's lap while he brushed her hair and sang her a small tune it's only safe to assume it was her father as things seemed happy and calm. Well they say there's calm before a storm

Though I have to say goodbye

As the man stood with the girls in his arms to set her back into bed she didn't know this would be the last time she'd ever see her sweet father. He laid her oh so gently onto her bed pulling the covers just under her chin he stroked her hair and kissed her head

"You know I'll always love you dearly my little flame"

The girl nodded her head with a big smile on her face she loved her father more than there was stars in the sky and nothing could have changed that

"I love you too!"

The man smiled sadly at his daughter knowing this would be the last he'd ever see her it pained the man to leave his princess all alone to not be able to see her grow to a beautiful young woman but it whats done is done.

"Good night my little flame I'll see you again soon"

The girl giggled at her fathers choice of words and wished him a good night and as the man shut her door he was brought to tears he was never an emotional man but this hurt him deep to his core knowing he'll never hold his dear flame close to his heart ever again

Don't let it make you cry

The next morning when the small girl couldn't find her dad and saw her mother looking at her in pity it clicked in her head that she'd never see her dearest father again

"daddy's gone..?"

Her voice crack and big eyes filled with tears brought her mother to her knees to hug her only daughter oh so tight

"(Y/n) I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

For even if I'm far away, I hold you in my heart

That was twelve years ago that little girl is now sixteen and a counselor at camp half blood one would think she despised her father but she could never blame him he was a god after all he wasn't going to stick around forever. Plus she had a pretty cool brother thanks to him

"(Y/n) get in your own bed!!"

"BUT I GOT A NIGHTMARE NICO!"

I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart

As (Y/n) laid on the floor quietly singing the song her father sang to her when she was small she sighed and looked out the window watching as everyone walked around happily conversing with one another a few passed waving to her and she gladly waved back.

Remember me

One would think the girl was happy with her life she had everything she could ever need but it seemed the lack of a father seemed to eat her alive she looked back into her cabin and sighed sadly

"Do you ever think of me dad?..probably not"

She got up and walked out with the biggest smile on her face and went to sword training.

Each time you hear a sad guitar

Now we see our protagonist alongside Percy Jackson and Nico di angelo fighting off a monster. The protagonist giving it her all to make sure her companions get out alive even if it cost her life. As she looked to check on her brother's state she felt a sharp pain in her gut and she looked down she saw the red seeping out her shirt. Just then her brother and Percy seemed to be celebrating their success.

"Guys.."

They looked over in time to see her fall to her knees the pain becoming unbearable

Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be

They run to her side pleading her to hold on a bit longer that they'd find a way to help her. They couldn't lose her not now when they've done their hardest when they were almost home. Tears were shed and she laughed and cupped her brothers cheek

"it's alright..I'll be with dad now I'll be okay.."

Just then a figure appeared over them towering and as they looked up he slowly took the girl out of the boys arms and held her close humming her a oh so familiar tune holding her head to his chest he nodded to the two boys and walked away

Until you're in my arms again

"It's time to go home now little flame"

The girl smiled and closed her eyes

"Okay daddy.."

And with that she took her final breaths

Remember me

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A/N

heyyyyyyyy do you all still love me?

I love you guys <3

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

hi!! your blog is so wonderful omg. i was wondering if you could write about fem!reader being jealous of jon’s close relationship with dany and him just reassuring her and all that? thank you <3

(Gif not mine)

Title: Young Hearts & Minds

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Pairing: Jon Snow x Fem!Reader

Warnings: light angst, tooth-rotting fluff, jealousy, sappy romance, childish crush/young love, etc.

Taglist: @gruffle1

Summary: Set during S7 and then onto S8, Y/n is about to be reunited with her first love, only for a dragon queen to appear to be a problem.

Author’s Note: Thank you for the wait, anon. I hope you enjoy!

(I do not consent to my works being reposted/copied)

Littlefinger likes to stick his fingers in every flavor of pie. When he told Sansa that there was a possibility that Jon wishes to marry Daenerys when he left for Dragonstone, Baelish knew that Sansa would eventually tell Lady Y/n.

And why wouldn’t she? Sansa has known Y/n since they were children and have just recently been reunited. Y/n was another ward of House Stark and was raised alongside Ned and Catelyn’s children ever since she was one and ten. Thankfully, she did not have to endure the horrors of the Starks' fates since she was sent back to her own family’s keep to spend time with her parents before winter began. When word spread of Ned Stark’s imprisonment and then further beheading, Y/n’s parents kept her at home, knowing it would be a death sentence for their daughter if she were sent back to Winterfell.

When she heard about Jon Snow reclaiming Winterfell from the Boltons, Y/n had to return to Winterfell years later. She had to see the great walls of the Stark castle for herself, along with the reclaimed owners. When she arrived, she was tearfully greeted by Sansa and reunited with Arya and Bran. When she questioned where Jon was, Y/n was told that he went South to Dragonstone. Sansa told her old friend everything that’s happened since they last parted, right down to the very smallest detail. When she spoke of the Northerners calling Jon their King of the North, Y/n smiled to herself, happy and proud for Ned Stark’s bastard son.

As children, Y/n often found herself in Jon’s company, despite their different stations in life. Sansa didn’t like Jon when they were younger, but Y/n had always been a kind and sweet young lady. She enjoyed Jon’s company and over time, as they got older, they both were beginning to realize that this friendship was turning into an infatuation with each other. Y/n could easily say that Jon Snow was her first love. Yes, she was young and childish, with butterflies in her stomach whenever Jon was around, but she never considered her attraction to him foolish.

When Littlefinger told Sansa that there was a possibility that Jon wishes to marry Daenerys when he left for Dragonstone, Baelish knew that Sansa would eventually tell Lady Y/n. He was no fool, and he saw the way Y/n smiled whenever Jon was mentioned. She even spoke of her excitement to see him again. However, when Y/n was told of the possibility of Jon and Daenerys forming a marriage alliance, her smile fell, and she even asked Sansa if she was certain. After that, Petyr watched as Y/n remained stoic and even ignorant on the topic right until his execution by Arya's hand.

~~~~~~~~~

Jon finally came back home after spending so much time in the South, and with him, he brought armies from all corners of the world. With Daenerys at his side and two dragons flying overhead, Sansa also took into account the armies of Unsullied and Dothraki. Once introductions had been made, she also recognized Varys and Tyrion Lannister at the Targaryen Queen’s side. The Lady of Winterfell had her guests settle in before supper and caught Jon up on everything he missed while he was away. When she recounted all the houses who had come to the North’s aid, she mentioned Y/n’s. Jon visibly stiffened, staring into the fireplace of his half-sister’s room.

“Is she well?”

Sansa was stunned for the moment, before breaking the news to him, “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Jon spun to stare at Sansa, struck dumb as she continued, “She was feeling ill before you arrived so she went to lie down. She’s in her old room now, like she never left.”

He immediately excused himself and left Sansa’s room, only to swiftly walk down the hall to what he remembered used to be Y/n’s. He could walk the way there blindfolded if someone asked him. He knew the route all too well. When he was young, he snuck to Y/n’s chambers as often as he could. Being young and naive, nothing scandalous came of it, but Jon and Y/n knew the fit Lady Catelyn would have if she ever found them innocently holding each other and kissing in bed.

What felt like hours was only minutes before Jon found himself just outside Y/n’s door, out of breath and feeling the sense of déjà vu. He felt as though he was frozen in a lake of icy cold waters again, like when he had fallen beyond the Wall, barely able to move or catch his breath. Fear struck him like a chill down to his bones, staring at the door between him and what he both feared and longed for. Before he could give into cowardice, he raised his fist and knocked.

Shuffling is heard behind the door, until the light pattern of footsteps draws closer and the door itself swings open, revealing the woman inside. Jon’s lungs begin to burn from lack of breath, completely blown away by the face of the young love he had once known. She was radiant, a woman grown with her face as lovely as the Mother, evolved from the goofy smiles and rounded cheeks from his childhood.

Y/n stared back at him with equal shock, breathless, standing still in her chemise and robe, loose hair falling over her shoulder like a waterfall. Neither of them speaks, taking in the other’s appearance like a goblet of wine. Slowly, Y/n rolls her lips and hesitants before breathing out, “Jon?”

A raging fire ignites and burns within him. Jon steps forward with his hands on either side of her face before she could blink. The kiss was fierce and full of unquenchable need, as if ice and fire was fighting for dominance, sizzling when making contact with one another. Y/n leaned into Jon’s kiss and his embrace, guiding him further into her room with her grip around his torso. Jon kicks the door shut with his boot as he breaks away from the kiss, catching his breath, all the while his gaze scans over her face standing so close to his. Their air mixed in the close proximity, unable to move away other than to tilt their heads to get a better look of each other.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Jon’s rapsy whisper sent chills down her spine, a fleeting smile etched onto her kiss bitten lips.

Y/n’s eyes were wet with unshed tears, lowering her gaze to watch her fingers play with a loose thread on his warm furs, “And I you. I’ve heard stories... but I didn’t wish to believe them.”

“What did you hear?”

“Your death, of course,” her full body shiver does not go unnoticed, Jon’s hands moving down her neck and steadily holding her shoulders, the warmth of his palms bleeding into the fabric of her sleeves, “Then your ressurection... then your war against the Boltons. My father said it was a fool’s errand, that no one could possibly win against them.”

“I wish I could say the stories were false,” Jon kept his voice low and soft, as if the fire lighting the shadows of her room could hear, “Apart from us not winning against the Boltons, that is.”

Y/n tilt her head at him, puzzled, “What do you mean?”

“I did die, Y/n, but I was brought back by Stannis Baratheon’s priestess.”

She searched his eyes, trying to scout out the lie, but she couldn’t find one. Unless he learned how to lie in all these years, Y/n couldn’t help but believe him, despite how impossible his words sounded, “And what of your titles? Are you Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch or are you King in the North?”

“Neither, or both, I suppose. My watch ended when I died... and I now serve a new queen.”

The reminder of Daenerys Targaryen felt like lead dragging her heart down to her stomach. Y/n swallowed down her nerves and tried her best to strengthen her posture, keeping her eyes on the direwolf symbol on his chest, “Then I can imagine you are now free to own lands, take a wife, and father children. You could take your queen’s hand, of course, since you are no longer a bastard.”

Jon, as always, doesn’t quite catch the meaning of her words, nodding solemnly once a thought dawned on him. His once relieved, heartfelt expression drains into his usual brooding self, “Aye. I’m not a bastard. I am so much more than that... I have to tell you something, but you have to swear that you won’t tell a soul. Not even Sansa.”

The weight of his voice worried Y/n, but she otherwise straightened her spine with curiousity, “... What is it?”

“My true parentage came into question recently. Bran sent me a letter along with my friend Sam’s confirmation. They found proof that I am not Ned Stark’s true bastard. I’m his nephew.”

“Nephew?” Y/n rapidly tries recalling history of the Stark family tree in her head, information spouting out of her lips all at once as she tried to make sense of this, “You are too young to be Brandon Stark’s son, and unless he broke his vows, you couldn’t be Benjen’s. And Lyanna-!”

Y/n caught the brief bloom of pain behind Jon’s eyes before it disappeared, then she was able to put the pieces together from there, remembering the last days of Robert’s Rebellion as the history books say. Her eyes soften into pity, feeling the sadness and lost grief radiating off her first love, “Lyanna...”

“Lyanna Stark wasn’t kidnapped. Sam found proof that Rhaegar Targaryen annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and married Lyanna in secret. They had a son... but both of them had died before they could meet him. Lyanna knew that Robert Baratheon would kill her son and so she tasked her brother, Ned Stark, to care for him as his bastard.”

Y/n’s hand trails up to Jon’s face as her bewildered eyes take in this new bit of information. Her fingers lightly trail over scars she didn’t recognize from their shared childhood. Jon closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, catching the rays of her warmth and intently listening to the soft sound of her voice, “Then you are not a bastard... you’re not even a lord,” she was in disbelief, huffing a small gust of air as she took in the details of the man’s face in front of her, “You’re the Heir to the Iron Throne.”

“I don’t want it, Y/n,” Jon’s eyes open and his grip slowly tightened around her frame, afraid she would disappear, “My goal was to only ever protect the North. Daenerys knows this.”

“You told her?”

“I had to. She’s family.”

The words sink in, before Y/n scoffed to herself, hope slowly peeking through, “I thought...”

“You thought what?”

Y/n looked back up at him, suddenly feeling shy and foolish, “Sansa and I heard that you might wed her for the alliance.”

Jon couldn’t help the small, breathy laugh that escaped him, shaking his head, “I do love her, but not like that.”

He inched closer to Y/n until their bodies were touching, taking her breath away as Jon’s hands traveled back up her shoulders to cup her face again, forcing her to look at him directly in the eyes. He looked so vulnerable, his heart practically bleeding out through his eyes and words, “I have only ever loved one woman... and I knew I could never have her as long as I was a bastard and she was a lady. So I left. I joined the Night’s Watch. If I couldn’t have her, then I would never want another woman.”

“Jon...” Touched, Y/n leaned up into his space, closing her eyes as she kissed him once more, softer and slower, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Their lips part again but neither pull out of the other’s space, noses brushing together as the lady gasped quietly, emotions quivering in her words, “I was afraid I had dreamt it all. When you left, I began to doubt you ever loved me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jon tilt his head up and kissed her forehead, eyes squeezing shut with guilt and regret, “I knew I couldn’t say goodbye to you. It would be too much.”

She leans into his body more, feeling secured as his arms fully wrap around her. Grateful of this reunion, Y/n didn’t want to ever let go of him again, “So what happens now? Daenerys intends on taking the throne from Cersei. Will you help her?”

“Once we’ve defeated the Night King, yes.”

“And then what?”

“Then Daenerys rules. I have her written promise that the North will remain an independant kingdom, but we both have agreed that should she ever need aid, the North will answer the call.”

“So then you will still be King in the North?”

“If the Northerners allow it. I don’t think I made any of them happy by bringing two dragons, Dothraki hordes, a Targaryen Queen, and a Lannister here.”

Y/n laughs quietly, “They’ll forgive you once we survive the Long Night.”

“And... should we survive,” Y/n leaned her head back to stare into his knowing gaze, his eyebrows raised in silent question, “The King in the North will need a Queen?”

Warmth flooded her face and neck, a wide smile blooming. Y/n, feeling giddy and incredibly happy, felt a tease escaping her mouth as her eyes twinkle in mischief, “Oh? But you’re doing so well on your own!”

Jon smiled boyishly, a little bashful like he was when they were younger. His amused huff brushes her cheek as he leans close to her ear, “Not well enough. I could be so much more with you by my side. I would cherish the title of your husband far more than any title a kingdom could give me. Please, Y/n. I will not lose you again. When this is over... marry me.”

She closed her eyes, relishing in this moment, smiling even as she kissed the corner of his lips, “Of course, Jon... My Jon.”

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: It’s a little short, but I think it was sweet to write. Please support and leave a request in the ask box!