#whoever was behind this wardrobe deserves a raise

[tilebytiles]

This image may be my downfall. four dilfs walk into a bar

[marvel-trash-bin]

Taking Risks.

(Not my Gif.)

Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*

Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44

A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!

Here’s the thing.

You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.

And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.

Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.

It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.

Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”

You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”

“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”

You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.

“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”

The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.

“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”

You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”

He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.

“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”

The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.

“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.

His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.

~

The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.

He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.

He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.

“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.

You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”

And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.

So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.

By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.

In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.

“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.

You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”

He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.

“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”

The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.

~

By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.

He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.

“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”

You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.

“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.

“For teasing you.”

“And?”

You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.

“For embarrassing you.”

There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.

“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.

Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.

“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”

You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”

Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.

“Proceed.”

Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.

“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.

Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.

“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.

A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.

Powerful.

Strict.

However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.

He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.

After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.

“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”

You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.

It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.

He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.

“Turn around.”

As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.

“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.

“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.

“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.

He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.

One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”

You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.

“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.

Then a bite.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”

And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.

“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.

“I’d let you do anything to me.”

He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.

“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.

It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.

You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.

“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”

You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.

His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”

And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.

As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.

He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.

His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.

“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”

This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting. 

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition. 

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something. 

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus. 

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold. 

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?” 

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket. 

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?” 

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy. 

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier. 

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him. 

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?” 

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before. 

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes. 

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare. 

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus. 

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice. 

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked. 

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs. 

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound. 

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly. 

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping. 

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark. 

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead. 

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it? 

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

[madamhatter]

There'd be a wrapped up Valentine's gift box waiting for Sophie at her work table. It's quite warm to the touch, which may cause questions as to why. Nonetheless, should she open it and not throw it away, it contains a bread ring in the shape of a ring of teddy bears---Or so it should be, if it doesn't look like a ring of bloody, demonic imps, thanks to the strawberry filling oozing out of the bear faces. Truly the handiwork of a Sakuma.

A typical day of work in the back room, in the company of hats and clothes, mannequin heads and mannequin bodies, and storage boxes and wardrobes, should have gone like any other. Fixing through orders, checking the slips, budgeting, cleaning, organizing, and cleaning again were all a part of the agenda. 

Time loses meaning and dimension whenever she is caught in the whirlwind of work. Automatic yet listless in all her activities, Sophie works like clockwork yet distant in all else.

Any day should have gone like the other.

Not when there is slight shuffling at the front of the store that breaks her trance from her working spell, however.

'Whoever is out there should not be there.'

Rising from her stool, Sophie tightens her grip on her scissors at the sound of company. In an otherwise vacant and closed building, the slight ruckus at the storefront already had her on her feet. However, she hides the pair in her apron's pocket and eases herself from the stool. Then and there, she grabs for her greatest weapon: her reliable broom. 

With broom in hand and brows furrowed in determination, she ventured off to handle the situation the best way she knew how: herself. After checking behind every mannequin, peeking into the custodial closet, searching under the display tables and through the racks, and even behind the counter, her investigation was fruitless.

Her malaise mind is befuddled by the latest sight upon returning to her quarters. Festive rosy red and poppy pink wrapping first caught Sophie's attention. Her grip tightens on the broom's handle, moving with precise and long steps. A glance here and there, instincts flare her suspicions as each foot goes ahead. She prods through the storage boxes and clothing racks of unfinished projects and clothes yet to be sold with her broom's end. She wrinkles her nose, dissatisfied at the lack of results with her second search.

Unfortunately, the only evidence of a trespasser was the box awaiting her. Common sense dictates the most sound and obvious answer: dispose of the thing and call the police. She takes a step closer to the box, still holding the broom.

A fleeting something that is, common sense, when it comes to Miss Hatter. Reliable is her sensibilities in situations involving others, but it disappears when meant for herself!  

Placing the broom against the table, Sophie is at the front of the mystery box. She takes a breath, carefully holding either side of the box, and slips off its top. 

What an utterly gruesome sight. Half a moment, with how the red dyed the round base is, Sophie thought she had received a box of intestines woven into a crown. Casual grotesque thought aside, that was not the prominent thought about the material. That little idea was only an intrusive one.

It was undoubtedly a dessert with 'blood' dripping from intentional indentations and the overwhelmingly sugary from the box. Sophie's stomach churns the longer she smells it but keeps still observing it. 

However, she turns with her arms crossed over her chest at that moment. A look over the right shoulder and then a look over the left shoulder before turning herself about and looking in every possible spot in the backroom. 

'To be distracted from my responsibilities and caught in the catch..' Her stomach knots, and her crossing arms tighten. 'She would not have any of it; she deserves better than an absentminded and ungainly child. She raised me better than that and poured so much patience and time into making me better...' 

Shivering, Sophie hangs her head and shuts her eyes. Slow inhale in. 'I am the only one here.' The hold around herself slackens. Her eyes open, and she lifts her head. An indignant frown sours her face. 'I have always been the one alone.' 

Acrimony festers within such a measly existence as her own; speckles of once thought dead fray revitalized by dread and spite. Never had her body stirred, nor had her mind questioned it after the unwinnable strife throughout her adolescence. Had she not strangled it to death, this inferior and selfish other within her? Had she not buried it alive, this childish and compromising other within her? That ignorant thought, that conflict of interest, that irritating hindrance, ceased long ago. However, it felt so right.

The young woman is met with the white noise of advancing tumult, eyes darting at the glistening and doused sugary stomach ache before her. She rolls up her sleeves, revealing the array of scars from her hands to her forearms. Impulsion dictates her to bolt to the sink on the opposite end of the room. Sanitize her hands and get rid of all the germs, she must. How else can she even contemplate rebellion with sweets with dirty hands? 

'Why would anyone even gift me anything? Nothing of me deserves it, nor have I done anything to earn it. Nothing about this is natural.' One voice in her mind suggests. Another joins in the argument, 'Yet, if I do not even try it, I will be throwing away this person's efforts and time into creating something..'

Burning steaming water meets her skin, her hands flinch. 'Everything that someone has worked for to be refused would disrupt social conventions. To decline gift is deny the person!' Yet, she persists with the bar of soap in her hands. She grates her fingers against her marred forearms and hands. 'Yet that is incompatible with me! Such an exchange has no benefits or advantages. Why waste time, effort, resources, and everything for a nobody like me? That is not how it works.' Slight crescent indentations were left behind with each scrub. 'Whereas anything meant to be working cannot be when nothing is as it seems! Nothing is how it works! Nothing is how it should be! Never is it ever honest for me!' 

Twisting the rusted knob to the faucet with her reddened hands, the steam dissipates, and the water stops flowing. She grabs the worn rag from the rack fixated against the sink's basin. Balling the towel in her hands, she huffs and drags it against sensitive skin. White streaks scratch along the aching flesh. 

'Pointless, arbitrary..! Confound it all, there are so many considerations to make! All these countless options and outcomes that go throughout and what then, what then?!' She folds the towel and shoves it back to the rack. A storm brews over her expression as she marches over to the box. 

Glowering at the box, she takes a deep breath and then looks to her hands. Scarred and calloused, weathered and disgusting, useless and purposeless hands. . . . .

'Why am I wasting my time when there is work needed to be done?' And all that residual storming and brewing turmoil drains out with one thought. Faltering, the emotions of the long-since revived begin rotting; maggots and worms reunite and engross themselves in still-healing wounds, rolling around in the gore and eating away the fresh and wet muscles. ‘How much more can be wasting? I cannot, I cannot..’ 

Sophie takes an unceremonious seat on the stool, staring still at her hands. Her hands close into fists and she takes a deep breath. Glancing once more at the box, she turns to face the work bench. And she quietly pushes it aside to clear out her work mat. 

“I have to get back to work.” 

[bloodyblade]

Tremble For My Beloved [2]

Pairing: Thorin x Fem!Reader Summary: AU in which the daughter of a nobleman was running for her life after an orc attack, and after being welcomed under Gandalf’s wings, joins the quest to reconquer Erebor. Sort of. Warnings: Mentions of violence. Word Count: 3.006 words.

[Chapter 1] [Ao3]

Chapter Two.

Dark wood and stains covered the place, certainly making an… impression. You didn’t open your mouth to say a word about the place, you were in no position to demand anything and she didn’t quite trust the man yet. Or not man, whatever. He said he was a wizard, so that explains the clothing and interesting choice of accessories. 

You did go back to your family’s state, but they got in through the servers door, wishing to avoid the scenery. Your heart broke to pisces knowing you would have to leave them there, not being able to give them a proper goodbye, ceremony and burial. They didn’t deserve to be found like this, and only Mahal knows how long it would take for someone to eventually notice something was amiss and search for answers. But you did what you had to do, walking too slowly to Gandalf’s liking, telling you to fasten your pace in case anyone came back looking for you, which you knew was very likely. But inside, you felt like saying goodbye at least to the walls and foundations you were raised in, it wasn’t likely that you were to ever see this place again. 

A few paintings were hanging around your room, all done by your own hand, some doodles from your childhood who looked rather scary under the candlelights when it was dark, and several flowers painted separately as you tried to learn how to paint throughout the years. You never did get much better at it, but it didn’t matter much, it was something you enjoyed and proud yourself on. It looked much better than your needle work, anyways. Opening the wardrobe doors, you saw one of your first tries of embroidering a skirt, which earned a scolding from your father -that’s how ugly it was, yes. 

The memories weren’t stuck to a place, but it pained you deeply having to leave all of it behind. Grabbing a fabric travelling bag, which Gandalf advised would be much well fitted for your travel, you separated essentials. Mostly. Some fitting and soft trousers and whatever was better for traveling on foot and on horseback. You did get some dresses, but they were not a priority anymore. Some bags of coins, soaps, basic necessity items and a diary. For the calendar, of course. You needed to keep track of time, not to reminisce at the pictures and drawings that remained there since childhood. And before the wizard could bolt in there and drag you from your room and on your feet for a few hours, you changed clothes. Boots, trousers and a lighter tunic, shoving another one fit for winter on the bag after remembering you didn’t know how long you would be travelling for. You didn’t have time to shower, but you did clean yourself the best you could. 

With one last look, you blew out the candles and left with a heavy heart, hearing Gandalf mumbling to himself, probably complaining about how long you took. He didn’t say anything when you joined him again, just gave you a quick glance and started walking in long strides, making it difficult to keep up with him and his spidery legs. Thankfully he had a horse, a beautiful white one. You may have asked what its name was, only to receive no answer at all besides him telling you to climb behind him. Asshat.

And you obviously couldn’t tell how much time had passed, you only knew: you were moving to Mahal knows where and you should have got something to eat before leaving. The stars were moving at a good pace, but you were uncomfortable. Uncomfortable on top of that horse, uncomfortable behind that man and following him. Hopefully he wasn’t going to hurt you, at least not more than you already were anyway. He didn’t make any conversation and you didn’t feel like starting one, tiredness finally crawling it’s way onto your bones and making your eyes heavy. And even when your emotions were all over the place and feeling like you still had to keep your eyes open, you didn’t think Gandalf was bad. He helped you after all, it was just… things were complicated right now, your bottled emotions wanted to spill, in the form of tears, yells, spit, heavy and painful breaths. But knowing he was taking you far away from danger was enough. 

With a sigh, you tightened your arms around the wizard and dropped your head softly on his back and allowed your tired eyes to close. Just to rest a little, trying to keep the gruesome images of the day away and burrowed your face deeper against his worn but comforting clothes. The beads on your braids clinked against each other, the only other sound besides the horse’s hooves hitting the ground and nocturnal animals. As if you were one with the night, your vision got darker and your thoughts silent. But before you could sleep you heard the wizard’s comforting words:

“Don’t worry dear, the inevitable doom of today is going to be over soon.” He spoke over your shoulder while patting your hands and letting you fall asleep, embracing the very welcomed darkness. 

And it felt like you just slept for 20 minutes only. When you arrived it was still dark out, so you had no idea of how much time passed. It was a different town, something probably made for there were many passertroughts in the region maybe. What other reason could there be for an inn, if from where you stood everything seemed so small? The stars still shone brightly through the holes poked on the dark sheets of the sky. Your body felt heavy but you allowed Gandalf to help you down, much more gently than when he practically threw you on top of the horse before. Stumbling a little on your feet, you managed to throw a dirty look his way before stepping aside so a stable boy could take the horse to the safety of a roof over it’s head and lots of carrots and apples, hopefully. And by the gods, was this boy tall! Taller than you, anyway. Although there were people much different than you in the city close to where you lived, you never got to close. And maybe you shouldn’t be too close anyway, looking up too much would make your neck hurt.

But you were rather different anyway, somewhat. You didn’t have the facial hair other female dwarves seemed to have, which you dad said you should be thankful for, for mean wouldn’t be as likely to treat you as harshly as them. And even if you never met many others from your race, you felt like an outsider. Whenever you would be out on the city, other dwarflings would point at you and call you a half-breed and when returning home and trying as best as you could to persuade your father to talk about your mother, he would never indulge you, marching away heatedly. This happened way too many times for your liking but you could never let it go. Why didn’t your home have paintings of her? Why was your knowledge of her so limited, only through what others were willing to tell you, but you couldn’t go through her things, take a peek of her dresses and shoes and gloves? Of course, plenty of theories you had but tried not to jump to conclusions. You didn’t really know what to think of it.

Your shortness sometimes would be met with raised eyebrows by some, but mostly that was the end of that. Children were always more brutal and didn’t have a filter on their mouths, often being shushed by their parents. What would they say if your status was different? Maybe now you would get to know. But at home you were always treated kindly by those who were of the race of men. Such as Askell. He didn’t deserve the end he met.

Shaking your head you followed Gandalf’s steps inside the in, and everything was… big and brown and smelt of beer. In the entry was what could be called a reception desk, too tall for you to try to take a look at what was hidden under that and you would die before asking the wizard to pick you up. Mahal, maybe you were supposed to be born a hobbit, who knows. To the side a bar and tables with chairs on top of it were empty, which explained why your body wanted to shut down on the spot. The two of them exchanged a few words, the man behind the counter looking bored as ever, even going so far to yawn on the wizard’s face, who seemed unfazed. 

You haven’t noticed they were done talking before Gandalf beckoned you to go with him, the man’s eyes trained on you. You quickly averted your eyes and hurriedly fell into step with Pointy Hat. How could you not lose yourself in thought when he barely talked with you and didn’t even bother to respond at times? Just because he helped you he really thought he could be so… rude? 

He stopped in front of a door and handed you a key before opening it, walking towards the door besides yours. Peeking you could see a bed, a fire place and a chair. A tiny window that allowed the moonshine inside, but too tall for you to reach, even if you stood on the bed. 

“You need sleep, dear. I’ll send for you at the ‘morrow and we’ll talk.” He said unlocking his own bedroom door. “I give you my word, if that counts for something” He said with a hint of humor in his voice, which prompted you to send a small smile his way. Oh, he was definitely aware of your lack of trust in him.

“G’night.” You wished and hurriedly closed the door behind you, not wanting to wait for his answer, although you could hear a chuckle from where you stood, planted behind the door. When you heard the door close, you finally allowed a relieved breath to leave your body. Locking the door and throwing the bag on the chair and falling face first on the mattress. You couldn’t wait for the next day. Well, you didn’t really want to know what was gonna happen tomorrow, but didn’t have much choice. Your body needed rest anyway, so you allowed yourself to close your eyes and let your body go numb before you fell into unconsciousness. 

Maybe whoever designed that place should be fired, for waking up with the blazing rays of sunshine directly onto your eyes should be considered a major offense. You had a restless sleep, waking up in the few hours you had and turning around a considerable amount of times to try and make yourself comfortable on the thin mattress. Despite waking up a little disoriented as to where you were, you quickly grasped what happened last night. Screams, blood and guts, running, a wizard and a shady place you never heard of. It should’ve stayed that away, for the sake of your back. Would’ve been more comfortable sleeping on the grass. Ugh.

Sitting up, you ran your hands on top of your hair to access the damage- definitely felt like a rat’s nest, if you wondered how matted it was. Maybe running your hands thought it would be a bad idea, fingers might get stuck. Quickly scrambling for your bag, you fished for a brush to rey to make it as presentable as possible, knowing it would still look rather… odd. Would Gandalf be awake this early? You were dying to eat anything at all, really. Hopefully he would pay for you and answer your questions.

With nothing to do besides staring at the ceiling, you righted yourself to your best efforts and left the room, taking your belongings with you. You could hear chatter coming from the direction you came from last night. Well, the territory could be… hostile. So yes, of course you had reason to feel anxious and rather worried. Clearly a place made for the race of men, and you could tell. Their strides were long but not as long as the elves would have. They didn’t have the same height, they were similar, sure, but you still had to bend your neck towards the sky sometimes to talk to them. And if the woman who just passed you in the corridor you were standing for a few moments having your monolog was any indication, they either were very confused with your presence or thought you were a lost child. If anything, you were sure you were a very pretty and slightly dirtied child sneaking from the room you were sharing with your parents. 

Inhaling deeply you made your way to the dining area, seeing a few people on the tables, including the wizard, smoking a pipe. Looking to the sides, no one was paying attention to you, too enthralled in their own conversations to pay attention to anything else. Making your way towards the table he’s chosen, he had his eyes on you. Diverting your eyes, you sat in front of him.

“Good morning” he said while the smoke dissipated from around him “I take you slept well? You seemed eager to go to bed.” He crossed his hands on the table in front of him, smiling slightly. Was he… making a joke?

“Uh, yeah… I did.” You cleared your throat awkwardly “Thanks for, y’know… That.” You tried again. Did he catch your meaning? “All of it.” You said with a nod. He seemed amused but just sent a nod back your way, before falling into a relative silence, if you ignore the chatter and clattering of cluttering. Servants were collecting things from tables and delivering fresh goods, now that made you realize how hungry you were before noticing a plate being deposited in front of you. Turning quickly to Gandalf, he simply inclined his head and arched an eyebrow -that made you delve right in, as gracefully as you could, but you were starving. 

After a few minutes of silence, he began “So... I’m sure you have some questions and I would gladly answer them all.” He adjusted himself in the chair, sitting straighter. “As you might already know, my dear, I’m Gandalf.” You nodded with a mouthful of food “Also known as the Gandalf The Grey, the wizard.” He finished and you smirked, with a nod of understanding you pointed to your clothes. He chuckled “Well?”

With a sigh, you put everything aside, mimicking his posture, inclined on the table as best as you could. “I have several questions, actually.” He gestured for you to continue “Well, first I would like to know how you knew my father.”

“That’s a rather easy question to answer, my dear.” He said with a smile “Sindel, your father, helped me in a moment of need in exchange of my word.” You gave him as someone whose patience was thin. “And that means that for his help, I would give him my help in return, a promise, if you will.” Okay, that made sense. Dad did help several people, that’s who he was after all. “A promise to keep you safe, when the time comes.”

“So that’s how you knew where I lived?” He agreed with a small of course. “Okay, but that’s weird, what you said. You said ‘when the time comes’. And when you found me, I was hiding from death. How did you even know about that? Also how did you find me and how did you know when to come for me?” You spilled the many reasons why you were suspicious of him. Well, there’s his chance of proving himself trustworthy. Even though he already saved your life.

“You know what’s interesting?” He said moving to the side, taking a folded paper and setting it in the middle of the table. “Every dwarf has a prophecy. Sindel, your father had one. Your grandfather Serill had one and so did his One and so did their parents and their parent’s parents. See, when you come of age, you are given your prophecy and have an elder versed in Moon-letters to translate it for you in a private ceremony. But, considering everything that happened and the amount of… loss dwarves had that fateful day, several prophecies were lost, along with the ones who could read Moon-letters.” You reached for the paper curiously. “Your father had his letter and had it translated, so he knew of his fate, shared it with me. He knew of his end but always dreamt with a family. That’s why he asked of me to promise to protect his offspring, when his prophecy was to be fulfilled.” He finished leaning back on the chair, staff on his hand.

Unfolding your prophecy you found… nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Are you playing a trick on me?” You mumbled angrily, trying to manage the most menacing look you could muster. 

“Moon-letters can only be revealed by the moon at a certain time”

“Okay… but what does my prophecy have anything to do with you? I get it, my father gave it to you because of his prophecy but…” How am I going to say this without sounding like I don’t have manners? “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me that is related to it. Maybe something you want to know about it?”

“There is only something I want to be sure of.” He replied after taking a pause to think on what to say. Shaking his head, he continued “Regarding your prophecy, yes. But for that to happen, we have to go somewhere else that is not here.”

“Well, where are we supposed to go then?” You asked, folding the paper back and hiding it inside your sleeve, apprehensively imagining that you would have to go somewhere else, again. Further away from where you were born and raised, again.

“Our destination is Rivendell.”

[lu-undy]

Chapter 91 - SBT

Here it is!

The key jingled on the door handle and Lucien pushed the door. 

"Meow, meow!" 

"Bonjour, mes bébés…!"

[Hello, my babies…!]

He crouched down and dealt scratches and slow blinks to both of the cats before removing his jacket and shoes. He headed for the kitchen but on his way, he saw the tray with the kettle and tea in the cups. 

"Dad est à la maison?"

[Dad is home?]

He asked Perle who slowly blinked before trotting away to the stairs with Soot. They both sat on the first few steps and meowed again and again. 

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"

[What is it?]

They continued meowing until Lucien decided to follow them. They climbed up the stairs with him on their heels and when they arrived at the top, Lucien saw his bedroom door open and he could see Mundy standing up next to the bed. His shoulders were hunched slightly and his overall posture screamed that something was wrong. 

Lucien frowned and went to him. 

"Mundy, mon amour, are you - oh?" As soon as he stepped in the room, Lucien saw Caroline, her jaw dropping. Behind her was the open wardrobe and Mundy was still hiding his face in his hands. "Caroline? My apologies, I did not know you would visit us." Lucien extended his hand for her to shake but she didn't take it. 

The silence in the room weighed a ton. 

"So you live… together, eh?" She asked. 

"Oui, we-" 

She raised her hand and Lucien stopped talking immediately. 

"Was that what you meant when you said you lived together?" She asked and Mundy nodded. "You meant that you… you…"

Mundy nodded again, incapable of looking his mother in the eye, let alone speaking. 

"So all the things you said about when you beat him up and… and the sheila you fancied…? Was there ever a sheila you loved?" She asked and Mundy shook his head. "It was him that you…?" Mundy nodded. 

Lucien watched the conversation like a tennis match, his head swooshing from one to the other. He wanted to hold Mundy, bring him comfort but he couldn't. Not now, not in front of his mother and not in such a crucial moment. 

"You live together because you and him, you…?" Mundy nodded. "That's why you made me swear not to tell your dad?" He nodded again and sniffled. Lucien took a step towards Mundy. 

"Hold on, you." She said and Lucien froze. "Tell me the truth." Her tone was demanding and she looked as though she started to get angry. 

"The truth?" Lucien repeated. 

"Yeah, you heard me." 

"Very well. Let us go back to the living-room and have him sit down first and I shall oblige." 

About a minute later, the three of them were back downstairs. Mundy and his mother sat on the sofa while Lucien gave them some space and took a seat on an armchair.

"Go on then." Caroline insisted. 

"Fine. My name is Lucien de Beauregard. I used to work as a spy for the French government. France had some business to settle with Duchemin and when they finally managed to pinpoint his location, they called me back to deal with him the way that I saw fit."

"Was the story about your fiancée and your son true at all?" 

"Oui, absolutely true. France wanted to sue him and throw him in a prison cell, but I wanted to torture him, make him suffer and maybe give him the ultimate liberation of death, if I had grown an ounce of pity for the man. So I flew to Australia, got a cover job as a singer in the Queen Victoria that Duchemin liked to have dinner in. That is where Mundy saw me, without knowing that it was me." 

"Yeah, he told me about it." 

"Then came the days of rivalry between him and me. We would always end up fighting, physically, over who would kill Duchemin. But at some point, it all flipped, and here comes one of the reasons why."

Perle came trotting and seeing Mundy so distraught she jumped on his lap and stood on her back legs to brush her head on his hands. Mundy finally removed them off his face and hugged her. His breath was still erratic. Soot joined and both purred and meowed softly, trying to bring some strength to the poor Aussie. 

"He knew I had rescued Perle." Lucien went on. "And for quite a long while, he thought that she was the woman I share my life with. It quickly changed when he met her and understood that she was in fact the kitten that I had rescued, or maybe she rescued me. In any case, we started cooperating and we promised each other that we would catch Duchemin together. However, we both lied that day."

Caroline's eyebrows twitched. 

"I saw how kind Mundy was and how innocent and far he was living from Duchemin and his business. He didn't deserve to kill him and perhaps die for that. On the other hand, I, as a spy, was paid for this and was doing it with pleasure to avenge Marie and Jérémy." 

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed. 

"Did you tell her about the masquerade ball?" He asked Mundy and the Aussie nodded. "Good. I guess then that he told you everything until today."

"No." Mundy said, and both Caroline and Lucien's head turned to him. "I didn't tell her what happened after Duchemin died." 

"Ah," Lucien nodded. "Then let me explain this." He cleared his throat. "Whoever killed Duchemin would be the next man to die as his partners in crime would no doubt chase that person down until they were dead and buried. Mundy suggested that he should be the one sacrificing his life and would hide in the desert. But I disagreed. So without telling him, on the day that we blew Duchemin up in that hangar, I made everyone believe that the second corpse they found was mine." 

Caroline's eyebrows jumped. 

"I spent more than a year living like a hermit in a forest, leaving no trace of my living anywhere." 

"Why?" She asked.

"Because… When I started this mission, I was gladly walking to my death. Who cared about me? No one. I am an old man and I had no strings attached to this Earth. I had known love in almost all its forms and if I were to die, so be it." Lucien explained. "But during this mission, not only did I rescue Perle, but I met with a man whose honesty and kindness made me question my own humanity. And suddenly, as easily as a bat of his eyelids, I wanted to live again, to live longer. And if it wasn't to make him happy, then at least, to see him happy, even if I wasn't the cause of it." 

Caroline put a hand on her mouth slowly, to cover her jaw dropping again. 

"I sacrificed my life that day and Mundy buried a coffin that he didn't know was empty. He had buried the spy, the liar, the man with the wealthy tastes in life. Little did he know that he single-handedly gave birth to a better man in me."

"He made me believe he was dead for a year and uh…" Mundy said and sniffled. "I thought I'd go again through ten years of shit." 

"Hold on, when did you… you know…?" Caroline asked, frowning.

"When did we fall for each other?" Lucien asked. "God only knows, I cannot pinpoint the exact day it happened. But I found myself thinking about Mundy not like a partner in a mission, but someone I wanted to protect from himself, from the danger he was throwing himself into."

"And uh…" Mundy added. "I uh… When he sang, he was a completely different man. He was so… sensitive. I thought he was understandin' things that I had never managed to put words on." 

"After more than a year in isolation, during the winter, Mundy came to the forest where I was hiding."

"What? How?" Caroline asked. 

"Maurice asked me to take a break off work. Back then I had Pearl, Soot and the kittens. But I'd lost Lu' and… Life just wasn't the same. So I went there, where the lake Dad used to take me to is."

"And I hid there because it was a place I had visited Mundy in a few times. I had good memories attached to it." Lucien said. "One night, I decided to confront him and tell him the truth. I had seen him there for a few days already and when I saw the van, I was sure that it was him…" Lucien raised lovestruck eyes to Mundy and Caroline's eyes snapped wide. She recognised that gaze, she had seen it during dinner, multiple times, but she never understood it! 

"I fainted when I saw him. He had changed quite a bit. Long hair, beard and moustache, no suits. But it was him." Mundy said before turning to his mother. "After that, Maurice helped us change Lu's name and get his money back. We started working together and instead of living in the van, both of us with the six cats, Lu' took me here, in this house. He made me visit it and I agreed to buy it with him and uh… live together." 

Caroline looked at Mundy and then at Lucien. 

"Hold on…" She blinked repeatedly, trying to process everything. "Why hide for so long?" 

"Because I had a reason to live that I didn't want to harm. I had to make the world believe that I had died for good. Maurice confirmed my death and even he was convinced that I had passed. But the answer to your question is to protect Mundy and have… a chance, to dare try and flip the odds in my favour. Life had taken everything from me but suddenly gave me Perle and Mundy. I won't let her take them away from me." He answered. "Unless they want it." His eyes went to Mundy. 

"Mum…" He took a deep breath. "This is… all the truth, everythin' we just said now and what he'd said at dinner the other day. You know all the story now."

"No." She answered. 

"What? Yeah it is, I swear! I swear there's nothing else, Mum!" 

"Mundy." She called him by his full name and the Aussie lowered his head. "You or Lucien haven't told me the most important part of all of it! You haven't told me any truth!"

"What?!" Mundy's head jerked back up. "Mum! I swear!" His head swooshed to Lucien. "Lu'! Tell her, please!"

Lucien shook his head. 

"You mother is right, Mundy." 

"Wha-?" Mundy's jaw dropped and his eyes welled up. 

"You need to say it, out loud."

"Say what?" Mundy's voice jumped an octave. 

"Say what you feel." He answered calmly, and nodded to give him the strength for it. 

"U-uh… I… Gnh!" Mundy grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and lowered his head. "I can't… I can't… I can't…!" 

He sounded out of breath and Lucien couldn't take it anymore. He moved away from his armchair and knelt on the carpet next to the sofa, by Mundy's feet. He hugged him and whispered in his ear. 

"Mundy, you can do this, mon amour, and whatever happens, I will be where you want me to be, I love you and I will not stop loving you. Be strong, mon amour, be strong for yourself, for your mother, and because you are an honest man." 

Mundy slowly let his hands sink and raised his red, swollen eyes to his mother. 

"Mum… I… I can't live without him. He's always been there, he's always… put me first, put us first. He's… You see a fancy, posh bloke but I swear, he really is more than that, so much more. He saved me and… and…"

Lucien clenched his grip on Mundy's thigh while Caroline frowned harder. 

"I love him, Mum! There! I said it! I bloody love him! I can't live without him, I can't wake up without him and I can't go to sleep without him! He's everything! He's been everythin' when you and Dad were dead! He was the only one who cared about me since then! He…" Mundy burst out sobbing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I don't like a sheila! I tried Mum, I really did! I don't hate them, but none of them are good to me like Lu' is, none of them help me grow like him! None of them I felt like I wanted to get a house and a job with! I know we won't give you kids, I know you wanted me to give you grandkids and all I'm givin' you is a bloke and bloody cats…! I'm so, so sorry…!" 

Mundy emptied himself through his sobs, his voice cracking at every other word. He sniffled and his breathing was out of any kind of sync. He wrapped his arms around himself and his teeth chattered as he rocked his upper body back and forth. 

Lucien was devastated. His lover's honesty and courage was sawing him in half. He walked away from him and came back a second later with a box of tissues. He knelt down on the carpet again and pulled one out of the box. Caroline snatched it off of his hand and Lucien backed off slightly. By no means did he want to weigh like a burden or even worse, be an obstacle, between her and her son. 

She ripped the tissue in halves and handed him one. Lucien's eyebrows jumped. His eyes went from the bit of tissue to her eyes. She smiled. 

He grinned in return and both sandwiched Mundy in a hug, Caroline on the right, Lucien from the left and they wiped his face. Mundy slowly opened his eyes and realised that both were holding him and he burst out sobbing again. 

"Mum…"

"Sshhh, it's okay, Micky… I-I don't really get it but… But you work well together and, now that I know Lucien better, I understand what kind of guy he is and… I can't really ask you to leave him or anything, can I?"

Mundy cried and Lucien took another tissue and gently wiped his eyes. The Aussie grabbed his hand and hugged it against his chest. 

"But Micky, can I ask you, did you ever have any girlfriends before? Or any other… uh… companion? Is Lucien the first one to-"

"Yeah…" He nodded and his eyes were now burning. "I-I got a few sheilas, here and there, but none of them saw me like a normal guy… It wasn't because I could also like blokes, they didn't know about it, it's just because they thought I was the kind of guy who just roamed the desert and couldn't really build anythin'... They weren't wrong but… But it changed, with Lu' it's all different now, I… I was the one to actually tell him that we should settle down, get jobs and live normally… I wanna live normally…" 

"And you do live normally, sweetie. I'm sorry you were so scared to tell me." Caroline pulled him in a hug and Mundy dived to her chest. "You're my boy, Micky, even if you didn't come out of my belly, you're my baby, I raised you and I love you. I just want you to be happy and… I never saw you as you are now, it's like you're a completely different man!"

"Wh-what d'you mean?" Mundy's breath hitched. 

"The last time we spoke, before the incident at the farm happened, you were a loner! You'd come home from time to time, argue with your dad, and if I don't catch you before you go, you'd be off for days on end…!" She cupped his cheeks and wiped his tears away with her thumbs. "But look at you now…! You're a Dad yourself, you're living with someone who loves you and you love them, you got a job, pay the bills and all…!" 

He looked at her with big, round, kitten eyes. 

"I'm proud of you, Micky."

"Really? You're not mad? You still wanna talk to me? You don't find me disgusting? You don't-"

"What a load of nonsense!" She snapped. "Micky, this is your first meaningful love story and you're telling me that all of this never happened before because of… us?! Your own parents? You're not young anymore and this isn't just a fancy or a whim, is it?" 

Mundy shook his head. 

"How long have you been together?" She asked. 

"I… I don't know but that one time I got him out of his bath, as I was cooking for him, he clung to me and… And Mum, I just… stuff happened inside me, I felt so good. I felt things and stuff and… I-I wanted to hold him back and I remember I uh… I wrapped an arm around him and he… He leaned on me, Mum! In that second I wanted to just drop the spoon I was holding and just hold him with both arms!" 

"You could have." Lucien said with a smile."I would have let you. I thought you just wanted to help me stand." 

"Y-yeah, that was the uh… official reason." Both exchanged a smile. 

"Micky," Mundy turned his head to his mother and she adjusted his hair while Lucien gave him a tissue and he continued to dry his eyes. "I'm very happy for you… I just wish you could have been honest right at the start."

"Couldn't. Not with Dad around."

"I understand, Micky."

"You still won't tell him, right?" 

"I promised and swore. I won't tell your father a thing. But I'd like to know a bit more." 

"Yeah?" 

"Lucien," She turned to the Frenchman. "Tell me more." 

"Gladly, but what about?"

"When you look at Micky…" Caroline brushed her son's face and removed her hand. "What do you see?" 

"I feel like I am home." Lucien answered and smiled sweetly at his lover. He reached for his hand and held it, lacing his fingers between Mundy's. "He is what I could never be and thought no one was. With my past as a spy, I learnt to see everything as a cleverly fabricated lie at best, a trap at worse. But Mundy showed me that honesty, almost naivety, existed. I learnt that it was possible to trust blindly, for the sake of not himself, but some other thing. Caroline, during all that time that we worked together, I never told him my name or even that I was a spy. I never told him how I came to know so much about our target. And yet, he followed me everywhere and trusted me blindly."

"Didn't have much choice, eh." 

"Of course, you did. At any moment you could have confronted me, asked me more about myself, where I came from, what I was. But you never did."

"Wanted to get Duchemin, is all." 

"And you didn't want me to ask you about yourself either." Lucien added and Mundy nodded. 

"But one day, I gave you my name and uh…" 

"And you started talking to me as you did to the singer, not the partner in crime." 

"And I learnt you were more than just a liar in a suit, eh?" 

They both chuckled. 

"Mum…?"

"Yeah?" 

"Is it ok if we uh…" Mundy looked down at his hand, held with Lucien's.

"Of course! I won't lie and tell you that I find it… uh… normal… But I'll get used to it and, y'know, if Lucien was a sheila, you wouldn't even ask to hold his hand, so…"

"Yeah, but I don't wanna weird you out or anythin'... It's a lot to take in so, uh…"

"Micky, it's fine." She tapped his shoulder. "I'm sorry that you came to find someone so late…"

"Yeah, but I'm glad I found him in the end."

"Likewise." Lucien answered.

"Right…" Caroline sighed and stood up. "I'll need to head back home or your Dad's really going to wonder where I've been."

"What will you tell him?" Mundy stood up and walked after his mother to escort her. 

"Bah, I'll tell him you took me to your place to visit and stuff, don't worry, I won't tell him for you and Lucien." 

"Thanks, Mum, really." He bent down and wrapped his arms around her. 

"Aw, thank you for telling me the truth… You've been very brave, that's my Micky, right there…" She pinched his cheek. "I love you, baby." She pulled him down and kissed his cheek. "Lucien, give'im another one!"

"Well, if you insist." Lucien gave Mundy a chaste kiss on the cheek and the Aussie's cheeks turned red instantly. 

"Good, now you give your Lu a kiss too."

"M-Mum…" 

"No, no, no, look at him, he sat on the floor holding your hand, c'mon, be a good boy, I didn't raise you to be ungrateful…!" 

Lucien gave him his cheek and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Come on, Mundy, you don't want to disappoint your mother, non?" 

"Shut up, you…!" The Aussie wrapped his arms around Lucien and pulled him to himself, giving him the longest kiss he ever had on anyone's cheek. "There, both happy?" 

"Good boy!" She tapped his shoulder. "Now, can you drive your old mum back home, please?" 

"Course," Mundy turned to Lucien. "Lu', you'll be alright?" 

"I shall try and contain my distress and longing for you." He gently tapped Mundy's chest and the Aussie smiled with a blush. 

"I shouldn't be too long." 

"I won't hold him for dinner, don't worry." Caroline said. 

"Merci, Caroline." 

"I'll go in the van, gimme the key, Micky." 

"Here. I'll just…"

"It's fine, take your time…!" Caroline saw herself out and shut the door after her, leaving Mundy and Lucien alone. 

"You look terrible." Lucien chuckled. "Come, you need to wash your otherwise beautiful face."

"Pfff…"

Lucien dragged his lover to the bathroom and opened the tap for him before washing his hands and brushing them on Mundy's face. 

"There, this will freshen you up… Come here…" Lucien cupped his lover's face as he pushed himself to the tip of his toes and brushed his thumbs on Mundy's closed eyelids. He smiled and pushed his lips on the tall man. 

Lucien hummed when he felt Mundy's hands lace around his waist and pulled him closer.

“Your mother is right, you have been very brave today.”

“Yeah, well, had to do it one day, eh.”

“You never have to, you made that choice and you went all the way to the end.” Lucien answered as he grabbed a towel and wiped Mundy’s face gently. “I am so proud of you. Your courage is simply rare.”

“Thanks, luv’. I’d better go now. You’ll be alright, yeah?”

“Oui, don’t make your mother wait.”

They exchanged a quick peck on the lips and Mundy headed out. The air was lighter than when he had come home earlier that day and it seemed to him that the world was different. Was it a lingering smell in the air? Was it a slightly more vibrant shade of blue in the sky? He couldn’t tell, but when he hopped in the van, his mother welcomed him with a smile.

“You remember the way home?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Oh, just making sure.” Mundy started the engine and off they went. “Given how pink your cheeks are, the kiss Lucien just gave you might have made you forget…”

The Aussie choked on his saliva and coughed repeatedly. 

“Mum…!”

Caroline laughed and tapped his arm gently. 

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

Hi! Can I ask for a blurb where the reader is insecure about being in a relationship with someone bc she's afraid of getting hurt due to domestic violence that happened in her family so she tells Peter about it and he comforts her? I definetly get it if you don't feel comfortable about writing or if it's a trigger to you, hope you're having a great day/night 😊

A/N: what a heartbreaking request 🥺😢 but in this house, we always provide happy endings even when talking about harsh subjects. so here it is, dear nonnie 💕 all of you out there, care about yourself and never hesitate to talk about it, please. stay safe sweethearts 💖💗

‘Stay safe, Cheer up’ blurb event

A BIT ANGSTY BELOW (MENTION OF VIOLENCE), SO BEWARE! (FLUFF ENDING)

You’ve been in love with Peter since the beginning of secondary school but never dared to confess. Your shy nature always took over in anything you did, acting almost like a shield, a shield you slowly built around yourself year by year to protect you from a lot of things: stress, love and mostly violence.

But how were you supposed to know Peter would actually confess to you once in high school? You still recalled that day when the nerdy boy came to find you at the school library as he somehow knew you would be the only one there at that time.

And you accepting to go out with him definitely shocked your friends, and your own self. But you and Peter were undeniably the cutest couple that could exist, and anyone would agree on that. Two awfully cute teenagers in love.

But something was wrong and Peter felt it - not with his Peter tingle. Even after going out for now four months, you acted a bit strange towards the boy when he got rather close to you, like when holding hands or even sitting close next to each other. Your body seemed to stiff automatically, your facial features tensing as you then began stuttering about weird and nonsense words. As if maintaining some distance between you two on purpose. Mostly, you haven’t said to Peter the three famous words he magically told you to ask you out. He was always the one saying them, hoping you’d say it back to him too but without pressuring you.

I love you.

But still, you never did.

Despite whatever people say, Peter was really observant - this time thanks to his spidey senses - and he was determined to understand what was going on one for all. You already refused to hang out to his apartment multiple times, so the boy asked you for a date on Saturday, only consisting of sitting in the nearest park next to where he lived, to chill around like normal teenagers.

Arrived that day, you both casually sat on a bench drinking soda Peter brought along for the date. People were coming and going in the park, children running after each other on the grass and dogs playing at fetch. A normal Saturday. As you were talking about the next chemistry project of next week, Peter gulped before gently interrupting you, still not too abruptly.

“Err- (Y/N), can I ask you something?”

“Sure Peter, what is it?”

Peter took a deep breath in, hoping to gather some courage and finally spoke again.

“Alright- don’t take it the wrong way, okay? B-but like, I wanted to know- uh... does going out with me bother you? Like I know I’m kinda awkward- okay, a lot actually, so you may have forced yourself to not turn me down... But it’s like you’re building invisible walls around you when I’m near you, w-well that’s how I see it, so you don’t have to-”

Suddenly Peter’s rumbling stopped as he glanced back at you, since you didn’t say a single word. And that was when he noticed you, head low and hiding between your shoulder as if to disappear, and looking away from him.

“Oh God- I’m s-so sorry, (Y/N)! I didn’t mean to hurt you! A-At all! I-I just wanted to understand-”

Peter rumbled again, frantically moving his hands around because his intention was definitely not to upset you, and now he was scared he definitely fucked up any of his chance for you to open up to him.

“... I’m sorry.”

Your voice was like a shy whisper, barely audible but Peter caught it, and cut himself off, almost shocked but mostly confused. Still, he decided to let you talk.

“You’re not the one at fault here, Peter, but it’s me and only me. I just- I-I’m scared...”

You rearranged a strand of hair behind your ear, something you usually do when you’re stressed, your hand slightly trembling. When you finally dared to turn your head back to Peter, you could perfectly read in his eyes he wanted you to proceed in your explanations. So that was what you did.

At first, you were still torn apart from talking about that matter with Peter or not but then, the look in his soft coffee eyes almost screamed to know more. That was Peter, always here to help someone in need. And this time, Peter wanted to help you desperately, the one he grew to love more every day he spent with, to reassure you, to comfort you. At all cost.

So you opened your heart to Peter and exteriorised the morbid thoughts that settled deep inside your being long time ago. How trusting people and getting close to them became nearly impossible since your dad started beating your mum during harsh arguments. Even when you closed yourself in your bedroom, you could still hear her pleadings and cries mixed with your father’s screams. Closing yourself in your wardrobe didn’t change a thing. Your nights got more agitated, nightmares being more frequent than actual dreams, and you kept praying every night to not get hit in return. For nearly seven years, you endured all this violence towards your poor mother, who couldn’t do anything but only plead you between sobs to not say a word to anyone, at the risk of you being in danger too. Even when your dad left you both, your trust towards men was just inexistent and, as sadly as it sounded, Peter was now paying the price of this.

The boy listened to you until the end, carefully and quietly, his eyes never leaving your face. Each of your words etched into Peter’s mind, a heavy feeling soon growing inside of him as your story kept going on. Anger. Not towards you of course, but towards that person you still called “father” who dared to violate your mother in front of your innocent self for so long. Anger towards that paternal figure who made you fear men’s presence near you. An extreme anger because due to that traumatic experience, you were even scared of Peter, your own boyfriend.

But that anger slowly faded into sadness, because dwelling on your though past brought back some bad memories you tried to forget after all these years. And that was when Peter understood he would be the one left to pick up all the pieces of your hurt self, to gather them one by one and finally be able to put them back together.

“(Y/N), look at me please.”

With glossy eyes, your head slightly raised back to look at Peter again, cheeks also a bit red from keeping your tears in. Gently, Peter extended both his hands to you, palms facing the sky. Intrigued, you looked at him before slightly putting your hands on his to rest.

“No one in this word deserve to go through what you did during all these years, (Y/N), and for sure neither you deserved it at all. But remember that I will never raise a single hand at you, that my hands will only provide you comfort and warmth when you need it. And I promise to cherish and protect you from whoever would hurt you in any way. I want you to fully trust me, and I know it may take some time but I don’t care. We will take baby steps and we will make it, okay? Together. I can’t just let you deal with it by yourself anymore. You’re so dear to me and deserve to be happy. Please (Y/N), let me help you-”

As Peter basically forgot how to breath during what sounded like a second love confession, he got interrupted when you threw yourself into his arms. That actually caught the boy by surprise but he didn’t dare to circle his arms around your body, not really knowing how you would react. But he quickly changed his mind as soon as he felt your small hands tightly grip onto the back of his shirt, so his arms gently surrounded you to bring you closer. He rested his cheek on the crown of your head while yours lightly pressed against his torso, his heartbeats soothing your agitated soul.

This was during the embrace you finally knew what you needed to know after all this time: everything would be fine, as long as Peter was by your side.

“Thank you, Peter. So much.”

“I’m here, (Y/N). And always will I be for you.”

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[mlmxreader]

A Day or Two | Llewyn Davis

summary; Llewyn doesn't exactly have the most stable of housing situations, but you're there to help him out.

Although it was nearing eight o'clock at night, and the skies were grey with thick clouds that threatened to pour down with rain, it was still hot, and the birds were still singing; you were lounging on your bed, watching the television without concentrating much, when the door suddenly rang out with a thunderous growl from someone banging on it incessantly. Groaning and thinking it was the post man, you sighed, and dragged yourself off of your bed, making your way downstairs before opening the door, your gaze to the ground as you couldn't really be bothered to look at whoever was delivering what.

"Where do I sign?"

"You don't," Llewyn, your on-and-off boyfriend, replied with a heavy sigh, smiling when you looked up at him. "Hey."

You frowned, knitting your brows together as you folded your arms across your chest. "Llewyn... what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need a place to stay," he explained, "not for long, just a day or two... maybe three."

You sighed, of course he needed a place to stay, but looking at his brilliant coffee coloured eyes, you knew you couldn't resist him, and you stepped aside. "Make yourself at home, you want some coffee?"

Llewyn shrugged as he dragged himself inside, kicking the door shut behind him as he followed you into the kitchen, he left his guitar on the counter and looked around; he had been here a thousand times, but it seemed different now. The walls were white and black instead of light wood, and the old hobs on the stove were replaced with electric ones that shone in the light. He smiled. "You got any beer?"

You shook your head, biting your bottom lip as you looked around for a moment. "Do I look like I have any beer?"

"No," he chuckled softly, slipping his frayed and dirty fingerless gloves off and stuffing them in his pocket. "My bad."

"Don't sweat it," you shrugged, looking him up and down and frowning, clicking your tongue as you sighed. "Y'know... those clothes look pretty ragged and minging, do you want me to wash 'em? I think I have some of your old shirts and jogging bottoms in my wardrobe you can wear... if you want, I can wash your stuff while you're in the shower."

Llewyn smiled, nodding and clearing his throat. "Thanks... you don't have to, though."

"No, I do," you replied, "you look like shit, Llewyn."

He chuckled softly before awkwardly dismissing himself from your presence and heading to the shower, he left his dirty clothes outside the door, he easily found your wardrobe and managed to pick out the scraps of clothing he had left behind from summer nights of passion; he kept it all folded beneath the radiator while he was busy beneath the hot spray, letting it soak his skin. He knew he had been in the shower for far too long, but when he stepped out again, the suddenly cold air made him shiver as he rushed to get himself dry and changed.

The grey jogging bottoms were snug and warm, as was the old hoodie, but when he opened the bathroom door, his dirty clothes were gone. With a sigh, Llewyn made his way back downstairs, pleasantly surprised to find you in the kitchen, the sound of the washing machine spinning and thumping was, admittedly, relaxing as he came to join you.

"Feel better?" You asked, raising a brow and looking him up and down with a smile.

Llewyn nodded, biting his bottom lip and sighing, shoving his hands in the pocket of the hoodie. "Yeah, actually, I do... listen, (y/n), I know I've treated you like shit and I don't deserve to be forgiven, but-"

"I have feelings for you," you told him gently, reaching out to hold his hand, swinging it a little when he gave it to you. "Even if you fuck around and break my heart a thousand times over, I'll always have feelings for you."

His smile was sad and cracked and bitter as he drew closer, letting go of your hand to hold you by the waist, instead, his smile never met his eyes as he dared to reply. "I don't deserve you, do I?"

You shrugged, placing your hands on his chest and letting out a soft hum. "Who cares about deserving?"

Llewyn had to admit, you were right, but he knew that he would break your heart, he knew he would somehow fuck up so awfully that you would never even want to hear his name again, and he didn't want to hurt you, not again. "(Y/N), I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," you assured. "I'm a tough person, I can look after myself, but... if you wanna try this, you and me being together, again then... shit, Llewyn, you're gonna have to step up your game because I don't wanna waste my time, I don't wanna waste my heart."

"You won't," he promised, like it was the most important vow that would ever leave his mouth. "I'll step up. I'll be better."

again: I haven't seen the film yet, so this is probably way out of character and awful but 🤷🏼‍♂️ I wanted to write somethin before goin to bed lmao

I'm just gonna tag @pascalispedro @maruchansita & @theprinceofchocobos

[serenitydusk]

Until Midnight

A fluffy fic request from my dear friend @nerdqueenkat​!  Just in time for her birthday!  Thanks to @ijwrff for being my beta!  

“I have a favor to ask you.” 

A pit of dread opened up in your stomach. The fact your boss was asking and not telling you to do something told you exactly how onerous you were going to find this task.

“And I’m asking you because I know you’ll do a great job.” 

And that just cinched it. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?’ You sighed.

“Absolutely.”  Gressil grinned. It did have a drop of sympathy in it. “I wouldn’t ask, but I cannot go, and you’re the only one I trust to not make a mess of things.”  He quickly explained that in all likelihood, you’d be one of the few, possibly only, humans there.  “Just mingle a bit, make some connections. Be seen.”  It was one of those parties that he couldn’t get out of without offending the host, but even he couldn’t be in two places at once. “There will be a bonus in it, plus overtime.”

In the end, he gave you the bonus up front, plus let you have the company credit card to buy an outfit and shoes. 

“Get whatever you need.” Well, you certainly had. You’d never paid this much for an entire season’s wardrobe let alone one dress. And the shoes. You had actually texted Gressil how much they were, expecting him to blow up and tell you absolutely not. But he had sent you to this place in particular.

‘That’s fine. Whatever you need.’

‘Gress, it’s more than my house payment…for just shoes….’

‘If that’s a hint for a raise….’  There was a pause, then a new text came through. ‘Ok. You should see the increase in next month’s check.’

You nearly choked. You’d never, not once, asked for a raise, and to be fair, you’d never really had to. Gressil had always been good about making sure you were well paid, above what was considered a competitive salary.  

You had to admit, you looked …really good. The guy that helped you pick out everything had been a genius and had made a shopping trip you’d been dreading into something that was almost fun.  

But all that confidence dwindled once you got inside and saw everyone.  Every. Single. One. of them was perfection. Perfect smiles. Perfect hair. Perfect clothes. Perfect bodies.  And here you were a fraud playing dress up and feeling like a potato. The anxiety welled up inside, breaking you out in a cold sweat.  You’d promised Gressil an hour.  One hour. And then you could leave.  And after about fifteen minutes you decided you could do this.  It’s not like anyone was noticing you anyway. You’d made your appearance, now you just had about forty-five more minutes that would have earned you a nice bonus you could use at Christmas.

“You’d think a place like this would have hired decent help.”  A man smiled at you snidely.  You weren’t sure what exactly he was, but he definitely wasn’t human. Not with the green skin and scales. “Do be a dear and run and fetch us some more champagne, won’t you? If you’re quite done gawking.” He looked back at his companion snickering, “Humans… barely worth the effort to impress really.” 

You looked behind you, trying to figure out who he was talking to, when it dawned on you that he was talking ...to you. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking… but I don’t work here. I’m a guest, like you.” 

“Oh, that’s cute. You’re nothing like me.” His smile took on an ugly bent to it. “It’s insulting that you think so.”

A deep laugh came from behind the green-skinned fellow, “You’re right about one thing. She’s nothing like the boil on the devil’s arse you are, Heulog.”  A tall man stepped around them. He looked ...more human than the green skinned man, at first glance. But it was clear that he wore only the thinnest veil of humanity around him.  His eyes were like molten silver and the pupils were cat slitted.  And his face … he had to be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. “Come on, my dear. Let’s leave these jackeens to their own devices.”  He took your hand, deftly steering you away.  

Jackeens?  Who even said that?  He sounded vaguely European, but for the life of you, you couldn’t place the accent. Scottish maybe?  With a hint of something exotic?

He found a spot out of the way, a place for you to finally sit down as he handed you a glass of wine. “Dreadful party, really. Such a bore. I’m Ash, by the way.” 

Introducing yourself as well, you took the wine. “Thank you for that.”  You glanced around, not seeing the two jerks any longer. 

“They aren’t going to be bothering anyone here again.” He took a sip of his own drink. “And you’re welcome. I should be thanking you for giving me some noble purpose by saving a lovely maiden.” 

Your cheeks flushed at the ‘lovely maiden’ bit. As handsome as he was well, he probably just flirted with anyone and everyone. Giving him a wan smile, “I’m fine now really. If you want to get back to ..whoever you’re with here.” 

“Ah, well, I’m not with anyone.”  Oh he knew a few people here.  And liked even less.  Which was saying something for the gregarious prince. He sat down, “Maybe we can keep each other company until this thing is over?  At least keep each other awake?”  

Laughing a bit wryly, “That hard up for company?” Why was he even paying attention to you when… you looked out across the room and saw a sea of beauty that you couldn’t possibly compare to no matter how hard you tried. 

“I think you’re lovely company.” He gently tilted your chin, bringing your gaze back to his, “Inside and out.” He let out a slow breath, “Besides, you’re exactly what you appear to be and you have no idea how alluring that is for a change.” 

“What do you mean?” It was a struggle to look away from those beautiful eyes, but you managed a glance back out to the crowd. 

He shrugged as he leaned back. “Just what I said. You can’t see it, but that…” He tossed his head towards the crowd, “...is not what you think it is.” 

Well, that wasn’t nerve wracking at all. You knew Gressil wore a human guise, but you had never really thought beyond what was under it. “Are you telling me that everyone here is a monster?” 

“In one way or another, yes.” He didn’t seem particularly offended that you referred to them, ...or him, as a monster. 

“Even you?” Perhaps not the wisest question to ask, but the words had already left your liips.

Gressil had warned you once, “The illusions keep you humans safe, Don’t try to look past them.” And you’d tried not to wonder, accepting what you saw as what was real. But you couldn’t believe this gorgeous man sitting beside you was ...a monster.  Even if he wasn’t human.

“Perhaps especially me.” 

“I don’t believe it. You’re not human, but that doesn’t make you a monster.” You saw a look in his eyes as he sat back up leaning closer to you. A look you couldn’t name, some emotion that was so fleeting. Longing? Almost pleading with a hint of vulnerability and then it was gone. Leaving you to wonder if you had just imagined it. 

As you chatted, a new crowd of people wandered in and that’s when you saw him. Your ex. What in the hell was he doing here? “I have to go. I have to.” You stood, nearly losing your balance as you grabbed your purse.

Ash reached to steady you, catching you by your elbow, feeling your panic rise.  He glanced over to where your eyes kept darting to. “Who is he?” There was a hint of steel in his voice underneath the silk. 

You shook your head. “Nothing like that. Just …”  Dropping your head, embarrassed at your overreaction. “...a very bad decision that I let go on for longer than it should have. I just never expected to see him here.” He hadn’t noticed you yet, you could still slip out. 

A ...goblin? Ash could see through the glamour, but he doubted you could. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”  He rose. “Don’t run. He’s not worth it.” Tucking your arm in his, he stroked your cheek, “Please?” 

Shaking your head, “I have fifteen more minutes and I can go home.” 

Ash glanced up at the giant, ornate clock. “It’s not even close to midnight yet.” He grinned, knowing it was a cheesy reference. “Stay until then.  Be my Cinderella?” 

You scoffed, “You cannot be serious. This isn’t some fairy tale. Why would you want to be Prince Charming ...to me?” 

“Darling, why wouldn’t I?”  He frowned, clearly confused. 

Hot tears burned at your eyes and throat, but you’d be damned if you cried and ruined your makeup. “Because I’m a pumpkin not a princess?” 

Brushing aside the traitorous tear that slipped down your cheek, “Darling...whoever told you that you weren’t beautiful lied. They were afraid if you knew your worth, you’d know you were too good for them.”  He kissed your forehead and for some reason it calmed you.  If he had hugged you instead, you were sure you would have ended up sobbing in his arms. “There is a reason fae have stolen humans and taken them as lovers for eons past. You are beautiful.” 

“You’re fae?” You swallowed back a sob at his words.

His laugh surprised both of you. All of that only to ask if he was fae. Though, he was not offended, letting you move the conversation to less emotional territory. “Yes. My mother was.” 

At least until you asked, “And your father?” 

There was a flash in his eyes, bitter and sharp, “My father was not.”  It was gentle, but it was also obviously a closed subject for him. “Come. If you wish to avoid him, we can find a secluded spot and watch the party from the safety of a glamour.  Or you can venture out and be treated like the princess you deserve to be.”  

It was a tempting choice, to hide. But after thinking for a moment, “You won’t suddenly disappear?” 

“Not without you.”  Ash grinned, taking your hand and leading you out into the crowd. 

The two of you danced and he did introduce you to some people you could bring back to Gressil as potential clients. One of whom addressed your ‘date’...(was this a date??) as ‘your highness’.

Once they’d wandered off and you were alone again, you leaned close to whisper. “You’re an actual prince?” 

“An actual prince.” He nodded clearly amused at your shock.

“Your mother’s the queen?” You felt just a touch lightheaded at this revelation. 

“Sister, actually. It’s a bit complicated, but yes, she’s the queen, and as her younger brother, I’m a prince.” He spoke of it as if it were no consequence, though in truth, it was. He hadn’t been born into the role, both he and his sister had earned the right to be called fae royalty. It had been no easy thing for either of them. “It doesn’t change who I was five minutes ago.”

The idea of being with a prince was a bit daunting to say the least, but perhaps he was right.  He was who he was, title or not. 

It seemed like the hours flew by and before long the clock started the midnight chime. The two of you had found a quiet balcony, away from the noise and it seemed like the rest of the world had faded away. And you didn’t want this to end.

“It doesn’t have to…”  

Blushing you realized you’d said it out loud, “It does. I go back to work tomorrow and you go back to Neverland, or wherever it is you came from.” 

“I can always return, you know.  Or you could ...come visit. I promise I won’t steal you away unless you want me to.” He brushed a kiss over your knuckles. “If you’re interested, that is.” 

“IF?  If I’m interested?” You couldn’t quite believe this was all happening, especially that he’d want to see you again. 

“Are you?” A smile played at his lips as he brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, leaning closer as if he was going to kiss you. 

You were barely able to get out a whispered ‘yes’ as the clock struck midnight and his lips touched yours.

[fletchphoenix]

Little OC One Shots

If you’re on the simp discord, you know i have NOT SHUT UP about TV man and his son Jeremy so I decided to post this!! :)  I love these two with my whole heart. Also there are some potentially triggering scenes in here like m*rder and d*ath so be careful when reading!

--------------------

He was only six years old when his mother had died. He’d been all dressed up in a black suit and sat in a chair with his younger sister as the priest rattled on about some religious stuff he didn’t quite understand at that point. Tears ran down his cheeks as his sister talked about being excited to see their mother again, of course as a younger child she didn’t understand the concept of death and loss, but he’d grown accustomed to it. He’d grown all too accustomed to the feeling, the sounds of his father’s voice blaming him for his mother’s demise, the constant accusations being a lot to deal with on the shoulders of a six-year-old. That was also when he’d first met the TV man, his arm wrapping protectively around Jeremy’s small body and ruffling the black locks of his hair. He’d held him in a hug for a while, rain ricocheting off the lid of the coffin before it was lowered into the ground. Words of comfort were whispered to him as he pressed himself against the suit of the man, it tickling his cheek.

TV man had scooped him up into his arms and carried him towards a car, the young boy too young to understand as TV man and his father argued with each other before the man got in the driver’s seat and began to drive. His hand had settled on the gearstick as he glanced over and smiled at the boy, whose eyes were still red from tears that left wet trails down his pale cheeks. TV man saw the comparison, the boy almost his splitting image if it weren’t for his eyes. Those were Lydia’s eyes - the same ocean blue, wonder filled eyes that she once had. He missed the woman so much. TV man shook his head, nothing more to say to Jeremy as he kicked his legs and hummed a little tune under his breath.

The boy hadn’t slept that night, tossing and turning in his own room before shuffling as quietly as he could under the covers of TV man’s bed. He supposed he couldn’t help being scared - the boy had just lost his mother and gone to live with a stranger, though the man knew he’d done the right thing by bringing him back to his rightful home. His father, Henry, was an evil man and didn’t deserve any sympathy from him for everything he’d done to his son. TV man had held the boy as tight as he could, refusing to let go to let the boy know he was there. 

----------------------------

Jeremy’s hands shook as he poured the milk and hot water into the mug in front of him, stirring in the cocoa powder to make himself some hot cocoa to watch cartoons to. TV man was out at the time, at work in the screen and talking in his loud, happy voice with his big smile, but Jeremy always found his show slightly boring. “Only adults don’t find it boring because adults are boring!” he’d complained as TV man laid him down in bed one night, the man simply chuckling and rolling his eyes as he wished him goodnight. Thankfully, it was a Saturday, and Saturdays meant Jeremy could stay up longer than on a weekday, so TV man had told him when he’d be home and let him stay up until them. The boy settled comfortably on the couch, tucking his knees closer to his chest. 

The bangs began slowly, a few irregularly loud knocks sounding from the door and causing the raven haired boy to set his mug aside. At first he’d thought it was TV man, but they’d been through the secret knock and that was not the secret knock. Jeremy kept his eyes fixated on the door, though he rose to his feet and slowly backed away towards the kitchen. 

“Open up you little rat! I know you’re in there!” The slurred voice of Henry rang through Jeremy’s earsm his chest rising and falling quickly and his heartbeat increasing rapidly at the sound of the banging getting more and more intense. He was sure the man would make it through the door, the thirteen year old rushing towards the kitchen and searching through the doors. TV man always said the knives were in the third drawer down, but he was forbidden to use them for anything. Not even cutting up food. However he was more concerned with getting the man away from him, so he armed himself with the sharpest one, the blade glistening under the beaming light of the bulbs above him. He hoped that TV man wouldn’t be too upset, or at the minimum would understand why he was doing this. Another bang and the crashing of the front door to the floor echoed through the apartment as Jeremy rushed and locked himself in a closet. He silently pleaded for TV man to come home, to not be as late as he usually was. He didn’t want to die alone.

“Jeremy! Where the fuck are you!” the man screamed as he stalked through the house, his heavy duty boots causing the floorboards to rattle with every step he took. Something dragged behind him, only ending as the familiar click of a shotgun sounded throughout the apartment. Oh. So that’s what was going to happen. The boy’s breath hitched as the man’s figure halted in front of the wardrobe. “I can see you, you little shit.” Henry growled, his hand reaching for the handle as Jeremy’s breathing got deeper and deeper, faster and faster. This was it. He was going to die-Where was TV man?! “Hey! Get off me you lanky fuck!” Henry screamed as he tried to fight off...whoever was in the apartment with them, the boy shaking from his hidden location and pressing his forehead against his knees. He wanted to be safe-he wanted TV man back.

BANG

The blast of a shotgun and a thud echoed throughout the apartment as the door opened. His hands shaking, the boy raised the knife and poised it to attack, though he lowered it at the sight of Henry’s body on the floor, blood pooling on the floor from a gunshot wound to the head and TV man standing in front of it. The hat he usually wore was discarded on the floor, showing his black, slicked back locks that complimented his also black suit. Looming over the boy, he crouched and scooped him into his arms, holding the boy as close as he could and swaying with him in his arms. “My dear boy..are you okay? Did he hurt you? Oh, I’m so sorry sweetheart, I should’ve run home…” His hushed words and apologies soothed Jeremy, as well as the narrow fingers he threaded through his hair to calm him down, pressing kisses to his forehead as he moved away from the body on the floor. 

That was the night he had his first biology lesson, the TV man showing him all the different parts of a body as they removed the evidence of their crime together. He’d learnt about intestines and stomachs and hydrochloric acids, pancreas and brains and hearts...it was all quite fascinating to see up close, especially with someone as interesting and charismatic as TV man explaining everything to him in such great detail and never once yelling at him for wanting to know more. TV man had shown him how to clean the blood off the floor as well, shining what he called a ‘black light’ over the spot where the blood once resided on the floor and showing the lack of marks that sat on the floorboards. It was also the first night he’d called TV man ‘Dad’, the sight of a tear welling in the man’s eye and a smile on his face enough for Jeremy to know he’d done the right thing. 

-----------------------------------

The next awkward moment had been a parent teacher conference. Jeremy had insisted that he was fine, that TV man was too busy, that he ‘simply didn’t have the time’, but as soon as TV man caught word of the conference, he dropped everything he was doing and decided to go. In his words he ‘wanted to see how his dear son was doing’, though Jeremy knew it was because he hadn’t been around for a little while at home. So there they were, the odd pair walking, Jeremy on TV man’s broad shoulders, as he was carried to the school giggling from his spot. 

As they entered the teacher’s office, an audible gasp escaped the woman’s mouth, staring up at the 6”10 man in his pitch black suit and tie as well as the boy by his side dressed similarly. She simply couldn’t believe how tall the man was, looming in the corner as opposed to taking a seat due to the tiny size of the chairs that resided in the room. He was a rather handsome man, his hair slicked back and a smile on his face as he rambled about his son with nothing but pride and joy in his voice as the boy leaned into him. The man’s voice was so projected compared to his son’s quiet one, the boy picking at the loose threads of his sweater as he stared at the floor of the classroom and kicked at the carpet. Charisma dripped from every word the man spoke and all she could think of was how polar opposite the odd pair was. 

After the conference, TV man decided to treat his son, taking him along to get some ice cream and carrying him back to the car. Sure, they were a weird pair. But it worked. They were content in their little cycle and family. 

That was the night they found out about the time powers, TV man throwing a teddy bear towards the bear and being surprised to see the bear’s movements slowed as Jeremy outstretched his hands. An audible gasp left his lips as he took his son’s hands in his own once the teddy bear dropped. “How long have you been able to do that?” The man questioned, though the boy never answered, blankly staring at the area where the teddy bear had once been. They decided to never question it again after that, simply accepting it as part of their strange lives, though they never forgot.

--------------------------

“Where’s my son.” He declared as he slammed the door to the lab open, only seeing a ginger girl, a blond haired man and another ginger haired woman all gathered around...something on the floor. Pushing them all aside, he crouched by his son’s side and brushed the hair out of his face, scars littering the expanse of skin, his blue eyes no longer full of that childlike wonder and now riddled with sadness and mourning no man should go through. “My dear boy, the years haven’t been kind to you, have they?” 

Tears brimmed in both men’s eyes as Jeremy finally made the move to lunge into his father’s arms, his body shaking as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into TV man’s shoulder, TV man’s fingers threading through his hair as they always did when his son was sad. “I’m sorry- I didn’t want to- they let me go-” the man’s breath hitched as he sniffled and sobbed, desperately stuttering out a profuse amount of apologises as TV man simply shushed his son and glared the trio in the room. “Which one of you hurt my son. I want answers.” He bitterly declared, his eyes switching between each person and scanning their faces for guilt.

[balancingdiet]

Tabula Rasa

Detective Conan & Magic Kaito Characters: Shinichi/Kaito Words: 3100 ish Chapter: (1) … (17) (18) (19)

Shinichi always finds his neighbour weird. But he didn’t expect to find his neighbour lying on a patch of grass and donned in Kaitou Kid’s costume, too.

Shinichi had experienced a fair share of pain—both physically and emotionally—to understand how some of them could feel familiar. But he never knew pain could be nostalgic too.

The sudden, sharp pain hit between Shinichi’s brows again.

It came in a set of three, a cooing sound, and then another...

Shinichi opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was white, but it wasn’t the culprit that was pecking his forehead. Tamago, or whoever that dove was, had flown away once Shinichi stirred and woke up, and the whiteness he saw was the rumpled bedsheet he had laid his head and accidentally fell asleep on.

Shinichi straightened away from the side of the bed and on his chair, and it was only after a second then he registered Kaito’s bed was empty. 

Widening his eyes, Shinichi spun around in his seat, and he found relief when he saw Kaito standing on the balcony (his navy blue shirt camouflaged him well against the dark sky, but his white pants exposed him bright). He was facing the street and dangling his bandaged hands over the railing.

When Kaito fainted in his arms, Shinichi thought of bringing him to the couch in the living room, like what he did during that incident long, long time ago. But he decided to carry Kaito up to the bedroom, thinking it would be a better place to rest for him. Turns out, the clock on the wall now showed an hour before dawn, meaning Kaito woke up not long after he fainted. 

And what a plot twist, it was Shinichi that rested instead.

Shinichi stood up from the chair, not realising the existence of the blanket over his shoulder until it fell off and pooled on the floor. He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary before picking the blanket up and looking at Kaito’s back again.

He didn’t feel as though he deserved this.

Shinichi placed the blanket back on the bed. And now that he could properly look instead of fussing over Kaito’s comfort and tending to his hands previously, he noticed the bed was small. Or rather, it was small because of how sparse Kaito's bedroom was; there was nothing much, besides the bed, a corner desk, and a wardrobe.

To think that Kaito had make this home permanent… The first floor definitely fooled Shinichi well. 

Tentatively, Shinichi walked to the balcony and slid the glass door aside. It was breezy, and the moisture in the air smelt thicker than Shinichi last remembered when he first arrived home. 

”You’re awake,” Kaito said as a greeting.

Shinichi closed the balcony door shut and approached the railing. “Same back at you.”

“You snored.”

This was the last thing he expected the conversation to start with. Shinichi scowled. “I did not.”

Kaito laughed. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed. Your snore is pretty soft anyway.” 

"Don’t change the subject," was what Shinichi wanted to rebuke, but he pursed his lips, unable to form any words as he continued to stare at the side of Kaito’s face.

There was no subject, or anything, for Shinichi to say in the first place—

“How much do you know?” Kaito suddenly said as he continued to face the dark streets below.

“...What?”

Kaito pulled out one of the fragments of the shattered red gem from his pocket, which Shinichi had gathered from the backyard and placed them all on Kaito's desk. 

“For starters,” Kaito said as he fiddled the shard with dull interest. “Do you believe there’s a gem that can shed tears of immortality?” 

Immortality?

Shinichi stared.

For someone who once shrunk by ten years of age, it was hard for Shinichi to say he didn’t believe it, even if he didn’t want to. But in this context and from the way Kaito asked, he wasn’t sure what the correct answer should be.

“Maybe,” Shinichi said instead.

Kaito squeezed the shard in his fist before pounding it over the railing. Shinichi winced.

“To be honest, I don’t,” Kaito said. “But if I don’t, I don’t have anything else to pin on for all the sacrifices that had been made.”

From Kaito's reactions and the evidence in his hand, it was clear all the countless heists Kaitou Kid had done wasn’t to obtain this so-called tears of immortality, but to destroy it. 

But why?

And what sacrifices?

As though Kaito read Shinichi’s thoughts, he spoke, “Kuroba Toichi, my dad, was the first Kaitou Kid.” 

Shinichi widened his eyes.

“He died at the hands of the people who were seeking for this same gem, but I didn’t know anything back then. I’d thought he died due to a magic accident.” Kaito cleared his throat. “And so, the first Kaitou Kid disappeared from the surface of the Earth.”

It wasn’t hard for Shinichi to construct the timeline calculations in his head, and his heart swelled at the realisation of another horror in Kaito’s past. 

He was only eight.

“Years later, I found a secret basement that my dad left behind. I didn’t think much of the consequences but only wanted answers, so I decided to be the ghost of the Phantom Thief.”

“…Why are you suddenly telling me all these?” 

Kaito tilted his head. “After all that earlier commotion, I figured you'd want to know.”

Shinichi hesitated. “But not at the expense of your feelings.”

Kaito chuckled, yet nothing about his laughter sounded real to Shinichi at all. “It’s okay,” he said.

”How is this okay?” Shinichi wanted to yell back, but all the thoughts and words and sorrows of the entire moment were stuck as a lump in his throat. What’s more, this was just the start of Kaito’s past. How could Shinichi, much less Kaito, be able to bear it if they continued to delve deeper into it?

And about Aoko…?

Kaito regarded Shinichi for a while. “It seems as if you know something.”

Shinichi inadvertently glanced away, only proving Kaito’s suspicion right.

“Back to my first question.” Kaito turned around to lean his back against the railings. “How much do you know?” 

Shinichi pursed his lips.

“Tell me,” Kaito urged.

“…I happened to chance upon a few things and made my own guesses.”

“What are they?”

As the wind started to pick up and howl in the originally silent night, Shinichi reluctantly explained the things he thought he would carry to his grave—about Kaito’s unconscious apology to a person named Aoko, the hospital conversation, and the blue rose he found in front of the clock tower. But it wasn’t just unravelling Kaito’s secrets that made Shinichi horrible; having to see the weight pressing down on Kaito’s shoulders as he continued made everything much worse.

By the end of everything, Kaito finally nodded. “As expected of the Detective of the East, you’re right,” he said. “Aoko… She died three years ago.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” Kaito raised a hand. “Just let me bring some humour into this conversation, can you?”

Shinichi returned a wry smile. It seemed the least he could do.

“Those people you mentioned earlier,” Shinichi began. “Are they some kind of organization?”

Kaito nodded as he pocketed the shard back into his pocket in silence.

“Are you pissed because you were expecting my answer to be… something exciting? Like, maybe someone from a deadly, criminal organization was hunting me down because I’m a threat to their secret plot?”

So it wasn’t just a taunt Kaito made back then. There were some truth in there too.

“The organization—"

“Done and dusted like yours,” Kaito said. “In fact, I believe it was led by a member that worked under the Black Organization you destroyed. Everything slowly fell apart after you finished them.”

Shinichi said nothing, still struggling to get his feelings towards Kaito’s response straight. There was relief for another end of a criminal organization, but there were some things that didn’t make sense—like why Kaitou Kid still existed if everything was over—and also the guilt, that if Shinichi had brought the BO down sooner…

“About Aoko.” Shinichi swallowed, not sure if it was right to call her name like this. “Did she die in the hands of the same people who killed your father? Before their downfall?”

Something flickered in Kaito’s eyes; it was so brief, yet impactful enough to send even more guilt towards Shinichi’s way.

“It was before, but no, it wasn’t because of them,” Kaito said, and he raised his head to stare at the sky above them. There was a heavy pause, then he added, in a lower tone: “She died because of me.”

What?

“Since Aoko was young, her mother hadn’t been the best of health,” Kaito continued looking at the sky. “Just a few months after her family moved into my neighbourhood, her mother fell ill and had to be admitted into the hospital. Aoko visited her every day of the week, and I accompanied her several times. But after battling the illness for a year, Aoko’s mother passed away.

“Years later after we reached the eligible age, she signed up for a volunteering program in the hospital. And I followed too. Since then, it became our weekend thing; I would perform magic performance for the patients and visitors and she was my assistant. But everything changed after I started becoming Kaitou Kid.

“Life got busier for me, but I still managed to squeeze in some time to attend at least two sessions a month. Aoko obviously noticed the changes, but rather than questioning me about it, she was still grateful.” Kaito suddenly gave a bitter laugh. “She was always grateful.”

Shinichi nodded understandingly.

Kaito continued, “But things changed even drastically after those men that killed my father confronted me, while revealing they were searching for Pandora—the alias of that immortality stone. Since then I started planning and focusing on stealing gems. While hoping to find Pandora first, it was also to lure them out so I could bring them down easier.

“A year or so later, I discovered a rumour that said the Pandora was in Japan. I tripled my heists' activity and worked like hell to find it, and as a result, I’d severely neglected Aoko and missed all the volunteering sessions I should have gone.

“Then, on the night of my heist, which was also the night when Aoko went to the hospital to volunteer, a fire broke out at one of the facilities.” Kaito glanced at Shinichi. ”I’m not sure if you remember or know, but it was on the news.”

Shinichi frowned. “The hospital you invited me to?”

Kaito nodded.

“I… I don’t recall.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to.” Kaito licked his lips and took a deep breath. “Well, a fire broke out, but…” 

“...”

“But, sh— she...”

“She didn’t make it out in time,” Shinichi whispered, finishing the sentence Kaito had trouble completing. 

After a long while, Kaito nodded again. But he wasn’t exactly calm. 

He was simply… gone.

Shinichi parted his lips, ready to explain how the fire was an accident, and that it wasn’t Kaito’s fault. But as Shinichi took a breath to speak that, he knew Kaito had probably heard those words over a thousand of times, and beyond that, they weren’t the things Kaito needed at the moment.

So all Shinichi did was raising a hand and reached out for Kaito’s shoulder, giving it a light pat.

But that pat was like a wrecking ball, because the next thing Shinichi realized, tears welled up in Kaito’s eyes, like a gush of water bursting out from behind the broken glass walls. 

And those waves surged Shinichi, sending him in a swirl of his own tsunami too.

“The gem I stolen that night wasn’t even fucking Pandora, and those scums didn’t appear during that heist either,” Kaito choked out before pressing the palms of his bandaged hands into his face. “So in exchange for that wasted night, Aoko died.”

Shinichi felt a sting in an eye before rubbing it away. 

“Maybe she was lost on the floor. Or maybe she was trapped behind some damn door. But one thing I know for sure was if I wasn’t doing some fucking heist that night and was there with her for the volunteering session, she wouldn’t have died,” Kaito continued to blabber, “I couldn’t save my dad the last time, but I believe I could have saved Aoko.”

“Kaito—”

“And what else?” Kaito interrupted as he swung his arms back to his side, showing his slightly swollen eyes. “Oh, yeah. Sometimes when I’m flying, I’d see a vision of the burning hospital. I usually could control it, but on the night you found me, I had to stab myself in order to gain back my senses and flight control because the panic attack was too overwhelming—”

All of the sudden, Kaito grabbed the front of his blue shirt and heaved. 

Shinichi held onto Kaito’s elbow. “Hey, are you okay?” 

"I’m good.” Kaito sniffed and afforded a quick, reassuring smile before his face grew serious again. “Do you remember the time you told me to take a break? I actually did before, for two years.”

“The period you suddenly disappeared,” Shinichi said.

“Yeah. I stopped being Kaitou Kid after their downfall, but... I didn't think it was enough to account for the sacrifices.” Kaito patted a hand over his pocket. “Pandora owed me this much.”

Sacrifices...  

“Did Aoko know you’re Kaitou Kid?” The words rolled out of Shinichi's tongue.

During the seconds as Kaito mulled over the question, Shinichi started to panic, wondering if it was a wrong thing to ask. But before he could retract his statement, Kaito left the railing and walked back into the bedroom.

Shinichi followed, closing the glass door behind him.

By his desk, Kaito pulled out the first drawer and took out a blue notebook. He caressed the cover with a form of gentleness that Shinichi never seen him had before—not even when handling those million-dollars’ worth gems he’d shone under the moonlight after his heists. 

Then, Kaito passed the book to Shinichi.

Shinichi tentatively accepted it. “What is this?”

“See for yourself.”

Suspicious, Shinichi flipped to a random page.

Dear Diary, Today, Kaito and I went to Tropical Land. I know I should at least be a little bit happier—

Widened eyes, Shinichi shut the book and snapped his head back at Kaito. “This is Aoko’s diary?”

Kaito nodded. “Her dad, Inspector Nakamori, gave it to me.”

“Inspector Nakamori?” Shinichi froze once he realized the connection. “Isn’t he the head of the Kaitou Kid Task Force?”

“He was,” Kaito clarified. 

Shinichi had to take a moment before the words sunk in. "They were related..."

Kaito gave a half-smile. “Life’s just so funny sometimes.”

“Then…”

“He’s now retired from the Force and helping his brother with the ski resort business in Niigata,” Kaito said. “After Aoko’s death, I told him everything; it’s the least I could do.”

“What did he say?”

Kaito chuckled, though it sounded hoarse at the end. “He told me I should get on with my life.”

But it didn’t work out, Shinichi’s silent words hung in the air.

“Then, before he moved, he found the diary and gave it to me, hoping I could find closure or something," Kaito added.

That didn’t work out either, Shinichi thought bitterly again.

Shinichi fumbled with the book. It was light, yet weighted heavy with the history of Kaito and Aoko’s life journey together, at least till the point when the fire took her away…

“I don’t think I have the rights to read it,” Shinichi eventually said.

“You were mentioned in there though.” 

Shinichi blinked. “What?”

“Edogawa Conan, the Kid-Killer.” Kaito smiled, and there was finally a tint of genuine brightness in his eyes. “You were her idol.”

Shinichi scratched a finger on his temple. “Um…”

“Actually, I think you two could’ve been pretty good friends; Both of you are quite similar—Always all about justice, fun to tease, and Tamago...” Kaito’s voice broke off a little. “Tamago loves... loved her too.” 

Shinichi swallowed, staring at the diary in his hand. “I wish I could meet her," he said, with all the truth he could ever put in a sentence. He looked up at Kaito. “Is there... anything else I can do?”

“No. You’d done more than half of my job when you took down the Black Organization.” A tug pulled at Kaito's lips as he rubbed a thumb over the other bandaged hand. “Besides, you’ve been... a very good distraction...for me.”

Shinichi wondered if he could agree the same.

A low rumble came from the outside, and through the view of the balcony glass door, Shinichi could see the trees swaying in the distant. 

“You should go before the rain pours,” Kaito said.

“Are you sure you want me to read this?” Shinichi asked again, lifting the diary.

“The truth is, I’m rather tired right now.” Kaito popped the second button of his blue shirt and slumped onto the bed. “It'll probably answer the remaining questions you have.”

In all honesty, Shinichi was never intent on needing an answer, but if Kaito wanted him to have it, he really had no reason to go against his wishes. He held the book to his chest.

“Do you want me to stay—”

“If it’s for any other circumstances, I would say yes.” Kaito grinned, though barely passing the mark. “But for now I want to be alone.”

“Ok.” Shinichi nodded. “I’ll go.”

“Thanks.”

Shinichi turned towards the door.

“He told me I should forgive you, that’s how I can lessen my pain.”

He wrapped a hand around the knob.

”And you. Only if you know I forgive you, then it will lessen yours.”

(Then what if the only person who could forgive you, was no longer around?)

“Tabula Rasa.”

Opening the door, Shinichi took one last glance back, watching as Kaito wearily climbed under his covers. 

“You know... there’s a difference between hiding and starting anew.”

Shinichi still hadn’t figured out which one fitted Kaito more, but at least for now, he knew Kaito wanted to be alone.

Closing the door behind him, Shinichi left for his own home.

[lisinfleur]

EBMK - Chapter 04: Backstab

Author’s Notes | Some things in life are unstoppable time bombs. We can cut some wires and gain some time. But they’re fated and, sooner or later, they’ll burst… Words | 2074 ⁑ Warnings: HEAVY Angst. Mentions of cheating, lots of cursing.

She was strange.

First, Adrian thought it was something with his time in jail. Comprehensible: they spent too much time separated and when he came back, he was a stained man and Victoria couldn't hide she was dating a former criminal anymore. But he thought with time and his huge efforts to stay as much away from the crime as he could, would change her mind and bring her back to him.

Of course, he knew he wasn't completely away from the streets - there was that thing he had to do to get rid of the rat's body. And some other rats that came with him, but... Tom was giving him some more money whenever he was up to get his hands dirty and... It was for Patrick, right? So... As a father... He should do anything... Right? - but the great majority of the time his work was clean and hard. And he tried to find something fully clean, but truth to be said: no one fully clean would ever give a chance to a man like him...

But he was really making some good effort there. And now, he had the whole room for his son painted, reformed, and furnished, Adrian believed things should get better between him and Victoria - who was now heavily pregnant and beautifully full of their son.

Their son...

He knew in his mind that the child in her belly wasn't his. That the boy wouldn't look like him and could even look like the man who made him with her... Adrian knew he could look at her son and see dark eyes or red hair, whoever was the man who fucked his girl when he wasn't around. But his heart had fully adopted that boy and he was anxious, full of plans, hopes, dreams, and books he was reading like crazy when he wasn't working, trying to learn everything about the birth time, the nights with the baby, how to help Victoria to keep studying even after the baby was born... He was talking a lot to Mads and learning lots of things from his best friend who was now walking around zombie-like since little Kyle was really taking all his moments. Damn, he even made a stock of that terrible mix of gasoline and gall Mads used to call "energetic drink" for him to handle the nights awake!

It was his son. No matter if Patrick would never have a trace of his, he would call him father and it would be enough for Adrian's heart.

But Victoria wasn't closer as he thought everything would bring her. Instead, she was still cold. And the last time she had an appointment she didn't warn him, saying it wasn't important for him to be there even knowing he could get a day or two with Tom from his work to watch for her or hear about their son.

Adrian tried for a long time to let it go... To believe it was her hormones. But it was starting to really mess up with his feelings and he decided after the small meeting Tom asked them to make at the club he would go home and ask her for a talk. Maybe she didn't know how it was hurting him. Maybe it wasn't willingly that she was pushing him away or maybe she was still insecure...

"FUCKING RUN, MAN!"

Røed's voice hit Adrian's ears quite before the brute pushed him in the opposite direction he was walking. Adrian had just parked the new motorcycle he earned from the club - to be paid in small parcels, of course - and was walking towards the warehouse's doors distracted, immersed in his thoughts about Victoria and his son when that hit came to wake him up for what was happening around.

The police cars were arriving all over the place and Adrian had little time to think and understand the warehouse was being burst.

The time bomb exploded.

With large eyes, Adrian didn't expect his brain to really figure out the whole picture and his feet ran back to the motorcycle, turning it on and getting rid of the club's vest before getting away the faster he could. The integrated system in his helmet answering to his trembling voice commands.

"Call Mads..."

It took some asks for the shitty thing finally make the call as Adrian was making curves through the streets, trying to take a longer path home, not sure if some of the cops came after him, but trying to mislead them anyway.

Mads, on the other hand, answered the phone at the first ring.

"I know! Get rid of the phone as well and find me at the bridge. Fifty minutes, Adrian, I can't wait for you more than that, brother, please... Don't get late."

"I won't."

It was everything he could say before they cut the call to avoid the cops to track them by their numbers.

While at home, Mads broke the phone and threw away the whole thing with the chip at the fireplace, Adrian threw his at the street along with the helmet, listening when the things exploded against the asphalt behind him.

His mind was working at 100km/h when he stopped the motorcycle in front of Victoria's house, getting into the place without closing the door, passing through the living room not noticing there wasn't only Victoria there...

His steps went straight to his room, to the back of his wardrobe, picking up the bag where he was saving the money for Patrick. That would surely help with the restart wherever they would go now and maybe buy the things he already had bought but would never use with his son. His eyes looked around, seeing the crib he mounted, the room he painted... His heart pained, but he didn't have time for this.

Victoria showed up at the door, seeming to be scared as Adrian was packing some clothes for him.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.

"Pack up, Victoria. We need to leave. Take a few things, we don't have..." Adrian's voice died in his throat when he saw a man's figure standing behind her.

His eyes oscillated between Victoria and that man, mutely asking her was that citizen standing so close to his girl. His brain dwelling on the fact that they didn't have time to small discussions.

"The cops are after you again, aren't they? I knew you were fucking things up again!" Victoria cursed.

But the man behind her held her against his chest, filling Adrian's chest with bitter anger when she sighed, almost getting calm in his arms.

"I told you he wasn't trustable, love. Go call the police. I'll take care of him..."

Love...

"What the fuck is going on here?" the words in his thoughts escaped through Adrian's mouth and Victoria looked straight into his eyes, cold like an iceberg.

"What do you think it's happening, Adrian? The father of my son came to see him. And now you're here ruining everything to me once again! I knew I should never have let you come into my life again! I should have closed that door in your nose when you came back from jail! But I thought Chad wouldn't want our child and I needed to ensure my son would have what he needed. Nevertheless, things will get better now... Chad will be here to raise our son together and you'll go to where you should never have left! You're a damn criminal, Adrian! Criminals' place is in jail!"

She left towards the living room... Her phone in her hand probably to warn the cops he was there. That bastard looking at him from the door as if he was the best of the men, taking his place beside his girl.

Besides his son...

Adrian's world crumbled in pieces in a single second when Chad crossed his arms, blocking the door - the only way out of the bedroom.

"Chill, brother... It won't be that hard, uh? You already know how things work there, right? All you have to do is find a good boyfriend and you'll keep your bowels whole," the bastard winked. "Don't worry, I'll take care of her and our little Shon."

That wasn't his son's name... The anger boiled into Adrian's stomach.

"Oh, and thanks, by the way... his room is amazing, man. You did a very good job here. I'll remember to tell the cops that you're a good painter. Who knows if this can help you..."

The bastard was mocking on him. Mocking on all he did for the boy he thought it would be his child with the woman he thought loved him as much as he loved her.

Enough to raise another's child for her.

Enough to risk his life for her.

Enough to work as a bitch... For her.

Fifty minutes...

Brother, please... Don't get late.

Someone else deserved him to keep fighting. And as much as he wanted to stay and open that bastard's belly just to go to jail for the right reasons and leave Victoria unsupported after all she did to him, Adrian knew Mads wouldn't go away without him.

He couldn't risk his brother's whole life and leave Kyle without his father just because of that bastard and the bitch that broke his heart.

Adrian's fists closed tight and he frowned, advancing against Chad without a warning. Punching his face just to have him raising his hands to defend his face.

Leaving the balls unprotected...

"His name would be Patrick, asshole," Adrian said after kicking Chad's balls and stepping on them just to ensure if that baby was really his, it would be his last.

His blue eyes still crossed with Victoria's eyes in the living room.

"I hope you die in childbirth... Bitch."

Her worst fear... Those weren't his real desires. Adrian knew it. Victoria knew it by the tears she could see forming in his eyes when he looked at her belly, so big, so full with a child he learned to love...

And would never hold in his arms.

He felt the first tear rolling down his face and mutely asked his little Patrick to forgive him. But that dream would never become true and he couldn't break Mads' dream, Kyle's dream, for something that was never his; something that he would never really live.

Before she could finish her call, Adrian took the motorcycle, put his backpack on and left with the loud sound of the machine masking his scream of anger and the wind in his face drying his tears.

She betrayed him.

And in a single day, he lost everything.

But he could still save his own butt and maybe start over wherever Mads wanted to take him. So, drove to the bridge and threw the motorcycle on the river before walking to Mads' car.

"Come in, brother... Where is Victoria and..."

"She doesn't come," Adrian said, getting into the car before Mads could say anything.

Kyle was sleeping at Joy's arms on the backseat. An empty place Mads had left for Victoria and Adrian's child remained empty when Mads started the car, driving away from the town to the highway, silently leaving behind everything Adrian ever knew and called life.

And the shards of his dreams, slowly dropping from his eyes in tears no one dared to question.

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[madamhatter]

“You’re in my world now, not your world.”

disney lyrics: villain edition (pt.1) | sentence prompts | selectively accepting

Step 4 out of The 7-Part Contingency Plan for The Heiress’s Retrieval from Operations and Extraction (THRONE): Mitigation. Calculated time spent: Two hours and 12 minutes. Estimated time of completion: Three hours and 32 minutes. 

Mental notes were frequently and committedly made throughout the entirety of the Ultimate Hatter’s recline on the lush and long couch belonging in the dormitory’s living space. Her right arm was forked and resting underneath her head. Alas, how voluntary both the position and location of her leisure was, understandably, doubtful when her frame was serving as the Ultimate Princess’s comforter. Whilst being crushed by the existential weight of expectations and dread of her meaningless life, the russet-locked student wasn’t as affected by the actual physiological pressure against her person. This wasn’t an additional burden against her, it was an unspoken comfort. Though, in the confines of her obstinately private mind, such musings were suppressed and to never dare surface.

While inferior to Sonia’s height by 12 centimeters, the difference wasn’t difficult for Sophie’s management; the couch’s length contributed to how much more accommodating the position could be. Brushing the crook of Sophie’s neck had been the small huffs of breath from Sonia’s sleeping body, as the princess was more than happily adjusting herself and nestling herself against the warm contact, arms wrapped around Sophie’s vested torso. Physically affectionate as she ordinarily was, the alcohol in her body amplified her to such an umpteenth degree that Sophie, in past instances, had intervened and redirected any surprise touch from any unsuspecting parties. And, as in the aftermath of these escapades (when Sophie wasn’t as guiltily intoxicated), she found herself tangled by choice. 

Though, she was finding herself falling into the habitual stage of nostalgia; her scarred fingertips weave through flaxen locks, almost like the golden threads that Rumpelstiltskin spun himself. From the crown of Novoselic royalty herself, Sonia’s undone hair (from its usual ponytail and bow combination), had always been a particular enjoyment of Sophie’s when younger. Raising two sisters by herself meant that she fitted herself as much as a mother and father to them more than she was their sister. Complicated styles, regal styles, professional styles, cutesy styles -- she spent countless nights going through books and magazines she managed to scrap at the library. It was supplementary work included with her studies delving into her seamstressing, hatmaking, financing, and other necessaries for her position. It became second nature for young Sophie to take to any hair and play with it, as well as style it, and Sonia was often her make-shift mannequin head. But, it seemed Sophie was paying her dues as the young princess’s mattress now.

Hopefully, the vest’s material uncomfortable to be sleeping against, Sophie hopes. A majority of her day and night were spent rushing between corporate meetings, fitting appointments for customers, and other duties that filled her schedule. She’d only gotten back home two hours ago, and at the sound fo the door closing behind her, she was rushed by the ever-aware and ever-active princess, who had spotted her immediately at the doorway. In the midst of shrugging off her charcoal gray jacket, assertive and greedy arms had wrapped around her chest, nestling into her vest, and was greeted by a symphony of giggles, hiccups, and slurred words. 

Now, she was spending her time, still in her work clothes, with her wing-tipped shoes undone, both loosely hanging by her toes, which revealed that underneath her punctual garbs had bene mismatched blue-and-white socks. The jacket was folded and on top of a table not too far from the couch. Even if the three-piece suit wrinkled, slacks and all, it wouldn’t be too difficult to maintain -- it’d only be insulting to insinuate the seamstress was short of knowing proper clothing care! 

Juxtaposing the slick yet mute palette had been the princess’s nightly wear. Sonia’s elaborate and expensive nightgown was of a lilac shade, the linen material only available for the most affluent, that much Sophie could perceive by pinching the fabric. Luxury always came easy for those who weren’t able to see the bottom of their pockets and Sonia’s wardrobe reflected that. Sophie quietly fixed the gown by its shoulders, ensuring that Sonia was properly covered, in case the temperature had been too cold for her. 

Nostalgia waned in her eyes, a glimmer so rare dissipated as her mind wandered once more to despondent contemplation; a troubling habit that grew rampant as the years past, ever apparent by eyes familiar with her originally brighter self -- Hell, even Sonia commented on it, the most careful woman Sophie knew who wouldn’t risk breaking from her regally regulated character in most and any publicly visible area and situation. Yet, Sophie submits into the abyss, copper slowly glaze over with a coldness while her fingers still twirl and brush through golden hair. 

( ... ) 

“You’re in my world now, not your world.” Arms anchored around her neck like a token of repentance as Sonia gleefully whispers such a phrase to her. Crystalline eyes, brighter than any commonly gloomy day back home for Sophie, marveled at her with, what Sophie interpreted, as an underlying message. 

It hadn’t been an unusual case for the blonde to reference her royal lineage, privileges, and background whenever she was inebriated and embracing reckless abandon of all those principles. Whatever driven Sonia to take to expensive and hidden bottles must’ve been associated with a private family matter or sidelined discipline from her mother; especially if such particular details were slurred and carelessly thrown around.

“Miss Nevermind, I don’t understand,” Sophie lies. Her jacket was folded over her left forearm as her right hand found itself carefully holding the princess’s waist. With the other teetering slightly, changing her course of tilt whenever she hiccuped, Sophie would rather not risk adding ‘head trauma’ to the list of damages she’d be needing to cover up for Sonia’s sake. How would she explained to Novoselic sovereignty that their only daughter and successor to the throne succumbed to a concussion because her family drove her to drink? 

“Let’s get you somewhere away from prying eyes.” The hatter gingerly tucked a loose lock behind Sonia’s ears, now using her right arm as a means to turn around Sonia. “I need to see what you’ve decided to drink tonight...”

( ... ) 

“May I confess how irrefutably pissed off that makes me?” Copper eyes glanced down to the slumbering Sonia, one eyebrow perked. “Not by the fact of you saying it, but by how awfully true of a statement that is; how unfair of a fact it is for the princess from the Kingdom of  Novoselic endures her only life to be almost removed from freedom and personal choice that everyone should have a right for? How fucking unbe--” Sophie strains her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Get your shit together and maintain the temper before it overwhelms you. You aren’t fourteen anymore and childish outbursts and retaliation aren’t going to save anyone; it isn’t going to improve anything and it only hurts others. You’re 18 and the time to be a juvenile long since past, do not ruin the facade you’ve built. 

“Ah’m goin’ lose it and al end up playin’ pop with yourn mam and faaver,” and slipping out was the northern accent, far too inconceivably angered to use her posh accent. “Tha end up making every’fin n’ they’d take a proper pissin’ on ya. Katered all neet ‘cause yourn mam were mithering ya. Nar then, mi mate’s ain’t roaring, but, aye, ya ain’t th’ faffin’ type.” Sophie’s head rolls back, taking a loud breath. “Ah swear down,” followed with a string of muffled expletives. 

After a moment’s reprieve, the Hatter returns to her senses and glances down at Sonia. “You don’t know how much of your world I’d destroy if it meant you could do what you want, like whatever you can, be whoever you want to be, and be with whoever you want to be...” But, she easily interrupts herself, “And I know how selfish that is for me to say, but I wouldn’t ..I couldn’t.. I hate seeing you being so refined with your smiles, but you can tell the pain behind it sometimes, the carefulness in how you express, and the hesitance and denial to approach subjects and people you believe cannot be a part of your life. You deserve the full cloth of your life, you should cut it the way you want it to be cut and wear it the way you want to. No one else should’ve taken the scissors and made a mess out of it.” 

Sophie turns the other cheek, her own right hand slapped over her mouth in terrified silence. None of that should’ve come out! No, no, no-- Sophie forced a gulp and felt her body shaking -- anxious eyes looking everywhere around the room as if someone could hear, as if something was recording her. She takes a startled exhale and pulls herself forward, trying to hold herself together. Yet, she pushes on in her original plan.

“Miss Nevermind,” Sophie properly announces as she untangles her fingers from her hair, now using it to push herself up against the couch. As she was seated up straight, with now blonde seated on her lap and still clinging onto her, she was carefully working around the princess. “Come on,” she murmurs, carefully rearranging the princess’s dangling legs that way they were on either side of Sophie’s outer legs, “make like a marsupial.”

“Mmm,” Sonia answered her with several grumbles, now wrapping tighter around Sophie’s neck and her legs around her waist. She fusses a bit to tuck her forearms underneath Sonia’s thighs (still covered). She, as well, slides out of her shoes to avoid future fumbling.

With a quick breath and patience, Sophie rose to her feet. Nestled and held against her chest was still Sonia, who was soundly back to sleep and, most likely, unaware that she’d been sleeping out in the living room in the first place. 

“There we are,” Sophie sighs with relief, now beginning the short walk back to Sonia’s bedroom. She hums herself, though, she quietly holds the princess against her, desperate to protect her. But, she knew their futures were futile and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

[sserpente]

Mischief and Ice (Chapter 3)

Synopsis: Thanos’ cruel attempt to wipe out half of the universe failed and the titan is dead; but his actions came with grave consequences. Tears and cracks in the universe, all across space and time formed wormholes within the nine realms and beyond, giving old enemies a vicious opportunity to strike again. When the Jötuns invade Earth and the Avengers assemble to defend the planet once again, it is the help of none other than the former war criminal Loki they are reliant upon to drive the icy warriors back to their own realm. But then the God of Mischief encounters a young woman abandoned in the cold—your body mangled and altered with Jötun blood, a lab rat to the Frost Giants. He decides to take you with him and nurse you back to health, unable to comprehend the confusing affection he begins to harbour for you.

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

A/N: I’m receiving your requests and I’m ready to write away! ;-) In the meantime, finally, enjoy this new chapter, my lovelies! ♥

Your human instincts kicked in the moment you heard someone entering the farm house, the urge to hide growing. What if they had come back now to kill you or even worse, torment you some more? There was no one close within miles. Who else could possibly know about this place? Was it another refugee, someone else who survived the invasion of the Frost Giants?

Hope mixed with pure terror, clawing at your guts aggressively. You were worn out, hungry and tired. There was no energy left in your body to feel such emotions.

Swallowing thickly, you wrapped your arms around your body and sneaked out of the frozen bedroom upstairs into the hallway where you carefully, quietly, peeked over the rail, holding on to the cold metal to prevent yourself from slipping.

There was a man standing there. Tall, with raven hair, a stern expression and icy blue eyes. He was handsome… beautiful even—but most importantly, he was not blue.

Almost fascinated, you watched him explore the ground floor, gaping into the frozen rooms and around the corners, always on high alert. He looked like someone who would be able to protect you. Someone who would take care of you and defend you with his life, you did not have to see him fight and kill for that.

Still, there was something about the stranger you could not quite put your finger on, your tortured gut screaming at you to run from him.

For some peculiar reason you seemed to have developed a radar—or perhaps it was the chilly Jötun blood pumping through your veins—Frost Giants were pure evil and you could usually sense when one of them approached to harm you. He did not look like a Frost Giant though. He looked… scarred.

Holding your breath with wide eyes, you took a step back. Maybe, if you were lucky, he would quickly notice the house was but empty, abandoned. A cold and dead reminder of the cruelty of the alien race that had invaded your country…

The wooden floorboard underneath your bare feet screeched when you stepped in a puddle of molten ice, freezing in the process. You flinched the moment the stranger’s cool, calculating and scrutinising blue eyes locked with yours.

Your heart skipped a beat. Gasping for air, you were forced back into the very role they Jötuns had pushed you into. You were prey again. You were prey and the stranger was your predator, ready to devour you. You didn’t know what it was that he wanted from you—whether the Frost Giants had sent him to kill you and get rid of their mistake or his own, wicked curiosity had brought him here. What he would do to you if he got you all to himself.

The first floor wasn’t at all spacious. There were only three rooms and a narrow hallway. Two bedrooms, one of which you had been hiding in, a storage room full of eerie old farming tools and a bathroom without any water supply.

Your chances of escape were ridiculously little. Unless you jumped out of a window and got yourself killed in the process, he would have you cornered soon.

Panicking, you burst into one of the bedrooms, eyes darting around frantically in search for a place to hide. Under the bed? He would be able to tell immediately. The wardrobe? He would most likely open it first.

You bit your lower lip so hard you could taste blood as you ran out of options, fearing that this was how your life would end now. But then, your gaze found the little balcony. The windows in the bedroom were partially broken, it would be easy to open them. Of course, it was no real balcony but the platform would be broad enough for you to press yourself against the wall until the stranger gave up and left. Unless… unless he decided to stay.

No. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest when you heard his calm and threatening footsteps behind you, almost as if he had taken all the time in the world to chase you. Quickly, you lunched forward and towards the window, right when he turned around the corner and spotted you.

You whined, turning around so fast you slipped on the ice, your elbow colliding with the window sill painfully before you sank to the ground, shaking so badly you feared your brain would shut down and let you die. Within the matter of a second, the raven haired stranger had you cornered.

Loki had jumped after you the moment he had realised your attempted flight. Whoever you were, you might know something about the Frost Giants and their next moves… He could tell you posed no threat to him. In the worst case scenario, he would have to kill you because they had brainwashed you to work for them—unless you had sworn your loyalty to them out of your own free will. Disgust washed over him.

Looming over you like an executor, hatred filled his body as he looked at the bluish veins standing out under your pale skin, and the slight hint of red in your eyes. You were cold to the touch when he grabbed your upper arm to heave you back on your feet, he could feel there was a lack of body heat clinging onto you like a thin, invisible layer of ice. Oh yes. Hatred for this race he had been raised to despise only to find out he was of their kind, abandoned as an infant.

And yet… when he looked into your eyes, your softness and innocence almost knocked him back. Frowning, he tilted his head and stepped closer, determined to examine your mind rather than your mangled Jötun body.

“Where are they?” He demanded to know, his smooth and dark voice sending shivers up and down your spine. He sounded intimidating, allowing no contradiction—and predicting that there would be pain if you refused to cooperate.

“T-they… l-left…” You were shaking, barely able to talk. There was no point in showing any hostility. You were done fighting your tormentors… not until you had regained your strength to do so.

“Left where? Why did they leave you behind?”

Because I am dying… Swallowing thickly, you attempted to shrug. You failed pathetically but the stranger did not let go, bombarding you with even more questions you were all unable to answer.

“What are you? You do not strike me as the typical kind of monster you would find in the cold of Jötunheim.”

What would you tell him, after all? Pressing yourself into the wall, you bit your lower lip again, suppressing a sob. “I don’t…. know, I… W-who… are you?” You managed to whisper, looking up at him as if pleading for mercy, not knowing if he would grant it to you. “A-are you h-here… to k-kill me?”

While you expected him to give you a deadly glare, he instead began to smirk. Two of his long fingers came up to lift your chin for him to look you in the eye, sending waves of electricity through your body. And finally, he let go of your arm again. His touch was numbing in the most delicious ways, ways your body reacted to and which you did not understand.

“I am Loki, of Asgard. And I am not here to kill you. I will—“

Your eyes widened, making him halt. Loki… Loki of Asgard… of Jötunheim. The lost prince… Loki was the rightful heir of the throne! The Frost Giants had told you about the infamous son stolen away from Laufey all those years ago, by none other than the Asgardian king, Odin Allfather. Before he could finish his sentence, you dropped to your knees, lowering your gaze.

Well, was it not easier to just give in to men and allow them to do with you as they pleased? It wasn’t right. But if you wanted to survive here, it was the only thing to do… for now.

“You… y-you are the r-rightful king. I-I’m s-sorry, I c-couldn’t h-have k-known…”

Loki narrowed his eyes at you, utter confusion prominent on his face. It should feel right. He should be happy. Finally, there was a mortal woman willingly kneeling before him to show him the respect, awe and admiration he deserved by birth right.

So why wasn’t he? Why did it feel so wrong to have this helpless, freezing and terrified girl cowering at his feet? For the first time in a long while, compassion spread in his cold chest, warming his tainted heart which he had locked away so well to heal. This woman—whatever they had done to you—was in need of his protection, not his superiority.

“Get up,” he snarled before he could change his mind. “I am not your king.”

“Y-you a-are. Y-you are t-the rightful k-king of J-Jötunheim!”

You were right, of course—what he preferred to learn instead, however, was how you, or the Frost Giants for that matter, had found out about his heritage in the first place. Back when he killed Laufey, not even he had known. That was certainly something he would have to look into. But for now, you were his priority.

“That I am…” He murmured absentmindedly, pulling you back on your feet. “What did they do to you?” Fascination hid in his smooth voice, combined with tragic condolescence. He did not need an answer from you, not quite. Pure terror was reflecting in your eyes when his gaze met yours once more, his long fingers coming up to lightly touch your reddened cheeks.

Loki was not cruel, he never had been. He knew to protect his pain, to hide his vulnerability when necessary and he did not hesitate to strike back like a wounded snake when needed. Mortals were beneath him but not for the same reasons Odin dismissed them as lowly creatures. They were merely… weak, naïve, petty. Their intelligence was visionary but limited, their own ignorance digging them their graves and their lives… so sweet and short. That was why he did not bother. That was why he refused to befriend them like Thor was in the habit of doing.

And yet, whatever it was he saw in your (Y/E/C) eyes, sparkling mysteriously as you looked up at him devotedly, with salty tears streaming down your face, he knew you would be different. He just might overthrow his own principles just this once. Loki nodded. A gesture he himself did barely notice, let alone his opposite. He would help you.

“I believe there is a lot more explaining you will have to do for me. But for now, my little dove, you are coming with me.”

[chokememrstark]

A Chance // Starker

Words: ~ 1,8k

Summary: When Tony meets the kid for the first time, it’s under very unfortunate circumstances and he doesn’t think he will ever see him again. That is, until about a year later the very same boy comes to his tower, surprising him more than he expected.

Warnings: mugging, fluff, caring!tony, homeless!peter

Note: Just a random little fic I wrote a while ago. Probably more irondad than anything else, but we all know what’s gonna happen eventually, don’t we?

The first time Tony met the boy, it was at gunpoint. He walked home, minding his own business and suddenly heard a demanding voice behind him and felt the cold metal press against his skull.

“Your money, now!”

Being robbed or mugged wasn’t really something Tony was used to - and if anyone dared, he usually made sure to keep his money and a few teeth from the one trying shit with him, but for some reason, he didn’t this time. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled his wallet out, handing it over.

“Just take it, but don’t shoot,” he said calmly, his hands still up.

The wallet was taken almost frantically and after a few seconds he heard a quiet ‘Oh shit’ - obviously when whoever robbed him opened it to check how much money he got. Tony couldn’t help the smirk and when he was handed his wallet back - which was surprising enough - he felt the gun to his head lower. But, instead of leaving, the one who just robbed him just stood there, so long that Tony eventually turned around to look at him. And when his eyes fell on the boy that stood behind him, nearly sobbing over the bundle of money in his hand, Tony felt something in his chest tighten.

“You okay, kid?” he asked, not quite sure what to do otherwise.

The boy who robbed him was a child, nothing else fit. Thirteen, maybe fourteen, Tony knew the kind usually. They were runaways, drug addicts, looking fucked up beyond anything. But this one was different. The kid looked like he couldn’t harm a fly and for a moment, Tony wondered if the gun was actually real or not, but that didn’t matter right now, did it? No, the kid was close to tears and somehow that got to him.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he said with a smile. “You can have it, it’s all good. I have more where that came from.”

At this, the boy finally looked up and Tony’s breath hitched for a moment. He looked into the saddest and most innocent doe eyes imaginable, tears in the corners that were ready to fall any second. Tony feared the boy would actually burst into tears any moment and he didn’t want that.

“Come on, I really don’t mind,” he said quickly, for whatever reason patting the boy’s shoulder. “You need it more than I do, kid. Just… try to find a way to do it without that thing.” He nodded towards the gun in the boy’s hand, cracking a weak smirk. “Not good if you meet the wrong guy, you know?”

The kid looked at him for a moment longer and Tony almost thought he saw relief in his eyes, before he turned around and ran as fast as he could. Tony didn’t see him again for quite some time.

The next time he crossed the boy’s eyes it was nowhere other than his own home - or rather, at the Stark Tower, which really made no difference in the end. He just came back from his nightly patrol through the area when he got the message from Jarvis.

“Sir, you have a visitor waiting for you.” Toy blinked confused as he got out of his suit. A visitor? It was past ten, who the hell would be visiting now apart from Pepper and Pepper never needed his permission to enter?

“Who is it?” Tony asked as he walked across the landing platform slowly.

“A young man named Parker, sir. I told him you were out, but he insisted to wait for your return.”

Parker? Tony never heard that name before. What on earth could some random guy want from him at this time of the day?

“Did he say why he insists on seeing me?” he asked curious, but Jarvis was not much of a help.

“I’m sorry, sir. He simply insisted that meeting you is essential and made it clear that he is willing to wait.”

“Fuck,” Tony growled as he stepped into the penthouse and immediately got himself a drink. Situations like this never turned out good, he had enough experience to know that. “Where is he?” he finally asked, putting the glass to his lips.

“In the elevator, sir,” Jarvis informed him nonchalantly. “He’s been there for an hour now.”

Great, a stalker! Could this day turn any better?

“God, let him in. I’ll listen to what he wants and then throw him out again,” Tony growled and emptied his glass in one go without even realizing it. “Ten in the fucking evening, as if there’s not a better time, Jesus Christ…”

Tony expected the worst, literally, but what he didn’t expect was the young man that stepped out. He was actually frozen for a moment because he recognized that face. It’s been almost a year, but he wouldn’t forget it, never. There wasn’t even a single question in his mind when he walked towards the boy and pulled him into his arms. Why? He had no idea, but it felt like the right thing to do. When he let go, the kid looked even more scared than before when he stepped into the penthouse and Tony felt his heart ache.

“I expected to see anyone but not you,” he said a bit awkwardly, flashing the kid a smile. It took a long moment before the other even looked up and when he did, he had a similar sad look on his face as the first time.

“I hope I don’t bother you, sir,” he said quietly and wrung his hands. “I just… came to thank you.”

“For what?” Tony asked, sending a wave of confusion over the boy’s face.

“You… you remember me, right?” he asked carefully, almost as if he had walked into the wrong billionaire’s tower on accident.

“Sure do,” Tony said with a smile. “I told you to be more careful with your toy, didn’t I?”

The kid blushed and bowed his head, but eventually nodded. “I… I was…” he admitted quietly. “I thought I was dreaming but… I wasn’t. You helped me a lot, sir.”

Tony’s smile softened and he stepped up to the boy, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Tell me about it,” he said in his most friendly tone, his confusion and anger barely there anymore now. He led the boy over to the couch to sit him down before getting them both something to drink - a whiskey for himself and a coke for the kid. “What happened after you made my wallet a bit lighter?”

The boy blushed even harder at this, refusing to look up. “I never wanted to do that, really,” he started ashamed, turning the can of coke in his hands nervously. “I just… didn’t know what else to do. I was hungry and cold, no one wanted to help me… and then I met you.”

Tony’s chest tightened once more. This poor kid. Luckily he did meet him and not some psycho. How much worse could things have turned in that case?

“Were you able to use the money you got from me?” Tony asked and the kid nodded.

“I… I got a room for a week, at a cheap pension. Still expensive, but I could sleep and shower and… eat.” He swallowed hard at the last word, as if eating wasn’t on his daily schedule during that time.

“Got no family?” Tony asked carefully and the boy shook his head slowly. “Yeah, me neither,” Tony sighed. “Sucks making it on your own.”

“Yeah,” the boy said and sighed. “I had like… nine hundred bucks from you left? I tried to get as far as possible with it. And then… I got my scholarship.”

“Scholarship?” Tony asked curious, raising a brow. For the first time, the kid’s face lit up and he turned his head.

“MIT,” he said, not without a hint of pride in his voice. “Full scholarship, no additional payments apart from living.”

“Shit,” Tony hissed and his eyes widened. That was something! “You got enough for that?”

“No,” the boy smiled sadly and then let out a disappointed laugh. “But that’s not why I’m here, not at all. I wanted to thank you… for giving me some hope back. I would’ve never gotten this scholarship without you and even if I can’t accept it, it’s nice to know I’m not all worthless.”

“The hell you won’t accept it!” Tony said strictly, a serious expression on his face. The kid looked up confused and slightly intimidated. “You got a scholarship for MIT? You’re fucking going there! They don’t give out these things to nobodies, if you don’t go you’ll never forgive yourself!”

“I’d love to, but as I said, I can’t pay for a room on campus or any other and it’s… a bit shitty to live on the street while going to college, you know?” The boy shrugged as if it was nothing, but for Tony it surely wasn’t.

“Jarvis, get someone to prepare the guest room,” Tony said sharply and then eyes the kid for a moment. “And fill the wardrobe. Size M, anything that screams ‘I’m gonna fuck the MIT up’.”

“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis replied, a disembodied voice that obviously startled the kid.

“What are you doing?” he asked shocked, staring at Tony as if he had lost his mind.

“You got a scholarship for the MIT and no place to stay?” Tony asked and the kid nodded slowly. “Well, congrats. You just found one. No additional costs, unless you touch my stuff. I won’t let you waste such an opportunity just because you don’t know where to live.”

“But… you don’t know me.” The kid looked at him with wide eyes, unable to process what was happening right now. “I… I robbed you!”

“Kid, I’m Iron Man,” Tony said and gave the boy an amused smirk. “I could have stopped you within seconds. And I’m not gonna let some bad luck destroy the future of someone who deserves so much better.”

There was a long moment of silence before the boy threw himself at Tony and hugged him tightly, sobbing against his chest. All Tony could make out were the words ‘Thank you’ and ‘I don’t deserve this’, but it was enough for him to pat the kid’s back and smile warmly.

“You deserve this chance and so much more,” Tony assured him and rubbed his hand over the kid’s back. “Just don’t waste it, okay? You obviously got the brains, now show me that I’m not being a dumb fool for believing you can use that potential.”

“I won’t, I promise I won’t!” the boy sobbed and somehow, that made Tony feel a bit warm on the inside. Yes, this kid had a bright future ahead of him, he just needed some help. And Tony would happily provide it. After all, who didn't need a bit of support sometimes, right? And he really liked the kid. Who knew, maybe the way they ran into each other could lead to something good in the end.

[whereyoustand]

Packing N Partying (YouTuber!Reader X Ashton Irwin)

Summary- Ashton and reader pack and go to Michael and Crystal's party.

Warnings- Swearing, Talks of anxiety, My terrible writing, Drinking, Alcohol

PART 1 PART 2

Your 'Happy Dayz' playlist is blasting out your speakers as you pack. Your black suitcase and backpack are open on your bed and your are putting in all your clothes in.

As you dance along to 'Happy' by Pharrel, you feel to strong arms wrap around your waste. You let out a scream and elbow whoever it is in the chest.

"Ow!" You hear Ashton groan from behind you. You clutch a hand to your heart and take a deep breath.

"You deserve that!" You snicker and turn down your music.

"And you-" He points at you, before jabbing your shoulder. "Should be used to me scaring you!"

It's true. He scares you almost every time he's round your apartment.

"Fuck you!" You groan slapping his arm lightly. "You're here to help me pack, not give me a heart attack!"

"How are you not even packed yet?" Ashton ignores your complaint and gestures to your bags.

"I have to figure out what outfits to wear, how to travel light, whether to pack make up or not, are we gonna have a washing machine where we stay-" You note walking to your bed to lay on it.

You lie down when Ashton interrupts. "Well don't worry about it! This is a worry free trip. Just pack enough underwear and like five tops." He grabs you hand and pulls you up. "Now let's pack, Michael is throwing us a leaving party tonight so we need to be ready by like 7pm."

"He knows we have to leave around 10am tomorrow right?" You ask, grinning as you walk to your wardrobe.

"He knows." Ashton states, nodding. "I don't think he cares that much."

You roll your eyes. "Michael loves a party."

You start going through your tops and pull out a few plain ones to wear. You pull out a Hawiiain top to wear as a laugh. You turn to show Ashton two swimsuits your torn between as he throws socks onto your bed.

"What do you think of these two?" You ask, holding up a teal bikini and a black and white one.

"Um teal is more your color but both work." Ashton says. " Pack both, why not?"

"You're not helpful!" You sigh with a singing voice as you throw them onto the bed.

"Hey what do you wear these for?" Ashton asks. You turn to look in his hand that hold a lacy thong. "Do you think they suit me?" He smirks holding them against his jeans.

"You are so immature, you know that?" You raise your eyebrows as you snatch it out of his hands.

You start to pack your clothes into bags as Ashton throws more underwear onto your bed, most of it hitting you in the face.

"How about you make yourself useful and grab my period stuff and pills?" You smirk as you catch a pair of socks before they can hit you in the face.

Ashton rolls his eyes but walks out the room. You pull out two dresses from your wardrobe and fold them into your bag.

You sigh and pull out some jeans and shorts to put into the bags as Ashton walks back in.

"I got your pads and some tampons. I don't know which you'd prefer for this trip." Ashton says passing them to you. "I got your anxiety meds and the prescription note so you don't forget it!"

You nod and take them out of his hands. "Thank you." You finish putting everything into the bags when you looked at your shoes. Ashton sits on your bed as you pick up some heels and put them into the bag.

"What other shoes shall I bring?" You ask him. "I'm gonna wear my vans to the airport but I'm not sure about others."

"Take those boots!" Ashton says, pointing at your army boots.

"Are you sure?" Your eyebrows furrow.

"We'll probably do some hiking." Ashton shrugged.

"Of course we will." You sigh, picking them up and putting them into the bag. You glance at the clock. "It's quarter to six. We should probably get ready for the party."

"My bags are here and I have my outfit so I'll just wear that." Ashton shrugged.

"You can get ready in the spare room." You say as he stands up. "Now I have to get ready, so leave!" You start to push him out.

"Fine I'll knock when I'm ready." Ashton smiles.

He closes the door behind him and you start to get ready. You started by doing your make up. Having a simple look. You looked through your dresses and decided on a black one. It had lacy sleeves and a leg slit.

You started put the dress on when there was a knock on your door.

"Hey, can I come in?" Ashton asks.

"Yeah, can you zip me up?" You ask. Ashton walks in as you move your hair so he can zip you up. He stops for a second taking in all your beauty. He so badly wants to leave the dress on the floor and-

"Do you think it's too much?" You frown, cutting him out of his thoughts.

"No!" Ashton exclaims. "Is it a new dress? I don't think I've seen you in it before?" He semi-lies as he starts to zip up your dress.

"Um it is new, Chloe suggested I buy it. She said I'd look good in lacy black." You explain. Chloe's your old room mate and one of your closest female friends. The two of you met when you first moved to LA. She was looking for a place, and you a room mate. It was a match made in Heaven.

"Well she was wrong." Ashton says smirking. "You look like a trash bag!"

"Ashton!" You turn around and hit him.

"I'm kidding!" He says after laughing hysterically. "You look amazing." He smiles sincerely and turns you around to look in the mirror. "Any guy would be lucky to say he's yours." The two of you lock eyes in the mirror. How was he supposed to tell you it's meant to be him? How were you supposed to tell him you wanted him?

Suddenly, your phone went off making you both jump. You moved away from Ashton to check it. You glanced at the time.

"Do you think I have enough time for my hair?" You ask, replying to a text from your mum. Ever since you told her you were going on a break, she's been checking on you, making sure you're okay.

"Just brush it." Ashton shrugs as you turn to look at him.

"Are you joking?" You raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I can't just brush my hair. I need to style it. Now should I curl it or-" You start.

"I don't care just hurry it up." Ashton sighs. "We're gonna be late!"

"Fine." You huff. "I'll curl it!"

As you curl your hair, Ashton starts to scroll through Twitter. He checks the replies on his latest tweet.

['Hey guys, just so you know, Y/n is taking a break off youtube and other media for a while.'. It then shows a second tweet. 'Y/n is a person with a lot of love to give but she doesn't know when to stop. She is taking time for herself now but will be back soon.']

He starts to scroll and looks at the replies.

[@damny/n -> this is so sad :( I hope she feels better soon <3

@valentyne -> this sucks! the same happened to Jared Padalecki and Liza Koshy. I hope she feels better soon. My Friday nights won't feel the same without a new video. 💖

@memebigboy -> Y/n has helped me through so much more then she will ever know... my smile is alot brighter thanks to her xx

@georgesalazar -> The BMC cast is sending their love 💜

@takingmytime -> i hope she comes back soon. we need need Ashton content 😉

             -> um that's so rude >:(

             -> this isn't about Ashton? she's not well and you're worried about Ashton? ]

Ashton turned off his phone and look at you.

"How long will you take?" He sighs. You roll your eyes and look at him the mirror.

"I literally have one piece of hair left to do. Then we can leave." You state matter of fact ly before starting to curl your hair. Ashton stands up and brushes himself down before grabbing your stuff.

"I'm done now!" You smile and stand up. Ashton smiles and passes you your stuff.

"Good because we're going to be late!" Ashton says.

"Psh! Who can be late for a party?" You smirk.

"You're such a loser!" Ashton rolls his eyes.

You and Ashton got out of the uber and walk towards Michael and Crystal's place. Their home was full of people getting drunk, loud music, and flashing lights.

You two both walk in as Calum greets you. He passes you both a drink as the song changes to Youngblood and Calum grabs Ashton's hand and pulls him into the crowd. Ashton shoots you a quick grin as you lose him in the swarm of people.

You sip your drink and move towards where Ashton was dragged to. You saw a circle formed around the four 5sos boys. They're all dancing hysterically yelling their lyrics. When the chorus comes, Michael grabs Crystal, and Luke grabs Sierra. They start dancing together as Calum grabs some random girl and Ashton reaches for you. You shake your head as Ashton pulls you into the circle. You start dancing stupidly with Ashton who turns you around playfully.

You swap around with the random girl, you think her name is Rebecca or something like that, and you start dancing with Calum. He spins you playfully and you turn to look at Ashton who has the same glint in his eye when he performs.

The song ends and people clap and cheer. You hug Calum before Ashton grabs you arm and pulls your attention to him. He pulls you into a hug and lifts you off the ground, spinning you around a few times.

As Ashton put you down, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turn to see Sierra there with her arms open for a hug. You accept it as she stares at you.

"I'm living for this outfit!" She smiles before winking. "You're gonna get1 some tonight!"

You laugh and look around. "I don't think so!"

Suddenly, someone calls Sierra's name and she smiles. "I'm gonna go but I want to see you up on the dance floor and having a good time!"

You smile and make your way to the empty kithen. You sit on a stool at the counter and start to eat some strawberries that were laid out.

As the song changes, Ashton wonders into the kitchen to see you.

"Hey not into the party?" He asks smiling. He puts his arm to rest beside you and standing directly in front of you.

"I'm just not ready to leave everyone behind." You say honestly, feeling embarrassed.

"We don't have to go." Ashton lifts your chin for you to look at him.

"No I want to go. I might get a little homesick." You smile softly at him.

Suddenly, Michael walks in alongside Crystal. They stop abruptly and stare at the two of you.

"Are we missing something?" Michael asks, a smirk forming on his face.

You feel a blush come up to your cheek.

"No, mate!" Ashton smiles. "We were just talking about tomorrow."

"Right..." Michael's voice trails off as he looks between the two of you.

"We'll," Crystal jumps in before an awkward silence surfaces. "How about we dance instead?" She grabs your hand and pulls you off the seat and drags you to the dance floor. Some song you don't know comes on but you dance along, swaying your hips to the beat.

Ashton looks over at you and sips his beer. He wishes you can be that happy all the time and he can make you that happy all the time.