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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 11 months

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If you still want prompts, how about someone saying 8 to Jaskier? <3

Here's some Geraskier! Can be read as gen or pre-slash.

8. “Put your head on my shoulder.”

Geralt grits his teeth as he hauls Jaskier back to their camp, the bard a limp weight in his arms. Jaskier appears to be awake, but in shock; his wide eyes stare blindly upwards. His doublet has a tear in it, the gash left by the grave hag’s tongue traveling from the center of his breastbone to his left shoulder. It will probably scar, which is the least the idiot deserves after strolling up to a grave hag to “get a closer look.”

“Geralt, I can’t see,” Jaskier says again, his unseeing eyes darting about frantically. “I can’t see.”

“I know.” Geralt is more gentle than he would like to be as he deposits the bard on his bedroll. “That’s because you didn’t fucking stay back when I told you to.”

“I thought it was dead! It was on the ground!”

“It was injured, not dead. That made it even more fucking dangerous.”

“Is it permanent? Oh gods, Geralt, I can’t lose my sight! That hag’s hideous maw can’t be the last thing I ever see! Why couldn’t it have been a comelier monster, like a succubus or a—”

Of course that’s the first thing he thinks about. “It’s the venom from the grave hag’s tongue. It almost always wears off in an hour or two.”

“Almost always?” If possible, Jaskier’s voice gets even pitchier.

Geralt thinks about lying, but the bard needs to realize how easily carelessness could get him hurt or killed. He thought Jaskier learned that after nearly getting his throat cut by elves a month ago and then nearly getting carried off by a wyvern a week after that. Not to mention all the times Geralt's had to haul him away from an angry father or husband. “Occasionally, the blindness is permanent. It’s rare, but it happens. Mostly to the sick and the elderly.”

“How sick? Because I was feeling a bit sniffly this morning.” Jaskier’s heart rate is getting faster, his breathing growing quick and raspy. “And how elderly?”

“Jaskier, you’re eighteen.”

“Almost nineteen!” His voice rises to practically a wail. “And I like to think I have an old soul.”

“You have an almost-nineteen-year-old soul,” Geralt says with his last scrap of patience. “I told you, you’ll be fine in an hour or two.”

“I’ll most likely be fine in an hour or two! What happens if I’m not? You won’t leave me here, will you? Geralt, you probably haven’t noticed, but I have no fucking idea how to survive on my own.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to hear him. “I can’t light a fire! The last time I tried to set a snare for a rabbit, I got caught in it. I get sick at the sight of blood, so I can’t hunt! Please don’t leave me here on my own.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” Geralt has tried to lose Jaskier a couple of times, but quickly realized that abandoning the bard in the wilderness was practically a death sentence for the lad. He’s been tempted to reconsider a couple of times, but he doesn’t actually want Jaskier dead in a ditch.

“Gods, I’ll have to return to Lettenhove, won’t I?” Jaskier’s blank gaze is fixed somewhere over Geralt’s shoulder. “Cordelia is never going to let me live this down. She told me I wouldn’t last a year on the road and I didn’t even last a season.”

Geralt goes to his saddlebag to get supplies to clean and stitch the wound. When he comes back, Jaskier is enumerating all the things that he’ll never lay eyes on again. It’s hard to tell what he’ll miss more: sunsets or tits. As Geralt dabs the dried blood and venom from the wound, Jaskier seems to settle on tits.

“And yes, I know I’ll still be able to feel them, Geralt, but it’s really an altogether different—”

Geralt can hear the hitch in the bard’s breathing that tells him that Jaskier is perilously close to hyperventilating. Fuck. He puts aside the supplies—the wound has stopped bleeding, stitches aren’t a necessity—and pulls Jaskier into his arms. Jaskier makes a startled noise, but comes willingly.

“Put your head on my shoulder,” he says.

“What?” Jaskier squeaks.

“Just do it.” When the bard complies, settling his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder almost tentatively, like he thinks it’s some kind of trick, Geralt adds, “Listen to my breathing. Match it with yours.”

Jaskier’s quick, panting breaths slow down, bringing his hammering heart rate down a notch.

“Just concentrate on breathing.” Geralt keeps his voice low and soothing, like he would if it were Roach startled by an unexpected noise or a rabbit in her path. “You’re going to be fine.”

“What if it is permanent?” Jaskier whispers.

“It won’t be.” With the arm that isn’t holding Jaskier against him, Geralt cups the back of the bard’s head, stroking slowly with his thumb. “But if it is, we’ll figure something out. You’ll still be able to play the lute and sing. Still be able to talk.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky laugh. “You say that like you think it’s a good thing.”

“Hm.” Since the bard can’t see him, Geralt lets himself smile. “Better than listening to you shriek about tits.”

“I don’t shriek.”

“You sound like a grave hag in heat when you get worked up.”

“Thank you for that horrifying mental image. Really, today hadn’t been trying enough.”

“Your own fault.”

“And here I thought you were being nice to me for once.”

“Saved you from the grave hag, didn’t I?”

“Not in time to save my eyes.”

“Your eyes will be fine, Jaskier.”

“So you say.” But the anxiety is slowly seeping out of Jaskier’s scent as he curls closer to Geralt. Geralt will probably regret letting him get this touchy feely, but that’s a problem for later, once the bard can see again and his heartbeat is back to normal.

“You’ll be able to see again by sunset,” Geralt tells him. “But I don’t think you have any chance of seeing tits tonight, not with the shit job you did flirting with the alderman’s niece.”

“Shit job? Geralt, she was charmed!”

“Have you ever met a woman before, Jaskier? One that you’re not paying to put up with you?”

Jaskier is so indignant that he spends a good part of the next hour telling Geralt about the people of various genders who have been won over by his charm and good looks. He doesn’t even seem to notice when his sight comes back.

(And Geralt doesn’t notice that he’s still holding Jaskier until the bard pulls away.)

***

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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alifeasvivid · 2 months

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A Feast for the Fae; a ukus faerie tale

:D this was commissioned by @ok-scans. They asked for smut and the supernatural with virgin Alfred, so here it is. Thank you so much!!

Rating: Explicit Warnings: major age gap: centuries old immortal faerie + 18 year old human Tags: fae!Arthur, human!Alfred, smut, intoxication, ambiguous non-modern fantasy setting Summary: Alfred has been selected as his village's sacrifice to the Fae King, to be eaten at the Beltane Festival. It's up to Arthur to stop it from happening. Word Count: ~3200

“What is your name?” the hushed words slide into the boy’s ear and down his spine as easily as the wine had slid down his throat. Arthur leans in close enough to see the summer sky in the human’s eyes, though it is the witching hour now, in the glen, with the full moon sighing softly on them.

The boy grins. “Alfred!” he declares as if it’s a surprise even to himself. He drinks greedily from the goblet full of Arthur’s wine. The two of them are sat on a large, flat rock before a crackling fire, though Alfred is at every moment about to topple off of it.

Arthur’s glittering emerald eyes flash as he surveys the sun-drenched fields that are the boy’s body, rich and ready for harvest. Alfred is far less a boy now than when they met, for certain, but that smile will always first belong to the little human child that had fully enchanted Arthur thirteen years ago. He hadn’t known the truth about Alfred back then.

Alfred giggles and grins and swirls his cup, he blushes, but it’s certainly not with embarrassment. He’s naked as the day he was born, after the head mage of the village led him out here.

Arthur pours him some more wine and kisses Alfred’s forehead. He has no right to do any of this, yet nothing in the world is going to stop him from doing it. Only last year, when Alfred had turned eighteen, had Arthur learnt that he had been chosen at birth to be his village’s sacrifice to the faerie king upon the Beltane following his eighteenth birthday. Being a summer child, Alfred is nearly nineteen now—and that is fortunate because Arthur had needed the time.

Perhaps Arthur really has become soft. He has spent several centuries with humans at this point, more time than he has spent in Fae, namely with witches and mages, which is how he met Alfred. The witch with whom Arthur lived and worked hired Alfred’s mother as a live-in maid in an arrangement which benefitted them both greatly.

Supposedly, faeries cannot feel love, but if these feelings—the urgent compulsion to save Alfred from being eaten at the Beltane feast, the way he withers at the thought of never seeing his smile again, the desperate want to keep the boy all for himself and make sure he is always happy—are not love then Arthur does not really know what else to call it.

But he is not the faerie king. He is one of the faerie king’s subjects—and a low born one at that, so he has spent all this time, this grace period as it were, trying to find some way to save Alfred.

He has found out there are several criteria that must be met, having much to do with time and place of birth, of parentage, of innate magical energies… nothing can be done for any of those.

But the sacrifice must be un-taken, that is to say, still having their true name so that they can give it to the faerie king… and, to also say, they must be a virgin.

Beltane is three days away and the fae court will come to collect him at dawn, so Arthur has only until the end of the witching hour to… to—oh gods… is it a terrible thing? not that Arthur doesn’t want to claim him. Alfred has grown up so well and he is such a good hearted lad, but that’s what makes it worse. He would rather have Alfred come to him freely.

Perhaps that crush Alfred seems to have been harboring for him signals deeper feelings. The situation is still not ideal, but needs must. “No, pet. I want your true name,” Arthur says, cupping Alfred’s face in his hands and lacing the words with the appropriate spell of taking.

Alfred hiccups. “Can’t give ya that, Arthur, You’re not the king! You’re just a faerie witch.” The situation was only partly explained to Alfred: the part about being made the centerpiece of the Beltane feast being left out.

Arthur winces, knowing Alfred doesn’t mean that how it sounds. Arthur knows well enough that he isn’t “just” anything to Alfred. “Oh?” he says. “How do you know I’m not?” he says in a suggestive tone. It’s not a lie at all, just a question. “What if I had been all this time?”

Falling for the trick perfectly, willing to believe more than anything else that he is meant to belong to Arthur, Alfred’s eyes widen in glee. “Wow! Really!? That’s so good, oh that’s so good, I’m really glad. Yeah! You can have it, it’s Alfred Franklin Jones.”

Arthur’s palms and the back of his neck and the tip of his nose all tingle with energy. It has been quite some time since he has taken anyone’s true name. There hasn’t been one he wanted or needed in so long. Alfred is his now, forever… and can never be truly free again, but it’s certainly better than spending eternity in the bellies of the members of the faerie high court. Arthur can’t help himself then and he surges forward and kisses Alfred deeply.

Alfred responds ecstatically, pulling himself into Arthur's arms. He giggles and whines as Arthur kisses him, tossing his head back as Arthur’s lips paint his cheek, his neck, and then his shoulders. The wine sparkles in his brain and he’s so relieved that Arthur has been the one for him this whole time—just as he has wanted for so long.

Arthur enchants a bed of soft leaves and sweet grass for them and wastes no time in pitching Alfred into it. Seeing the human splayed out in it, the firelight dancing on his skin while the moonlight gently caresses him, Arthur is more enraptured than ever. He kneels between Alfred’s legs and smooths his hands over the boy’s body. Alfred is tall and most of his chores had been rough, manual labor, leaving him tan and well-muscled… with a little bit of softness in his stomach since he was often compensated with food and Arthur only wants him more the more he is able to touch.

A Beltane feast indeed.

Alfred squirms and laughs as Arthur’s palms traverse his body and leave tickles in their wake. The tickling sensation soon reveals something more urgent: his cock hard and twitching and aching for Arthurs pale, elegant hands. “Arthur…”

Arthur leans down and kisses his forehead again. “Yes, love?”

“Am I your bride?” he asks with a bit of a slur due to the fae wine. “Is that why I was promised to you?”

Arthur laughs fondly. “Silly boy. Is that what you want?” He drags his finger along the underside of Alfred’s cock, pressing it just below the head and rubbing. “Do you want to be my bride?”

Alfred wriggles in pleasure and nods, feeling warm and happy as he does. “Yes.”

Arthur won’t completely dismiss the idea that it’s just the wine talking, but even still, he feels a possessive, toothy snarl deep in the parts of him that are still feral and truly fae, despite the many years he has spent with humans. “Shall this be our wedding night, then?” he purrs, magic making short work of removing his own clothes.

Alfred nods again, more emphatically this time. He shifts and spreads his legs wider and can’t help but wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it and smearing pre-cum all over. Seeing Arthur undressed, Alfred releases himself in favor of petting at Arthur’s flawless, fair skin that nearly glows in the moonlight. He smiles giddily as he wanders into Arthur’s eyes, which still flash green in the firelight as if lighted from inside.

Not once does he pause to consider any concerns, the fae wine has driven them all from his mind. And it doesn’t matter anyway; this is what he has wanted for so long. The wine may have freed him from inhibition, but it certainly did not cause him to desire Arthur. He had been besotted with Arthur since they first met and with the first blossomings of maturity, the infatuation deepened… and darkened. But Alfred has never feared it.

Since childhood, Alfred has noticed the way other humans regard Arthur warily, but everything about him that has always unnerved so many others—his pointed ears; his piercing eyes that see through everyone; his fair and flawless skin accentuating fine, almost intolerably beautiful features; and, of course, the unsettling sharpness of both his incisors—are all the things that draw Alfred to him. He has never once felt unsafe with Arthur.

He certainly doesn’t feel unsafe now.

Arthur purrs as he pours his body flush against Alfred’s, claiming the boy’s mouth with his tongue and nips from his fangs. He rolls his hips against Alfred’s, groaning and drinking in Alfred’s wanton gasp at the same time. His wings, which he so rarely has cause or energy to manifest, spring outward, delicate and shimmering green-gold, pulsing with sparks of glittering red in the firelight to indicate the flush of power from taking Alfred’s name as well as the arousal coursing through him.

Alfred catches Arthur off-guard when he leans up, the bed of grass following him, supporting him. Arthur is stand on his knees, the perfect height for Alfred’s mouth to pull him in from this angle. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s hips and nuzzles his cheeks against the faerie’s cock, then kisses the tip of it over and over. “You’re so beautiful, I’ve wanted you so bad forever,” Alfred murmurs with heart-wrenching sincerity. He continues kissing lightly, flicking little kitten-licks in the slit of Arthur’s cock.

Alfred is clearly operating off of whatever simply feels good to him and that gives Arthur every reason to do the same. He grabs the base of his cock with one hand and the back of Alfred’s head with the other, carefully guiding himself into Alfred’s throat. It feels even more wonderful than he had imagined it would. Combing one hand back through Alfred’s hair, Arthur uses just a little magic to make sure he stays relaxed. “Yes,” he huffs, “yes, good boy.”

Alfred moans in bliss as Arthur rocks into him just barely. The head of Arthur’s cock knocks gently against the top of Alfred’s throat and with the heaviness settled on his tongue, it feels amazing. He does his best to rub his tongue along the underside of it while learning very quickly how to suck it in just the right ways to make Arthur make the best sounds.

A century or so of celibacy has done just enough to increase Arthur’s sensitivity and the way Alfred looks up at him, adoring and also hungry, along with just how utterly enchanted he is with the human all compel him to pull away. Letting Alfred pleasure him with his mouth is not enough; Alfred must experience orgasm from stimulation by someone other than himself in order to no longer qualify as a virgin.

Whining at being denied, Alfred is placated by Arthur’s fingers caressing him, gently pushing him back down. “Arthur…” he pleads softly, shifting and spreading his legs further still, not even knowing exactly what it is he’s asking for, just that he wants Arthur closer.

“Gods, you are so lovely, Alfred,” Arthur praises, beginning to follow his hands with his lips, more and more until he laces his fingers with Alfred’s and kisses him everywhere he possibly can. Alfred gasps and sighs now, but doesn’t laugh anymore from ticklishness.

Alfred writhes, instinctively lifting his hips, and spasming around an emptiness he’d never realized he’d had until now. He cries when Arthur strokes his tongue along his cock and throws his arm over his face, since seeing Arthur do it is too much to bear.

“Look at me, pet,” the faerie insists, using a bit of magic to compel Alfred to do it. “That’s it, good boy.” Arthur only takes Alfred into his mouth all the way once and then repositions himself to lie between the human’s legs. The bed of flowers and leaves raises Alfred’s hips to give Arthur a better angle while Arthur easily lifts Alfred’s thighs up and out. A fang-baring grin spreads over his face as he rubs two fingers at Alfred’s entrance; those fingers conjure a slick, honey-like substance from out of thin air to help Alfred relax and make him easier to open.

Alfred arches and cries out as Arthur presses one finger into him. His hands pull at the leaves and sweet grasses beneath him, which hold fast. Arthur pushes it in and out for what seems like ages before he adds another, stretching Alfred open. There it is, the emptiness he hadn’t felt until now and only Arthur can fill it. “More,” he sobs. “More, Arthur, please.”

Alfred is well known for being impatient and ordinarily Arthur would take great pleasure in denying him, in teaching him how to move slowly, but there is a tickling clock on their tryst. Arthur has scarcely more patience than Alfred at this moment anyway. He nuzzles Alfred’s cock as he continues to open him, inhaling the scent of a human, green and fresh, but musky with arousal; he has almost never been close enough to Alfred to revel in the scent of him like this. He has three fingers inside Alfred now, as far in as they will go, and he makes certain that Alfred is slick, each stroke of his fingers producing more lubricant.

Alfred’s eyes are squeezed shut as Arthur works him open and he releases his grip on the plants that are their makeshift bed to weave one hand in Arthur’s soft hair, holding on tightly. He wriggles around the wetness now inside him, around Arthur’s fingers. He twists enough that Arthur’s fingers start massaging his prostate and— “AH! Oh Arthur, Arthur, please more. Right there, more.”

Arthur’s wings flutter rapidly as he watches Alfred come apart so freely under his touch. The fire has burned to its embers, giving the moon unbound license to Alfred’s perfect skin. Arthur thrusts his fingers in and out, faster, a frenzied need to make Alfred come just from this pricking at the edges of his mind. He wants to see Alfred come. He pumps in and out, faster, far more dexterous than a human could ever be. “There?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

Alfred nods, biting his lip hard and drowning in a sea of fae wine and moonlight and utter devotion to the faerie he has loved since he was a little boy. “Yes, there, please—I—!” That sea takes him under and his body pulls taut and he comes, begging broken syllables of Arthur’s name for more, to never stop.

Arthur must stop, reluctantly, and only does so once Alfred’s body is quivering from the exertion. He’s trembling a little himself from merely being privileged to witness Alfred’s pleasure. It is delicious, both magically, and, as he leans down to lick Alfred’s cock clean, physically. Alfred is now wet and loosened well and the terms of taking his virginity have been satisfied, but Arthur still wants.

“Arthur,” Alfred slurs, “I’m… I’m…nnnnnggh empty. Please.”

Something powerful and sure and dark at the edges curls around Arthur’s mind and forms a heart where he had nothing before. “Yes, you are. Fear not, pet, I’ll take care of you.” Leaning up and over Alfred, wings beating softly, Arthur kisses his forehead, then his cheeks and his nose and then his mouth, deeply, drinking more magic from the pure, pulsing sunlight that suffuses Alfred’s every cell and earned him the “honor” of being the Beltane sacrifice. With one decisive move, he sinks is cock into Alfred’s entrance. It is absolute bliss: Alfred is loose enough that he yields wonderfully, but so tight, squeezing Arthur with warmth and undiluted desire.

Alfred sighs, hums, moans contentedly as Arthur fills him. Of course, Arthur fits perfectly inside him, it could never have been otherwise. When his body pulses now, it is to pull Arthur in, to hold him, and there is no more emptiness. In the aftermath of his first orgasm, he is pliant and sweet and welcoming. He wraps his arms around Arthur's neck, feeling more in love with him than ever, and doesn’t even notice his own cock getting hard again.

Arthur moves slowly at first, letting the moon rock him against Alfred like the tide. He kisses Alfred over and over and reaches down to stroke his cock. “Good boy,” he murmurs next to Alfred’s temple. “Such a good boy for me.”

Alfred’s eyes roll back as the head of Arthur’s cock strikes his prostate again and again, accurately, but far too languidly. Arthur doesn’t pull out very far, but it’s enough that Alfred can feel and hear how slick Arthur made him. “I love you,” he sighs.

At that, Arthur drives into him harder, a little faster. “I know, pet. I’m so very glad you do.” He watches Alfred’s face, but the human shows no distress at his confession not being reciprocated, if anything, he seems more blissful than before. He begins thrusting in and out of Alfred’s willing body even faster, pumping the boy’s cock and letting the pleasure build up between them. “You are so lovely,” he says; it would be breathless except that Arthur doesn’t breathe.

Alfred orgasms again in no time at all, being young and inexperienced and sensitive, he cries out, begging Arthur for more, to move faster, to never stop.

Arthur rolls his hips in a staccato rhythm, melting at the way Alfred’s body grips him and pulls him in, holds him tightly. Whatever magic forms his makeshift heart receives Alfred’s unadulterated love and feeds on it. This is how Alfred should be feasted upon, Arthur thinks distantly. He comes, plunged all the way inside Alfred, quivering violently due to his own sensitivity, and he buries his face in Alfred’s neck as he fills him with cum. “Beautiful,” he groans, scraping his fangs against Alfred’s skin when he kisses and sucks marks into it, without drawing blood. He’s careful not to draw blood. They might smell blood.

Alfred arches and squirms as Arthur fills him in hot spurts that seem to be endless. But eventually, Arthur falls into the leafy bed next to them—the leaves and sweet grasses having morphed into ferns, royal and maidenhair. Alfred tucks himself against Arthur, head under his chin and admires his wings for the first time, though he dares not touch.

The witching hour is nearly over. Arthur holds Alfred protectively, though Alfred’s body has already been blessed with a spell that cannot be undone to make him ready for Beltane and it cannot be taken back just because he no longer has his name or his virginity. Arthur knows there will be consequences for himself. They can’t kill him and he is bonded to Alfred, so they can’t keep them apart. They could, however, curse his feet to burn with each step or make him feel stabbing pain when Alfred touches him or any number of other cruel and capricious things.

Or they might do nothing at all. The high court fae are fickle and strange like that.

It doesn’t matter. Alfred is safe and whatever happens, Arthur will keep him that way. He will keep him forever.

#ukus #usuk fanfic #spadian ballad #reblogs are love

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itsfeckinwimdy · 2 years

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Arm - Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Reader

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Prompt: after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck.

Word Count: 0.8k (830 words)

Formula 1 Masterlist

Published: 28/06/2022

The brightly lit room in the FIA building was unnerving.

Hospitals. Hospital lighting that glares down at you. That bright fluorescent light capable of haunting your dreams or of putting a wide-awake child to sleep within minutes. The horrible lighting of death. That was what the room reminded her of.

The eighteen drivers had piled their way into the room almost an hour ago now, the young Schumacher unable to attend after his crash and Sebastian Vettel had obtained Covid. Thankfully the younger German was fine and nothing worse had happened to him or else she didn’t know how she would cope.

The adrenaline junkie children had all come to the same conclusion within twenty minutes of them all discussing the topic at hand. None of them wanted to continue with the race here this weekend. Would they get listened to though? Fuck no.

The following hour passed slowly as she tried to keep herself occupied and not sink into the waves building up in her chest threatening to pull her under.

More people entered to room. Team principles. Bosses. Head of departments. FIA staff members.

Her eyes flittered around the room as she searched for faces she knew, the floor of the steps beneath her now feeling scratchy and course to the skin. Her body temperature began to rise, the red bull shirt feeling uncomfortable, the mask on her face too restricting. She clenched her fists, her bitten nails only providing pressure to the center of her palms rather than ripping open the flesh.

Everything was too much.

She didn’t want to be here.

She didn’t want to race this weekend.

It’s too hot.

There's too much.

She wants out.

There's too much in the room.

Mick’s not here.

Where's Max?

Why.

Just leave.

Her head dropped down as she wrapped her arms around her torso, her leg starting to bounce without her realising. She was crying. Why was she crying? No, stop crying.

She tried to control her breathing which only caused her to panic more.

Max had been deep in conversation with Charles and Lando as he took another sip of his Redbull. He was bored of waiting for this meeting to come to an end and all he wanted was to sleep in the surprisingly comfy hotel bed next to his partner ready for the race tomorrow.

He looked up and around the room to see where she was, or if she had moved from where they were sat before he'd been forcibly dragged away by the Monegasque lad. His eyes landed on her and upon switching his attention away from the conversation, slight panic filled him.

Max immediately made his way over to her, pushing past people in his way, not caring if he was being rude. It didn't matter to him at that moment and being honest, wouldn't matter to him later. All that did, was getting to her.

He crouched down in front of her, his right knee clicking in the process. That wasn't something he focused on, probably just a build-up of pressure from him being stood up to long. She was more important at this moment.

Not just this moment, every moment.

"Schatje," He began, attempting to get her attention without touching her, "It's me."

His eyebrows creased as he noticed her rapid breathing pace and the tears falling freely from her eyes, "Schatje, I need you to breathe with me okay?

"In," he spoke counting to four in his mind, "An out. Keep doing that for me, okay?"

He slowly reached a hand forward and gently placed it on hers, waiting for her to turn her own over to hold his before he made another move, all the while talking her through breathing. He knew what he was doing, how to help her. At the same time a part of him wished she didn't have to suffer through anxiety attacks, he was determined to learn every way to help her.

As time passed, her breathing evened out, and her hand which she ended up turning and clasping Max's with, loosened from the tight grip she enforced on it. Her mask was damp and stained with tears so she was now focused on changing it. It was better she drew her attention to that and Max, rather than the accumulation of stares the fellow drivers had on her. They just wanted to see if she was okay.

Max gently removed his hand from hers, causing her eyes to focus on his movements. His hand dragged up her forearm, his touch gentle as he reached her bicep, pausing to see if she was uncomfortable. Seeing her make no move to push him away, he continued his hand's movements, his hand coming to a stop against her neck.

Closing her eyes she leant forward and rested her forehead against his. No more words were spoken as they ignored everything happening around them. Just the two of them present in their little bubble.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #type: romantic #pronouns: she/her #fic: drabble/imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula one im #tree writes f1 fics #tree writes stuff

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mywingsareonwheels · 7 months

Text

1974.

Morse is interviewing witnesses to a murder at one of the colleges, and one of them is strikingly familiar. He's a man in his early twenties, a recent medical graduate back visiting friends before heading off to move into a totally different career. He has a posh accent, a friendly smile, warm brown eyes.

Oh he's truly, desperately familiar, and Morse isn't looking too hard into his own motives when he lets the younger man talk him into a drink out, and then a one-night stand, and then something rather more like a friendship played out over Scotch and crosswords and literary quotations.

[More behind the cut....]

He does mention, briefly, that his new friend reminded him of someone else on first meeting. And somehow that turns into a discussion of ancestry, and the young man discusses with some glee the skeleton in his family cupboard: the fact that his paternal grandmother when barely eighteen had a dalliance with a working-class ruffian of the same age from Mile End, of all places. That she'd got pregnant, but her parents wouldn't let her tell the lad, but instead got her engaged to a somewhat stuffy friend of theirs called Richardson.

"Dad hates to talk about it," says Morse's friend, "he's rather a stuffed shirt, especially for a surgeon. But Granny used to love telling me stories. She did come to love my Granddad, I think, but she missed that boy from Mile End all her life." He chuckles, but a little shakily, because he has yet to learn the effortless-seeming confidence he'll spread before him one day. "I'd give anything to meet him."

Morse swallows, heart suddenly in his mouth. And something in his face makes the young man carry on, more intensely.

"Granny told me that she named Dad after him, though he doesn't know. So that's what I have: Frederick, from Mile End. Fathered a child around 1930 when he was just a lad and doesn't even know he did." He laughs, wryly. "Not much to go on, is it."

"Douglas," says Morse, and his voice is shaking but there's a smile in his eyes. "I... I'll need to look into this, but I think. I mean. I think I can help."

The postcard is of York Minster, which is only a half hour drive from where three exiles from Oxford have settled. On the back it reads just:

"Sir,

Un bel di, please could we talk? There's someone I think you should meet. Bring 2 rounds ham and tomato sandwiches. --"

At the day and time thus ordered, Fred Thursday finds Morse standing admiring the rose window, and follows him out to a bench in the Minster gardens. He's torn between confusion and shame, though above all trying to hide how overjoyed he is to see the rusty curls and those haughty, sea-green eyes again. When Morse explains, and introduces the young trainee pilot with a face Fred remembers from his mirror as a long-lost grandson... well, it's good he's already sitting down, is all.

The years past, and they are gentler than they might have been.

Fred lives to see his grandson a captain, to meet his great-granddaughter. To introduce his grandson to his uncle and step-grandmother and eventually even his aunt. To become friends with Morse again, even if quietly, and for the most part only by letter. To relish that Douglas and Morse, despite occasionally enraging each other beyond reason, seem to be friends for life. (He suspects that they might once have been more than that; if they aren't going to tell him though, he's not going to point it out.) Something healed in him that day in York, and it never breaks again.

When Captain Douglas Richardson puts down the bottle, in an attempt to salvage something of his career and his relationship with his daughter, perhaps it's partly because he's still grieving for his grandfather, dead some ten years now, but most of all because he's still grieving for his friend and one-time lover, and doesn't want to die so young himself.

When First Officer Douglas Richardson meets his new captain at MJN's portacabin in Fitton, he's a little strikingly familiar too. He's shorter, and more pompous, and vastly less good at word games, but there are rusty curls and haughty sea-green eyes.

He's no relation of Morse's at all though, it turns out. This is, eventually, rather a relief.

#ficlet #itv endeavour #e morse #endeavour morse #cabin pressure #douglas richardson #fred thursday #martin crieff #well this rather ran away from me but hopefully someone else will have fun with it too ;-)#ridiculous crossover time #endeavour #roger allam #long post #tw alcoholism mention #tw canonical character deaths #tw complicated family history mention

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the-avengers-ate-my-tongue · 2 years

Text

Transpassing

Summary: You're a cradle witch, and there hasn't been one of your kind in centuries. But even the most powerful creatures must know the rules of the universe.

Pairing: Morpheus x Witch!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault and abortion. I wrote this as a prequel of must be the season of the witch, but it can be read regardless.

English is not my first language, if you see any mistake, let me know!

Word count: 3092

Craydon, USA, 1698

The forest was strangely quiet that evening. You could hear nor crickets, bats, owls or any other animals, only the cold wind rocking the leaves of the tall trees of Mudwood. The moon shone bright like a silver coin on the dark, cloudless sky, lighting the path to your cottage.

Odd. Odd evening. Something was in the way, you could sense it. The air was different, somehow; thicker, heavier, with a suffocating sweetness, like snake venom.

You sighed, crossing your arms with a slight frown. Great day for Sonja to go to town and leave you all alone. You remembered her orders; "there's someone coming to make a request. If I don't get home till then, you must offer your aid". It wasn't the first time you took over a client, but never without her supervision. Not that you were insecure or anything, just… That damn sensation that something was off was getting on your nerves. Shivers have been afflicting your spine for the last hour and, for a brief moment, you wished for Sonja to come back sooner.

Steps agitated the grass, moist with the night dew. You raised your head quickly, seeing the small figure of a girl that looked no older than eighteen coming to your cottage. Must be the one Sonja told me about, you thought, letting your arms loose and trying to look more welcoming. She seemed distressed; dark shadows under her weary dark eyes that avoided yours, arms tightly holding her own body. With a better look on her face under the pale light of the candles, you recognized her. Nancy Plath. Daughter of the magistrate, the youngest of her sisters. She was fifteen, if you remembered correctly; it was rare for such a young girl to look for yours and Sonja's services. That could only mean one thing.

"I greet you, Nancy Plath. Come inside" you opened the wooden door behind you, letting her through. If she seemed surprised you knew her name, she had not shown.

She gave you the basket she held, probably containing the required by Sonja as payment. It was often hard for the both of you to travel far to buy provisions, so sometimes you demanded groceries as a token of gratitude.

"Would you like some tea? Biscuits? Please, have a seat. I don't bite."

She looked at you with an uneasy stare, but sat on the stiff sofa, accepting a cup of tea.

"What’s in this?" She asked timidly, raising her eyes slightly.

"Just plain lavender. For your nerves" you replied with a chuckle. You were used to the mistrust of the locals, even if they were in desperate need of your services. When she seemed embarrassed, you assured her it was all right. "You won't be the first nor the last to be suspicious. And, truth be told, you're not wrong. One can never be too careful."

She nodded, sipping the tea, still seeming uneasy. You waited patiently until she felt safe enough to share the reason for her visit, not rushing her in any way. Clearly, it was something very serious and possibly traumatic. In any case, you weren't in a hurry.

"All I say here shall never be heard by others, right?" She finally inquired after a few minutes, still avoiding your gaze.

You smiled assuredly, nodding.

"Of course not. Your troubles are your own. It concerns no other." You studied her with anticipation.

She sighed, covering her face in her hands, surrendering to violent sobs that made her entire body tremble. Your heart ached a bit, and you couldn't avoid feeling sorry for her.

"Allow me to help you, Nancy. What can I do to ease your pain?"

"Are you… are you acquainted with Jonathan Gray?"

You sighed. The Gray lad again, of course. He aimed high this time though, the daughter of the magistrate? What a scandal that would be.

"Many girls that come here have been bringing him up, lately. You seem to be the youngest one yet. Do you wish to tell me what happened?" Even if I already know the answer to that question, you completed mentally.

"My father threw a dinner party a few months ago, to celebrate my engagement with Peter Marcher. Jonathan Gray is one of his closest friends so, naturally, he was invited. My father and him happened to become close with the share of some values in common, so he started to frequent my house a lot more."

She stopped to gather her breath, cleaning her tears with a brisk wipe of her hand.

"One night, last month, my father invited him to stay for the night, since it was already rather late. He came to my chambers in the middle of the night, and… he forced himself onto me. Since then, I haven't got my blood. I'm ruined!" She covered her face again, her voice raising a few tones. "If it was only the… the act, that could be handled. But a child! He ruined me completely. I cannot have this baby, so one of the maids told me about you. I'll pay as much as you require. And the nightmares…” She grasped her head with both hands. “I'm begging you, just help me."

You instinctively held one of her hands, caressing her with tenderness and bringing her comfort. That poor child. Anger boiled in your chest, as an ocean in your veins. Something ought to be done about the Gray lad. You would take care of it.

"Fear not, my sister. You shall not be ruined. We will take care of that. As for Jonathan Gray, he will not be a problem for much longer."

Your tone went darker as you mentioned the lad, turning your back to Nancy as you started to gather some herbs to make her a tea to get rid of her problem.

"Do you have someone you trust to brew these herbs for you? I can deliver you the finished tea, but you would have to come here again to fetch it."

"I can handle it. Coming here once was already difficult. Just tell me what to do."

"Very well." You put the herbs on a glass pot, sealing it tightly. As you gave her the instructions to the tea, she already seemed more hopeful, nodding attentively.

After thanking you profusely, she turned to leave, but stopped on her tracks, avoiding facing you.

"What… What will you do to him? To Jonathan?"

You couldn't help but smile darkly, raising your chin with a dangerous look.

"Do not concern yourself with this matter anymore. All shall be dealt with. Blessed be, sister. Go home safe and in peace." You wished, stepping forward to shut the door, alone once more. A wicked little smile decorated your lips. You knew exactly what to do, even though it was one of the deeds that had been strictly forbidden by Sonja.

You would enter the domains of his dreams and make the nasty man pay for his doings.

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

You felt your body light as a feather as you laid on the bed, closing your eyes and concentrating.

"In regna somniorum intrao, Jonathan Gray, somnia tua mea sunt." You repeated the Latin words for in the dream domain I enter, Jonathan Gray, your dreams are mine until you felt your conscience disconnected from your body, a dim image floating on the back of your brain.

You opened your eyes. The smell of wet dirt filled your nostrils, the warm sunlight bathing your skin. You breathed the clean air of the field, listening to the birds chirping happily. Again, rage made your blood boil. That poor girl was getting nightmares every night, and this foul creature was getting the sweetest of dreams. How was that fair?

You turned around to see Jonathan Gray laying down under a tree, no worries at all, staring at the horizon with a pensive look. You came closer, catching his attention with a seductive smile on your face, stopping right in front of him.

"Well, hello there. What is a pretty thing like you doing all alone here? These are dangerous fields, you know" he cooed, a foul, maleficent smile deforming his already unpleasant features.

You swallowed your own disgust, smiling wider.

"I've always bathed in this lake, so you're invading my safe place. But… if you wish so…" you began to untie your vestments, walking towards the water. "You may join me."

His eyes widened and, with a large smile, he started to get undressed.

Once both of you were completely bare, you pulled him by the hand to the warm waters of the dark lake, enjoying how already seduced and under your spell he was. It was perfect. How easy it would be to make sure Jonathan Gray never hurt anyone else.

"What is your name, my beauty?" He inquired, his hands traveling through your torso.

"You may call me that, in fact. My beauty."

"It certainly suits you." He moaned lightly when you licked his earlobe, biting it. "I simply must have you".

You chuckle slightly, holding his shoulders, your nails scratching the light skin.

"Yes? What would you do to make this happen?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you wish, my lady, it shall be yours. I'm your man"

"Indeed you are. Alright then, Jonathan. There is something I want. Would you grant me that wish?

You leaned in to lick his earlobe again, but this time, a snake tongue came out of your lips, the hissing noise startling him.

"My lady?" He inquired, pushing you lightly to look at your face, gasping at the sight of your now crimson eyes and sharp teeth.

"Die, Jonathan Gray" you commanded, and his body was pulled underwater even before he could scream, his lungs filling with the now iced water of the lake.

You didn't have time to rejoice in your doing, though. Everything turned black, the cold void swallowing you whole. You gasped as you looked around, trying to control your nerves.

"You dare to enter my realm uninvited?" A voice echoed through your ears, so loud you frowned a bit, holding your head. The energy and power of the being that addressed you made you instantly be aware of your terrible mistake. "You dare to use the Dreaming to your own affairs?"

As a whiplash jolted your body backwards, you felt yourself fall abruptly in your bed, gasping for air. What the hell was that? What happened?

You were not alone. There was a presence in your cottage, something that made your blood freeze in your veins. You raised your head, sitting back on the bed quickly once you realized a tall, dark haired man stared at you a few feet away. There was a raven on his shoulder, and it cawed, paying attention to you.

"Who are you? I demand you tell me your name!" You tried to look less scared and more frightening than you really were, but your voice betrayed you, crackling slightly.

The raven haired man stepped closer, looking, if possible, even more pale and menacing with your question, his eyes glowing in the dark. You realized he had blown all your candles.

"I have an arrangement with your kind, witch" he spit the title as he would do with a curse. His voice was deep, raspy, and you felt as if you'd heard it before, somehow. "The Dreaming is never to be used as a tool for your services, nor should you enter without a proper invitation of its ruler."

A long time ago, Sonja had told you about The Endless, anthropomorphic beings that ruled the domains responsible for the pillars of mankind. She said you were unlikely to ever encounter one of them someday, but they existed, so the witches owed them proper respect.

Big mistake, Y/n. Huge. You've angered the Dream Lord, one of the most powerful of the Endless.

"I understand my infraction, my lord. However, it didn't seem fair that a creature such as Jonathan Gray should have such lovely dreams while six girls from the village suffer with memories and nightmares caused by him." You tried to humble yourself a bit, but failed miserably, your tone getting slightly arrogant.

The Endless' eyes glowed even more, his voice feeling like daggers in your skin. You tried to control your breathing, the waves of power flowing through your chest, tingling your spine.

"Know your place, or I shall remind it to you" he commanded, chin lifting menacingly. "Are you suggesting how I should rule my own realm?

You hesitated, wanting badly to say yes, but aware of the possible consequences to your audacity.

"Lord Morpheus." A calm voice echoed through the cottage, and you saw Sonja cross the gateway, putting a large basket on the table and curtsying with elegance to the king of dreams. "Forgive my protégée. She's young and reckless, and only one of them I’m able to correct. As you know, a cradle witch might be a handful in early years."

"A cradle witch, you say?" He inquired, lifting one of his eyebrows, the most significant facial expression you've seen him display until that moment. "The first in many centuries."

"Indeed. So you understand how crucial she is to my kind, and how erratic they can be. I apologize profoundly for her misdemeanor, and I assure you that will not happen again."

You felt idiotic, as she was talking about a child throwing a tantrum. As if you weren't even there. You felt your temper begin to rise again and, before you could control yourself, you rambled once more.

"Jonathan Gray's been deflowering and violating women for the past months with no punishment, and you expect me to stand still and not defend my sisters in any way I can? Typical of a man, teaming up with your equals, Endless or not…"

You couldn't finish what you were saying, for a hard slap pushed you straight to the floor, blood flowing through your lips. You widen your eyes to Sonja, covering your mouth with your hand. She'd never hit you before.

"Silence, stupid child. Show Lord Morpheus some respect!" She hissed with fury, shocking you. That was the first time she'd ever been hostile.

A low hiss caught your attention, and your familiar, a black venomous snake called Kyrax, crawled up your body, resting on your neck, a silent warning to Sonja and anyone who dared to hurt you.

"It's okay, Kyrax. I'm fine" you assured, getting up with your legs trembling and shame making your cheeks flushed.

"I admire your passion." an unknown voice made you raise your ashamed gaze, staring at the raven. It spoke! It was a she! Her tone was kinder than anyone's there, and she seemed less likely to scold you and understand your side of the story. "However, there are rules that must be followed, Y/n."

You nodded once, raising your eyes only to her.

"I understand…"

"Jessamy."

"Jessamy. I understand, what I did wasn't right. And I apologize profoundly for it. Nevertheless, there's a young girl in pain and having terrible nightmares for the deeds of others, and I promised to help her. That 's all I want."

"I'll trust you to control your disciple in the future, McTavish." Lord Morpheus addressed to Sonja, nodding once to you. "And I hear your plea. Learn to be more humble on your requests, Y/L/N. I do not wish to come back to delegate you a punishment. As I said before, know your place."

You bit your tongue with so much strength so you wouldn't answer impolitely that you just curtsied with your head low, smiling to Jessamy only, receiving a soft caw in return. For a moment, however, you allowed yourself to take a proper look at the Endless face, parting your lips slightly with how beautiful he was. Now that you were staring at him without fear or your nerves striking in, he seemed to have a light of his own, the eyes that had the glow of a thousand stars, the dark, messy hair, the black attire, the albescent, almost marmoreal-like skin, the heart-shaped pink lips. Ethereal.

You realized you were staring for too long and lowered your eyes, a bold smirk in your lips. He seemed to fathom your cheekiness, but no expression ever showed. He simply nodded to you, but you could swear on your life you saw one of the corners of his lips slightly rise.

"Until we meet again, Y/L/N." He said in his deep voice and, before you could reply, he disappeared in a cloud of sand.

You turned to face Sonja, who still looked hopelessly mad.

"In my defense, she was fifteen, Sonja." Kyrax was still curled around your neck, eying Sonja with distrust. "Nancy Plath. You know her. She's a sweet girl."

"You were reckless, arrogant, selfish and childish. I'm very disappointed, Y/n."

"Wow, so many adjectives…"

"Hush now, girl! Do you have any idea of the danger we were in? One must never catch the attention of the Endless, have I not told you this many times?"

"You told me once, I must have forgotten." You replied with sarcasm, leaving the other witch paler with rage. "Sonja, I love you. You took care of me all those years, and I'm grateful. Truly."

You stepped in her direction with a menacing expression and a malicious little smirk.

"But touch me again and it will be the last time you'll have hands. Are we understood?"

Sonja raised her chin in an attempt of looking less preoccupied, but she was just a contract witch. You were a cradle one, much more powerful than she would ever be. You could wipe her from existence with a snap of your pretty fingers.

You turned around, going to your room, feeling very important with your threat.

"You should go out and harvest some chamomile, juniper, thyme… even some belladonna, if you must." She cooed in a condescending tone.

You faced her again, annoyed.

"Whatever for?"

"The nightmares you're about to have. The king of dreams and ruler of nightmares is rarely merciful." She smiled with irony.

You clenched your jaw, raising your chin with arrogance before leaving for your room. You wondered if she was right, though. For precaution, you made some spells for a nice night of sleep and drank some of the last remains of the lavender tea, laying down with expectations.

You didn't know about nightmares, but part of you were eager to see the dream lord again.

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xcherrypie · 2 months

Text

Back home

Summary: You and Sam visit your parents and it brings back all your teenage memories.

Words: 1.2k

You’ve always been a family girl, and as much as you loved living with Sam, you were feeling quite homesick lately and FaceTiming your parents from three hours across the country just wasn’t the same. Sam being your boyfriend of five years knew you better than yourself and could see you were longing to go visit your parents and spend some time at home, so he suggested you both go see them over the weekend, after all he had a week off from gigs and couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than putting a smile back on your face.

“Do you think pickle will remember me?” Sam questioned. “Babe it’s been two months I really don’t think he’s going to of forgotten you already” you chuckled in response. Pickle was your childhood dog that Sam absolutely adored, after all it was the whole reason your parents found out about the two of you back when you was seventeen.

You used to sneak Sam into your house to avoid the ‘no boyfriends til your eighteen’ telling off from your dad. However pickle had other ideas when he woke your parents one night by barking so loud in excitement upon sams arrival, that the two of you were met by your parents at the bottom of the stairs, and that was the first time they met Sam and despite not being best pleased with your sneaking around at first, they had nothing but love for Sam as your relationship continued on.

Sam lifts his hand from your thigh to indicate down the road of your family home. “Nearly there” he announces with a smile on his face. As he pulls into the drive you notice your dad get up from his usual spot on the living room sofa and before you can even get out the car your mum has opened the front door to greet you. “Y/n, Sam your here” your mum smiled, instantly brining you in for a cuddle. “You alright pet” your dad says pulling from a hug and ruffling your hair. Shortly behind you followed Sam with all your bags for the weekend. “You could of helped the poor lad” your dad laughed at you, walking over to your boyfriend to assist him with your excessive amount of luggage. “She’s never been one for packing light has she” your mum teases bringing Sam in for a hug.

You all swiftly move in to the living room where you both plonk down onto the sofa in unison and it’s not long before Pickle had sniffed out your boyfriend and after lots of excited little barks settles on his lap. “Ay you don’t know how much I’ve missed your cuppas y/m/n” Sam beams taking the hot mug from your mums hand gratefully. “Y/n certainly didn’t get her tea making skills from you” he continued, you respond with a light shove and roll of your eyes. “At least I can make a slice of toast without burning it” you respond playfully.

You loved Sam for countless different reasons but this being one of the greatest, he was so close to your family and they loved him almost as much as you do, since the two of you started dating he’d been involved in everything from big family events to Friday night game nights that your aunt would host, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

After a couple hours of catching up with your parents you decide you want to take a walk through the village with Sam and feed the ducks. Such a simple thing but something that means so much to you, sometimes with your boyfriends fame it meant that you both couldn’t enjoy the little things together without being approached or photographed, so you wanted to take the time to do something you both would do when you were younger. Sam chuckled at the suggestion but of course agreed and you set off with a loaf of bread from your mams cupboard.

“I love you ,ya know” Sam exclaimed, bringing you into his arms whilst you sat on the park bench. You looked up at him, a smile can’t help forming on your lips. “I love you too Samuel” you smirk as he plants a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose. Before he could continue you bounce up taking him by the hand. “Come on, let’s head back, I’ve got a surprise for you later” Sam raised his eyebrows in response, pulling you closer by your hips. “Oh really” he hummed playfully hovering his lips over yours. “Not that kind of surprise Fender, get your mind out the gutter” you laugh gently pushing him away. “Sorry, can’t help it” Sam frowned, like a little kid who’s just been told off.

Same fingers traced the sides of your waist as you lay inbetween his legs, both engrossed in what was on your television of your childhood room. It felt so strange cuddling with Sam in your old room, something you used to do so regularly and now your there again, except five years older and even more in love with him than you was when you first met him back at school.

“I’m starving” Sam groaned into your neck, causing a huff from you in response. “I know love i ordered half an hour ago it shouldn’t be long now” you assured him. “Will you give me a clue at least of what you’ve ordered us” he sighed pulling you onto his lap to straddle him. “No, you can wait” you smile stubbornly, leaning down and pecking his lips. Before you could continue further you hear the doorbell ring, signalling your food arrived. “Right close your eyes I’ll be back in a second” you beam, heading for your bedroom door. “Okay okay”

“And open” you cheer. Excited for your boyfriend to see the food you’d been making him wait for. You had laid the pizza boxes in-front of Sam hoping he’d see the name of the restaurant on the box and recall what you’d done. When you and Sam first met he took you to a pizza restaurant located in the middle of both your houses in your little local village, and ever since it was your go to spot for food together, you we’re probably their most loyal customers. “Your so cute” Sam laughed as he opened his eyes. “Worth the wait?” You questioned. Sam nodded in response already shoving a slice in his mouth.

One thing about you and Sam is you could eat, your both foodies so together absolutely demolished the takeaway in-front of you. However the downfall to this is that you always end up in a food coma and fall fast asleep within twenty minutes, safe to say this time was no different. Sam pulled your throw other the two of you and kissed your head, knowing your now out for the count. He couldn’t help but pull out his phone and snap a photo of you snuggled into him, to then upload on his instagram story with the caption “Sleepy Bairn”He knew you’d kill him for it in the morning, but he couldn’t help himself, he just loved to show of how lucky he was.

Notes: Hey guys, I haven’t posted in literally forever so I hope you all enjoy this very fluffy one shot! x

#imagines #sam fender #boyfriend imagine #fanfic #sam fender imagines #sam x reader #fluff #one shot #indie music #sam fender x reader #Spotify

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slutforsfender · 1 year

Text

𝐬𝐢𝐱 - 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

"A night out? In North Shields?" I question Phoebe.

"Aye, come on," She says, not thinking about what she is saying.

"Okay, Phoebe there are a few reasons behind my very definite no like the fact it's North Shields and the clubs are you know in the centre of Newcastle which we both definitely don't want to go to" I explain with a deadpan look and tone.

"I don't see your point. Pubs are the new night out" She backfires.

"What about the fact that we both know everyone here so anyone you went home with there would be consequences and most people we know our age are settling down" I state.

"I'll ignore the fact there was no we in going home with someone" She smirks.

"Also I really don't fancy going to a pub with a bunch of people crowding me and asking me why I'm back with the possibility of seeing Sam again because we both know he will also be out just for a canny night when we could just have one here," I say, walking over to lean against the kitchen counter.

"He's always in Low Lights and we just won't go there. Come on Bella, please" She practically begs with her hands, giving me puppy eyes.

"She's right yanno. That lad doesn't go anywhere but the Low Lights" My granny pipes in, entering the kitchen.

"Yeah, but Gran the Chase is on tonight and we all love it," I say, trying to convince her with my pleading eyes.

"Arabella, I am not letting my beautiful twenty-eight granddaughter waste another night back home watching quiz programs with me and your old grump. You deserve another lad that is not fictional. Now lass go get up those bloody stairs and get ready" She says, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me towards the stairs while winking at Phoebe.

I sigh with a roll of my eyes as Phoebe follows me upstairs to begin our night.

We empty my whole wardrobe onto my bed to find suitable outfits for the night. Well, I say we, more Phoebe as I sit flicking through songs in playlists.

"Okay, I got the perfect outfits" She shrieks, throwing two outfits onto the bed.

We spend the next two hours doing hair and makeup, bringing it all together. I'm not even gonna lie we look drop-dead gorgeous right now.

"Night out in the toon" Phoebe shouts, making me laugh uncontrollably like an eighteen-year-old again causing chaos, as we walk downstairs she pulls me down to grab our things.

We link arms as we walk through the familiar streets. I was awaiting the whispers but nothing, the streets were empty. Everybody was having their night out.

Eventually, we reach one of the pubs and walk in meeting the smell of alcohol and loud music. I pause a second, weirdly shocked.

"What's up? Forgotten a Shields night out, London girl" Phoebe says in my ear, making me laugh.

"Take the girl out of Shields Pheebs," I say, walking over to the bar and asking for shots.

"Straight in with it"

"It's a night out after all"

We spend the majority of the night on the dance floor or at our table, talking away with copious amounts of alcohol. I felt like I was eighteen again with Phoebe, except I wasn't drinking away the pain. Well, a little over the same guy.

I hear a bunch of noise from a table near and pause in shock. There they all were. Him. His mates. Phoebe follows my eye direction and pauses herself.

"Shit, you alright?"

"Aye, I'll get us another drink"

I race up to the bar, grabbing onto the bar and breathing deeply. Fuck.

I order us both another pint and a few shots. But as the bartender passes me the drinks, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

Do not be him I silently beg.

I turn around slightly to see a brunette in front of me.

"Hi, I couldn't help but notice you and I just wanted to say you look incredible"

"Oh thank you," I say slightly blushing as I hand the bartender my money.

"No worries. You okay? You seem like you've seen a ghost" He asks, as I check on Phoebe, who herself had found a guy.

"Aye well, you could say that," I say, thinking to myself the ghost of my past maybe.

We get to talking a bit, and Noah, as I learned, seems really lovely. He's not from Shields, he's from centre Newcastle which is great.

"I can't lie, you look really pretty tonight," He says in a completely innocent tone with the most dangerous words.

"You look pretty today"

Here we go. Rapid heartbeat, no control over breathing, tears threatening.

I mutter a sorry and run out of the bar as quickly as I could, not even daring to look at Sam.

I race home, trying to breathe in the cold air. But it didn't work, it never does. Stupid words. Stupid boy.

As I walk onto a nearby street, I hear a voice behind me. A too-familiar voice. I speed up. Not now. Not ever. Please.

Soon enough he grabs my hand and spins me around to face him. Don't look in his eyes, Arabella. I did it. Just don't cry, don't show weakness.

"Are you okay? I saw you run out and I couldn't not come to check on you" He spurts out after a few seconds that felt like hours.

"I'm fine. Go home" I say, trying to remain stern.

"Did he hurt you? Try owt?" He asks as I become aware his hand is still touching mine. I pull it away.

"No Sam, it wasn't him"

I try to walk away but he doesn't let me.

"Arabella, you clearly aren't okay. Come to the beach with me, the different feelings and smells will calm you down remember" He asks, recalling my anxiety attacks.

This is so different and his fault but I agree. The walk there was tense, with so many unspoken words in the air. My trauma attack, felt at ease though around the person who caused them.

We sit on some rocks, watching the ocean sway back and forth. That beach smells hits my nose. The black sky causes a glow on the ripples. Picture perfect.

He had his hands in his pockets, his old nervous tell. His hair going everywhere cause of the wind. I couldn't help but smile, an old habit never dies.

"Why did you run out? Was it me?" He whispers into the air,

"It's always you" I whisper back.

The truth. Every attack, every cry, every song, every smile. It's him.

"Oh," He says, shocked.

Silence again.

"Why are you back?" He asks.

"Hadn't been home in a while and my family plus Pheebs wanted me back. You weren't meant to be here or I wasn't meant to see you" I say, shocked by the truth. Must be the alcohol.

"Your eyes"

I give him a confused glance.

"That's the thing that I see all the time like a reminder of my mistake," He says with a deep breath.

"I ran out because he called me pretty" Sam probably wouldn't understand but the only way to follow the truth is with another whether they understand or not.

"Why can't I let you go Rose?" Sam whispers into the air once again.

----

hi! been a while my loves. honestly I needed a break from life so I thought I'd use it wisely and write this. it might not be as good as my other stuff but I kinda wanted it to be messy because this whole Sam and Arabella thing is messy which is true to the reasoning behind this book. enjoy my loves.

#sam fender concert #sam fender x reader #sam fender #sam fender smut #sam fender imagines #fanfic #hope youre all well #wattapad #surprise #request #indie #one shot #oneshot #imagines #imagine

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jabbage · 1 year

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#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

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jgvfhl · 1 year

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The Number Lad Is A Menace

And of course by Thee Number Lad, I mean my darling Sevenset :) This is one more chapter of silliness for everyone to enjoy! I'll be honest, the next chapter might come a little later than April 1st because of my chock-a-block full schedule right now, but it will happen in April!!! We gotta start the next arc!!! I'm so excited!! Thank you to everyone who's been reading these chapters, I really appreciate it.

Words: ~4100 Warnings: None Link to the Masterlist of Chapters Link to the story on Ao3 if that's easier for folks (it's still 1 chapter behind, but it'll be up to date by the next installment)

Sevenset looked up from his little sketchbook, finally noticing the bunks around him in the temporary barracks on Rancor’s Venator cruiser were filling up. He checked the time on his vambrace.

Huh.

Okay, well, he hadn’t meant to spend almost two hours designing his next tattoo, but these things happened. He added the last few lines and snapped the book shut around his pencil, wrapping the elastic band around the book and tucking it under his pillow.

Upon attempting to stand, his body informed him he had been sitting in a horrible position for almost two hours, and standing so quickly was not possible right now.

“Ow,” he muttered, stretching his legs out and leaning down to touch the toes of his boots.

“Yeah, it looked like you were doing your best impression of an ithorian down there.”

Sevenset looked up, finding his squadmate Buster lying in his bunk, prepped for sleep cycle, which was due to start for them in a few minutes.

“Was it any good?” he asked, finally standing up slowly to stretch his back.

Buster frowned. “Dunno, you don’t quite have the face for it.”

A lump in the bunk underneath Buster grumbled. “Would you shut up ‘n sleep?”

Buster smiled, leaning over the side to look down. His field partner Sketch valued his sleep like a dragon did its hoard, and right now, only the man’s mohawk and little strips of the pink-dyed buzzed hair either side were visible over the edge of the blanket pulled up over his face.

“Sorry, Sketch,” Sevenset said, a little quieter. “I’ll leave you to your beauty rest.”

Sketch grumbled again and Buster gave a small smile before settling back on his mattress. “Have fun on the night shift,” he said.

“Oh, I always do,” Sevenset replied, finding his kit and putting it on. He wasn’t being sarcastic, for once. He really did enjoy the night shift. He’d always been a bit… off as far as circadian rhythm (his squad on Kamino had hated it), so it made perfect sense to him to take the later shifts while he was at his best, and rest when the weirdo “morning people” were up and functional.

He was by the door when Buster called his name–quietly still, so he didn’t wake anyone.

“What?”

Buster held up a datapad. “I forgot to drop this off with the commanders,” he said, handing it down to him. “Do you think you can do that?”

Sevenset considered it. “Well, as long as I know which room I’m going to, shouldn’t be a problem.”

The other ARC rubbed his head, squinting in efforts to recall. “I think Colt is in one-eighteen C? It’s near the bridge, one level up from us.”

He stared at Buster, knowing very well he had no idea the gift he had just given him. He nodded solemnly. “Consider it done, vod,” he said as seriously as he could muster, adding a sharp salute as well.

Buster just rolled his eyes and lay down, shuffling his blanket around as he got comfortable. “Maker help us, you’re somethin’ else, Sevens,” he smiled.

Sevenset grinned back, turning off the lights as he left the room and headed to the briefing room for his shift assignments. Nothing too dramatic, considering they were hurtling through hyperspace, and the truly important people—the engineers, the navigators, the bridge officers—were all taking shifts as well, keeping them on track towards Kamino. But, his light duties did mean he had plenty of time to get them done in a timely fashion, then go see about room 118C and hope its occupant was out of the room…

As was often the case, Sevenset was given inspection duties. He had notable attention to detail and a quick eye for making sure everything was ship-shape in no time, so the COs had no issues handing it off to him time and time again, and he had no issues completing it time and time again. Tonight, it was weapons lock-up with Tracer, one of many ARF troopers that had accompanied this most recent mission.

It was good to have company, given the sheer number of weapons on the cruiser. They divided the work between them and went to it. There was something incredibly satisfying about checking all the boxes off as he went down the racks of blasters and ammunition lining the room. He was done before he’d even had time to properly enjoy the mindlessness of it all.

Tracer glanced over at him when he’d been standing still for too long. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything’s accounted for.”

Tracer blinked. He was almost done, maybe a few racks away from completion. “You’re done?”

“Yeah, I like this kinda gig,” he explained as simply as he could. “Figure it’s why I keep getting the same assignments,” he added with a grin. “Listen, I gotta go drop something with Commander Colt, do you mind if I head out?”

Tracer shook his head. “Nah, go for it.”

So he did. He dropped off the datapad with the inventory with one of the lieutenants, then made his way to a lift and went up the level and towards the bridge in hopes of finding his commander’s room empty and unguarded.

Hopefully.

Force, if he managed to pull this off… He grinned to himself wickedly.

Would it undoubtedly result in disciplinary actions? Yes.

Would pranking Colt be worth it?

Oh hells yeah.

He found room 118C right where Buster had told him. Now, it was normal for a commander’s door to be locked or otherwise secured from the outside, and Sevenset respected this and knew why it was the case. It hadn’t stopped him from creating a device capable of slicing a simple door panel as a one-time-only deal in case of emergency urges to start some shit.

Colt might kill him.

It was a worthy sacrifice.

He knocked on the door and waited, listening intently for a response. Just to be sure, he knocked again, louder, throwing glances down the corridor in either direction to take stock of how many people were around. Not many. When no one answered the door the second time, he tried pushing the button to open it, on the off chance the door was unlocked. It wasn’t.

Time for plan B.

He reached into one of the compartments in his utility belt and found a small electronic device which he stuck to the door control panel. He did his best to be quick, not wanting to attract undue attention while messing with the commander’s door. He pressed the device’s singular button and knocked a third time, waiting for the device to do its work.

In a few seconds, the door slid open, and he snatched the device from the panel and stepped inside.

This ship wasn’t often used, so most of the living and sleeping quarters onboard were sparsely decorated if at all. Troopers were much more likely to leave anything of real sentimental value on Kamino; it was considerably safer. Commander Colt was no exception, and might have had even less stuff in his room than some of his subordinates.

Sevenset set the datapad from Buster down on the desk. He wasn’t a complete asshole: he wasn’t going to get Buster in trouble by making his report hard to find. Surveying the desk, he found a couple stacks of similar datapads, a few crumpled pieces of flimsi, a few loose pencils and styluses, and a mug of stone-cold caff from the mess. Hm…

Looking over to the bed in the same room, he saw it was impeccably made to regulation, the corners tucked in just so, the blanket pulled up and over the pillow. Oh, now that was an idea….

Without waiting to think (because the commander could be back any second), he went to the bed and picked up the entire mattress, awkwardly maneuvering it until he could put it back down 180 degrees from its original position. He tucked the blanket and sheet back in, making the bed up fit to make any CO proud.

Any CO but Colt, actually.

Next, he went to the desk, knowing it would be bad on a few levels to rearrange the datapads and paper on the desk, so he settled for moving the entire piece of furniture two or three inches farther away from the wall. It was a little tricky, because the desk had to be secured to the floor for safety’s sake. But, it was easy enough to unhitch it and slide it down the tracks in the floor a little bit, then fasten it back down. He pushed the chair to the same relative position he’d found it in, and then quickly rearranged the writing utensils and the mug on the desk, leaving the datapads and filmsi untouched.

Stepping back, he took in his handiwork, his mind whirring as he sought out anything else he might be able to do in the precious few seconds he was allowing himself.

His eye fell on the doorway leading to the refresher. Lucky bastards with their own showers, commanders. Well…. He hurried over, his eyes flicking around the room in a heartbeat until they landed on the bar of soap in the shower, and the mirror over the sink.

Perfect.

-scene break-

Sevenset was still buzzing with happy anticipation as he grabbed his “midnight meal” from the mess and found a table to sit down. The night shift was light, as usual, and truthfully, among those present, he wasn’t sure how many would really appreciate his company. He was an acquired taste. So, he found a table along one wall and sat there people-watching while he ate, his eyes always drifting back to the doors, waiting for the inevitable storm his latest prank would bring down.

He finished his meal in peace, dropping the tray and utensils off to be cleaned before heading out again. Until his shift was officially over, he didn’t have much to do except to stay awake and make sure the others not on shift got their rest. Maybe he’d go find a viewport and draw…. Changing trajectory, he started off down the hall back to his barracks room to get his sketchbook and pencils, already planning to take his clunkiest armor pieces off outside the room so he wouldn’t make too much noise. Stealth training could only do so much with all this plastoid clattering around. No one else seemed to notice how loud it was, though. Maybe it was just in his head.

When he turned the corner into the corridor with his room in it, he just as quickly slammed his body back around the corner out of sight upon seeing Commander Colt at his barracks door.

He heard the door slide open, and stuck his head around the corner to see Colt march into the room, switch the lights on, and yell, “Buster! Get up! On your feet, double time, trooper, let’s go!”

Sevenset winced slightly. The commander wouldn’t have known Buster had told him to deliver his report. In reality, he would have walked in, seen the upset, seen a report that had not been there before the upset, and would have immediately sought out the author of said report.

So much for not getting him in trouble.

He crept around the corner and quickly and quietly made his way down the hall until he was just outside the room. He could hear grumbling and creaking bunks from inside, as well as Colt demanding Buster’s explanation as to why his room had been tampered with around the same time his report had appeared on his desk.

Buster, Maker bless him, was not a morning person, and was having considerable difficulty processing the situation.

“I didn’ do anything, sir! I did the report, it’s there–”

“The report is not the karking problem, ARC!”

Plastering an easy smile on his face, he slipped into the room as quietly as he could. Buster was standing at rigid attention looking completely baffled at the commander, who was standing with his fists on his hips, looming over him. Other disgruntled faces poked out from blankets in the other bunks. Sketch looked positively murderous.

“The problem is in fact everything other than the report!” the commander went on, his attention undivided.

Sevenset saw his sketchbook sticking out from under his pillow just to Buster’s left, so he feigned innocent ignorance and went to step around the commander, watching his arms in case his tirade grew more animated all of a sudden.

“You had the audacity–the utter stupidity–to think that was funny–” Commander Colt froze, his helmet turning slowly as he registered Sevenset’s sudden presence at his right shoulder.

“Evening, Commander,” Sevenset chirped, giving a small salute. “Just here for my sketchbook.” He crept closer to it. “Oh, Buster,” he added, “I got that report on his desk just like you asked, don’t worry about it.”

Buster’s rigid stance relaxed out of pure shock for an instant, before jolting back when the commander opened his mouth.

“You.” His hand shot out and grabbed the collar of Sevenset's chestplate. “You did this?”

“Uh… I have been known to do a lot of things, sir,” Sevenset replied. “Some specificity would be greatly appreci–”

“Did you rearrange my kriffing room, Sevenset?” the commander growled, pulling him even closer.

Sevenset made a great show of scrunching his face up as he seemed to think about his answer. “Eh… I’m not sure what I did truly constitutes rearranging, sir. Maybe a little redecoration, a little–auck!”

His response was cut off by the commander turning and dragging him bodily out of the room. He managed to hit the lights on the way out, apologizing to his squadmates as best as he could with the commander’s knuckles pressing into his throat.

When they were outside and half-way down the hall, Commander Colt finally released him. Sevenset had just reached up to adjust his armor back to where it sat most comfortably when he found the commander’s gloved hands grabbing either side of his face.

“What the ever-loving kriff is wrong with you?”

“That’s a loaded question, sir,” he grinned, a little thrown by the odd method of restraint. “You didn’t appreciate the little affirmation I left you?”

The commander’s helmet tilted to one side. “You wrote, ‘Hey there, handsome,’ on the mirror with my bar of soap.”

“It’s always good to start your day with a compliment, sir!”

Commander Colt let go of his face, then flicked his nose, and he yelped.

“Laps,” he said. “Five of them. Now.”

Five wasn’t so bad. He’d be done in no time. He saluted sharply. “Can do, sir!”

As he started to jog down the corridor, he heard the commander call, “This is supposed to be a punishment! Don’t look so kriffing happy about it!”

-scene break-

Rancor Battalion was back on Kamino in another rotation or so, most of the troopers returning immediately to the barracks or to requisition replacement gear for the damage suffered on the mission. Standard practice, at this point. Sevenset was used to the routine, and he liked that it never changed too much, a bit like the Guard back on Coruscant. He went with his squad back to their barracks to put his things away, give Beskar a pat on the dome for taking care of their space in their absence, and maybe grab a snack. Everyone else was settling in for the night, hoping to readjust their internal clocks as fast as possible, and Sevenset reasoned he could do the same, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

He’d told Do-si-do he’d have to host the Numbers meeting this time around, because he’d had no idea if he would have been back in time, and he hadn’t been. Not quite. He could still catch the tail-end of the meeting, if he was lucky. He got to his usual hidey-hole in a rarely-used conference room and lit up the holotable, tuning it to the correct frequency with barely a thought.

Various holograms appeared at once as he connected to the transmission. It appeared the 212th and the Wolfies were on duty, because the meeting was missing Nines and Loops, but everyone else was there, including the commander.

“Sevenset!” Do-si-do beamed. “Dude, you’re just in time. Elevens was gonna tell us about Commander Thire messing with the Chancellor!”

Oh well, this he had to hear. “I am all ears, little bro,” he grinned, leaning on the table in front of him.

Elevensies smiled back. “Okay, so, I heard this from one of my squadmates, who heard it from Captain Iode when he was talking to Commander Stone,” he began. “So it might not be quite what happened.”

“Does it seem like we’ll care if it’s true?” Fives asked. He and Echo were smushed together at one end of a bunk, presumably so Echo could rest his leg on the mattress. “We just care if it’s funny.”

“Okay, yeah.” Elevensies went on. “So, Commander Thire was leading the Chancellor’s escort this morning–like his security detail, right?”

Sevenset nodded, remembering serving exactly one day on that detail before Fox promptly moved him elsewhere. He never did find out if that was because the Chancellor had asked, or if Fox had gotten pissed off…

“So, it’s a lot of standing still while people talk to the Chancellor, and following him around the Senate building and his office–not very exciting.”

He vividly remembered that.

“Commander Thire was standing right next to the Chancellor at some point,” Elevensies continued. “I dunno, maybe the hallway was small, but that doesn’t matter. What matters,” he said with a grin, “is the Chancellor’s robe had a thread loose on the hem.”

Sevenset’s mouth dropped open. “He didn’t.”

Commander Sixes shook his head, rubbing his face. “He absolutely did.”

“He totally did!” Elevensies laughed, throwing his hands up and leaning back against the wall behind him. “He stepped on the thread and unraveled the Chancellor’s robe half-way to his knees!”

Sevenset and most of the others there joined him in cackling at the mental image of the ever-cool and collected Chancellor Palpatine suddenly finding himself bare-legged from the calves down. Oh, he would have paid to have been on that escort. Actual credits. The man probably hadn’t even blinked! He probably had just been politely shocked and been swept off to a room to wait for a new robe to be delivered, but holy Force, that was hilarious.

When the group had largely collected themselves again, wiping damp eyes and suppressing the remaining giggles, Do-si-do raised a hand. “So what kind of shoes does the Chancellor wear?”

That set Sevenset off again–Maker only knew why. “Why do you wanna know?” he asked through the new fit of laughter.

“So I can judge him!” his friend shot back. “Please tell me he wears old person shoes.”

Elevensies was giggling again too, and he shook his head and shrugged. “I dunno, I didn’t hear that part.”

“What if he wears sandals?” Fives asked. “Like sandals with socks?”

Do-si-do snorted, slumping further in his pilot’s seat. “No! No one should do that! I will call the fashion police!”

“No, no, no,” Sevenset cut in, “hear him out. I think he’s onto something.”

“No!”

Echo smirked. “What if he wears sandals without socks and just had his wrinkly old toes sticking out for everyone to see?”

A chorus of groans erupted after that remark, Sevenset not hesitating to join them. No one needed that image haunting their nightmares. Not even Fox!

“What if it’s boots?” Trees hazarded.

Sevenset might have been more tired than he’d originally thought, but it was okay, because Do-si-do was apparently right there with him on a lack of verbal filter and a severe lack of situational awareness.

“Like stripper boots?” they both said in unison.

While everyone else (except the commander) started wheezing with laughter again, Trees just stared at them like they were the most concerning specimens he’d seen to date. Sevenset caught Do-si-do’s eye, and they both lost it again, laughing until tears came and Sevenset found it difficult to stand upright.

“No, not like stripper boots!” Trees replied indignantly once the noise had died down a little. “That was kriffing creepy, you two!”

It only made them laugh harder, and Sevenset found he could no longer keep himself upright. Finally, he managed to pull himself back up and steady himself against the table, wiping tears from his face and feeling his face start to ache from smiling. This group had been his best idea ever. Where else was he going to get a debate about the Chancellor’s footwear? With a commander in the room not stopping them? It was a miracle.

Speaking of…. “Hey, Commander,” he said, his voice a little raw from laughing.

“What?”

“How–how is it,” he said around a hiccup of laughter, “we’re all dying, and you haven’t broken a sweat, sir? You gotta admit, the Chancellor in stripper boots is funny.”

“Try harder next time,” the commander replied, with a faint but distinct upward curve to his mouth.

Oh it was like that, was it?

“Alright I will,” he said, pointing at the hologram. “I will find something to crack that prickly ol’ shell you’ve set up, mark my words.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Should I start a tally?” Zero offered. “Keep track of what he doesn’t laugh at, see if we can narrow it down?”

“Absolutely, Zero,” he said. “We’re gonna science the kark outta this.”

The commander raised an eyebrow at them, one of his scars buckling on his forehead. “You’ll fail.”

“Why?” Sevenset challenged. Was the commander worried they’d actually find something? Was he truly that confident they wouldn’t?

Before he got an answer, someone else appeared behind Commander Sixes.

Zero waved. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Zero,” Commander Nero said like nothing had happened. That would be a fun joke for Colt…

“Something wrong?” Commander Sixes asked, looking up at him.

The other commander knelt down next to his chair, placing a datapad on the surface out of frame. “Yeah, nothing big. Got the new recon intel, we might have to shimmy up the positions a bit for the first assault.”

“Wait, really?” Zero asked, and was ignored.

“Okay.” The commander blinked at him.

Commander Nero stared back, completely serious. “I’d suggest banana.”

Sevenset looked around, glancing over the other faces present. Most of the other Numbers wore similar expressions of vague confusion, with the odd flicker of mirth because who the hell called battle strategies banana?

But then he saw it. It was faint, but he saw Commander Sixes’ mustache twitch like he was trying to fight back a smile. The muscles in his neck flexed almost imperceptibly. Commander Nero remained stony, staring him down, like he was daring him to break.

That couldn’t be it… Commander Death’s weakness couldn’t be…

After what felt like an eon of strained silence, Commander Sixes spoke. “You little bastard.” His voice cracked on the last word, an unmistakable grin fighting its way onto his face as he tried to hold himself together.

“You don’t wanna use banana?” Commander Nero said innocently, his eyes flicking towards the holoprojector beside them.

The dam broke. Commander Sixes leaned his elbow on the desk beside him, putting his face in his hand, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. It was quiet and rough, like the rest of his personality, but no one could deny that was laughter.

“Oh, Maker help you,” he breathed, looking to the other commander, who was grinning like a loth cat who’d found the fish. Sevenset found himself riveted to the hologram in front of him, drinking in the biggest smile he’d ever seen on the commander’s face since he’d met the man.

“Help me?” Commander Nero said.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I’m gonna get a banana and shove it so far down your throat, you’ll be seeing yellow for weeks.” The threat lost a bit of an edge due to the huge grin still stuck on Commander Sixes’ face and the repressed bursts of laughter that had almost cut him off, and the fact that the other commander burst out laughing as soon as he said it, disappearing from view as he collapsed to the floor. “Karking hell,” Commander Sixes muttered, reaching over and turning off his holoprojector, disappearing from the meeting.

There was silence for a moment, even from Zero.

Finally, after a generous moment to process what they had all witnessed, Sevenset addressed the main point.

“Banana jokes?” he said, putting his hands on his hips in mock severity. “That’s all it would have taken? Bananas?”

“Well, they are very a-peel-ing to some people,” Echo replied without hesitation.

Fives shoved him off the bunk gracelessly.

Ta-da!! Sevenset being a menace! I hope you enjoyed! @23-bears @theultimatesandwich @mercurydancer @rndmpeep @beskarmermaid @persimminwrites @darth-void @soclonely

#number lads #numbers gang #clone trooper ocs #star wars ocs #arc trooper sevenset #commander colt #rancor battalion #commander sixes #commander nero #tcw fanfic #the clone wars #star wars fanfic #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #i write things sometimes

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renee-writer · 1 year

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Out of Time Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

AO3

Danny paces nervously back and forth in front of the door. Behind it, he hears Jenny’s cries of pain. Heather’s voice sooths while Jamie’s encourages. He was asked if he wanted to be with her. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to support her it is just...

“We haven’t been intimate. Childbirth is very intimate. It seems…”

“He is right. Make sure he is here when the child is born.” Jenny agrees.

Ten hours later, he fears something is wrong. Mary, who will soon be going through the same thing, stands by him. “Does it always takes so long?”

“Or longer. Don’t fret, Jamie would let you know if something was going wrong.”

He nods to her but he still twists his fingers together. “I just… this is a miracle. I never thought, not in a million years, that I would have a child. Now that it is so close…”

“Danny?” He jerks when Heather sticks her head out. “It is time.”

Mary gives him an encouraging smile. He returns it, a bit sickly, before following Heather into the room.

“Good Jenny, just like that. A few more.” He is shocked to see her standing, leaning against the wall

“Gravity helps.” Heather explains before pushing him to join her. She stands on the other side, rubbing her back.

“Come on kid!” She grunts as she bares down again. Jamie kneels by her ready to guide his niece or nephew out.

“Here comes the head!” Danny makes the mistake of looking down. He quickly everts his eyes. Hair and eyes are emerging from Jenny.

Jamie sweeps out the mouth and the rest of the baby slips out. A breathless minute and then the ‘ was wa’ wail of a newborn fill the air.

Danny takes courage and looks down. He sees his son and tears of joy run down his face. “He okay?”

“He?” The new mama asks.

“Aye a bawl lad. Perfectly fine.”

Jenny is adjusted so she can hold him. He is laid in her arms. His eyes, dark like his daddy ‘s and slanted like his mama’s, meet them.

“Hello baby.” A choked up Danny greets him.

“Hello mo mhac.”

Jamie and Heather take care of the afterbirth as the new parents bond with their son.

“Does he have a name?” Heather asks.

They share a smile. “Go ahead Danny. Tell them.”

“Daniel Brian.” He states in pride.

“Bloody perfect.” Jamie grins.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #out of time #chapter one hundred and eighteen #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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hummingbird-of-light · 1 year

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Against All Odds

Part 377

McCoy

McCoy looked back at his breakfast. Who had snuck into whose room last night? Quite obviously Leah or Robbie had not spent the night in their own room. He supposed they should have expected that. He glanced across at Leah again. Joy radiated out from her. Would he get a moment to talk to her alone? Not likely. They’d be headed back to school in a few hours and Leah deserved to spend as much of that time as possible with Robbie. Who knew when they would get to see each other in person next?

McCoy smiled. Scotty’s leg was warm against his and he too wanted to spend as much time with his love as he could.

He walked through the library with Scotty after breakfast. They wanted to collect a few more books they could read together at school. McCoy led his boyfriend through the sciences and engineering sections, making note of what books Scotty took an interest in.

“Your highness?”

“Yes?” McCoy answered, turning towards the voice. One of Father’s secretaries was standing behind them.

“The king would like to see you please.”

“Just me or can Scotty come?”

“He didn’t say sir.” The secretary’s face was apologetic. “He is in his office.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

The secretary gave a bow and left. McCoy looked over at Scotty, whose eyes hid worry. McCoy grabbed his hand.

“Come on. If he wants just me, you can take the books up to pack.”

“Aye,” Scotty acknowledged. “What do you think he wants?”

McCoy shrugged. “Don’t know. Could be anything. We’ll find out soon.”

David called for them to come in when McCoy knocked on the office door. The king was alone behind his desk.

“You wanted to see me?” McCoy asked.

“Yes Leonard, come in.”

“And Scotty?”

“Of course,” David smiled. “You’ll tell him what I say anyway, so why not hear it directly?”

McCoy saw Scotty blush, so he reached over and squeezed his hand as they sat in the chairs in front of the desk.

“I must say I’m surprised at your sister,” David said after a moment. “I am most happy for her, just surprised she kept it secret from your mother and I so long.”

“She…” McCoy stopped. He knew he shouldn’t share his sister’s private feelings… “She wanted to have something of her own before you found someone for her.”

“I would never force either of you into a relationship you didn’t want. If Robbie is who she chooses, then Robbie it is.”

“Even if we’re just a pair of poor lads from Earth?” Scotty asked nervously.

“You aren’t poor lads. You are both smart, kind, loyal young men who make my children happy. And their happiness is far more important to me than anything else.”

McCoy reached over for Scotty’s hand again and smiled at him. His boyfriend had gone quite red on the face at the king’s words.

“Which is why I have made a decision,” David continued. “I am quite pleased to be the king making changes to an outdated way of thinking and working.”

McCoy’s heart began pounding in his chest. The king who made changes… a decision… had Father decided about McCoy being king?

“Leonard, I am afraid you will still have to make that speech for your birthday—”

His heart dropped to his stomach. Father wasn’t going to change the succession?

“—you are the prince who is turning eighteen after all. But we can work together on it to also make it the announcement of the changing of the line of succession.”

McCoy felt his mouth slowly drop open as Father’s words fully hit him. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in escaped and his body sagged forward in the chair. Freedom! Freedom from having to someday be king!

“Leonard?”

McCoy’s fingers slipped from Scotty’s as his hands hit his knees to hold himself up. He wouldn’t be king! He could do what he wanted! He wanted to jump up and grab Scotty and dance around the room, but he couldn’t move himself. His breaths were coming out heavy.

Scotty was in front of him. “Mo ghràdh?”

“That is what you still want, right son?” David asked, his voice full of concern.

“Yes,” McCoy whispered hoarsely. “Yes!” he said more firmly. His strength came back and he looked into Scotty’s worried eyes. His hands cupped Scotty’s face and he kissed him with everything he could.

Scotty stumbled back when McCoy released him and rose as McCoy stood and drew him with himself.

“Yes, that’s all I ever wanted,” McCoy said to David. “Leah will be a much better ruler than I could be. Thank you. Thank you so much Father!”

David stood and came from around the desk. He embraced McCoy tightly. Joy that McCoy had never imagined flowed through his whole being.

“There are still a few ministers to convince,” David said as he let go of McCoy and set his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But Leah did an excellent job this summer.” David released McCoy and walked back to his seat.

“Of course, this is private until we announce it.”

McCoy nodded. He wouldn’t say a word to anyone.

“Scotty?” David looked at him.

“Aye sir, not a word.”

“Hopefully coming from you at your speech will make people realize it is what you want and that I haven’t kept you from your rightful place.” David looked thoughtful.

“People will still think that no matter what,” McCoy shook his head. But he couldn’t stop smiling and thinking about the life he could now have.

Part 378

Scotty

It would really happen. The line of succession would be changed! Scotty still couldn't quite believe it. But the way David had said it had been a definite promise. They would convince even the last ministers that Leah should become the queen.

After the talk, the boys had gone out into the garden for a quiet chat.

Leonard skipped lightly along the path and Scotty was glad to see how happy the prince was.

"Isn't life wonderful?" Leonard laughed out loud before cupping Scotty's face in his hands and kissing him wildly.

The Scotsman had to laugh as well. He had never seen his boyfriend that cheerful before. Well… maybe in private in their rooms, but never outside.

"Aye, it is."

It surprised him when Leonard grabbed him by the waist and shoulder and started dancing with him. A quick waltz, across the garden.

"Freedom, freedom, freedom," the prince sang to himself, and Scotty laughed before pressing a finger to Leonard's lips.

"Shh, not so loud! Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us."

Who could tell if more people were out in the garden.

Leonard nodded with a grin.

"I know, I know. I'm already quiet."

Scotty smiled and tilted his head to the side.

"Good, good. I was afraid I was going to have to shut ye up."

He raised his eyebrows insinuatingly and Leonard grinned.

"Maybe you should do that anyway. Just to be safe, I mean."

Scotty nodded slowly before urging Leonard kiss by kiss to a shady tree. He felt Leonard begin to run a hand wildly through his hair and he smiled into the kiss.

But before the two could do anything more, a voice snapped them back to reality.

"You just can't behave yourselves, huh?"

Scotty looked over his shoulder and spotted Leah and Robbie strolling hand in hand through the garden toward them.

Leah grinned, while Robbie colored a little.

"Trust me, nothing can stop these two."

Scotty knew Robbie was alluding to the Archer incident. So he quickly sent a death glare over to his little brother to shut him up. Not in front of Leah!

"Oh really? Is there something I should know about?"

The princess looked briefly at each of the people present, but her gaze lingered on Robbie.

He glanced briefly at Scotty, then shook his head.

"They're embarrassed."

"Oh? Well then I want to know all the more!"

Leah grabbed both of Robbie's hands and blinked at him hopefully.

"Later," the younger Scott assured her, and Scotty knew he had no chance of stopping him.

"All right." Leah smiled gratefully before turning to Scotty and Leonard. "So, when do you guys have to leave?"

Scotty looked to Leonard, who shrugged.

"To be honest, I don't really know. Spock keeps track."

Of course, Spock had the schedule in mind. And Sarek probably did, too, since he would be escorting the boys back to school.

"In any case, I hope you'll stay a little longer."

Leah hooked up with Robbie and gave him a kiss.

"We will definitely stay until lunch," Leonard agreed.

"Plenty of time for whatever you guys were up to," Leah teased her brother with a mischievous grin.

Robbie laughed, while Scotty blushed slightly. Leonard just waved it off.

"Better mind your own business, sis. And use your time with your sweetheart wisely."

"Oh, thank you for the advice. I'll do that."

With those words, the couples parted and went their separate ways. Scotty couldn't help but laugh and Leonard joined in when they were out of earshot.

#star trek #montgomery scott #leonard mccoy #scones #au #against all odds

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mr007pennyworth · 2 years

Text

Let's play a game - Headcanon

[v; give me one more night to ruin my life again] - Paintball.

"Okay so I gotta tell this one...it was my fault, after all so, it's late 87' I think when this happened, we were in southern Germany, and both squads, that was about, 70 men, we had to take it in turns to be off-duty, anyway, my lot go first, I got given Lt Colonel around this time too, I was off to join the SAS in about six months-"

" I decided we needed a team-building exercise after a lot of fighting had erupted over the past week because many lads failed the exam to get into Major and were all feeling a bit stressed out about trying it again. So, one afternoon I'm out with Gareth, walking about this farmland and I see a sign, there's a paintball grounds, and there's me thinking, why not, we got the full tactical gear, we could even use the smoke bombs, we just need to make three teams and we're good to go, Gareth said to me, 'no, bad idea, they'll target me like a bull", I'll get to that bit in a second, So, we go back and everyone agrees to play"

"The next morning, we've got three teams, it's uneven for a reason, there's, myself, and three other Lt colonels, making up one team, then the Majors & Captains and below that, all the Lieutenants"

"So, we split off to three corners of the grounds, we got head sets the lot, it was a real show of who can use what they know in a game where none can get killed right? I mean, they learnt a lot about stealth fighting here, I mean, Gareth, god, right so, my team were Green, Major's and Captains were Red and Lieutenants were Yellow"

"Within about, half an hour, I'd shot down, six yellows and two reds, but I was very surprised I'd not seen Gareth...I chose to hunt about a bit, Lt Colonel Matthews and Mcgregor were just hardcore standing on a deck and shooting at whatever moved and shouting insults which helped to be a great distraction, a few more yellows down, I found a place to hide, it was a small cabin, I reloaded and sat waiting to see if I could see Gareth go by, took over an hour, I was bored by this point, I could hear the younger men screaming every time they got hit and god the stuff...I swear I heard someone at some point screaming 'he shot me in the dick'"

"Men had bruises left right and centre, even in full gear..."

"So, I get up thinking I'd just seen his coat, I'm leaning in the window with my gun up trying to spot him again but he's gone, anyway, it's about ten more minutes and I saw him again, I pretty sure he saw me because he dived and I missed...so, I pull back from the window thinking right, I'm going out there and I head for the doorway...like an idiot, I'm not watching my back, way on earth I didn't, I think I was a bit over-excited about trying to get Gareth when I hear a creak..."

"The pain...of being shot EIGHTEEN TIMES...dear lord"

"I looked over my shoulder and there he's climbed in the fucking window and fires, three in my back, two in my arse, one in the leg I turn shocked and he just keep shooting, god, I had bruises on my bruises, I managed to run for it, but he was following all the way back to my side of the barracks. We hadn't made a rule to be out, so you could be shot as many times until you ran out of ammo, or you tapped out, that was an option too, many of them caved early on, in the end, there was about...fifteen out of thirty-four left standing, only one of them, only one of them without a shot mark...and it had to be Gareth. How the hell, he'd done it I don't know...I shot him in the arse in retaliation after I noticed. But, yes, I mean, I won't lie, Gareth got Major two years before he should have, why, because four Lt Colonels got shot in paintball and this plucky young Captain didn't get even one mark on him. He deserved it, he'd finally had the one moment to show off just what he was capable of and he did, I've still not forgiven him for the dimple in my left butt cheek, he shot me straight in the arse with no hesitation...fucking proud of him, he managed to evade thirty-four players in that game, and shoot me...Mcgregor never let me live it down"

@dontcxckitup

#mr007pennyworth #bvs verse (irons)#dontcxckitup #[Paintball - headcanon]#headcannons

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jrpneblog · 1 year

Text

Six of the best leading up to Gentry Day

A maximum six points for North End this week leading up to Saturdays Gentry Day adventure on Tees-side. Cardiff were seen off at Deepdale last Saturday before North End went to Rotherham on Tuesday evening and did more than enough to bring the three points back from South Yorkshire. On Saturday we celebrate those no longer with us and this year, almost by default, the annual Bowler Hat day is against Michael Carrick`s Middlesbrough. It is a tough assignment for North End following on from these two victories but there is an underlying feeling amongst some North End fans that a win against the Smog Monsters might just mean that it is game on again in the long distance chase for the play off spots.

Reflecting on last Saturday and a 2-0 victory over the Bluebirds at Deepdale saw North End struggle a little bit for an hour before a double substitution of Ched Evans and Robbie Brady really changed the game. Cardiff were stubborn but didn't offer a great deal up front and when Tommy Cannon put us in the lead half way through the second half it was enough to see us home even though Ched Evans made it two in added time after a rebound from a free kick with the Bluebirds down to ten men. It wasnt our best performance of the season but it did show that when we get the balance of the team right we can be a threat and that Cannon and Evans are certainly the best front two partnership at the moment.

On Tuesday evening we visited fifth bottom Rotherham United and produced a much better performance than the previous Saturday. I was quite surprised how often North End went route one in this game but it certainly proved fruitful on the evening. Cannon gave us the lead before we conceded a very poor equaliser from a cross from the Rotherham right. However just on the stroke of half time North End took the lead when Evans turned and fired home a left foot shot to seasl the points. For twenty minutes of the second half we completed dominated and should have been three or four up but we couldn`t breakthrough again and saw the game out fairly comfortably for our ninth win on the road this season.

Saturday sees the North End faithful embark on our unique Gentry Day when we remember those North End fans lost over the last twelve months. At lunchtime on Friday we had sold close to 1,700 tickets and with cash sales on the day we should have a loud and proud following up in the North East. The game itself looks a tricky affair with Boro on somewhat of a roll having moved up into third place in the Championship just four points behind fourth placed Sheffield United. Boro will also have in their ranks one Cameron Archer late of this parish and North End will have to keep a very special eye on him for all of the afternoon. Cameron owes us nothing and I for one will be applauding the lad before the game starts. Road trips hold no fear for North End and we go there having taken thirty two points from eighteen away games which is almost automatic promotion form. Oh if we could only have won a few more a Deepdale this season would have a very different narrative.

And finally this week:- whether you are in your best suit or your birthday suit at the Riverside on Saturday have a great day out and respect those no longer with us like you always do. Other clubs cast envious eyes on what we do on Gentry Day and long may it be the case. We`re the one and only North End. Remember what Bally said almost 53 years ago.

These are not fans, they are Gentry.

JR`s HIGH FIVES

Coventry to beat Blackpool 5/4

A £5 Stake returns £11.25 on bet365

SEASONS STATS

Returns £155.76 Stake £150.00

Percentage profit+/-loss + 1.04%

Predictions 30 won 14 lost 16.

0 notes

pennywaltzy · 1 year

Text

I posted 354 times in 2022

140 posts created (40%)

214 posts reblogged (60%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@strangelock221b

@onthesandsofdreams

@sherlollysecretsanta

@mousedetective

@miz-joelys-sherlollilists

I tagged 351 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#fanfic - 131 posts

#fanfiction - 130 posts

#my stuff - 99 posts

#sherlock - 70 posts

#omg this - 54 posts

#molly hooper - 52 posts

#star trek aos - 27 posts

#answering asks! - 22 posts

#sherlolly - 20 posts

#sherlock holmes - 20 posts

Longest Tag: 73 characters

#so many of strangelock221b's fandoms are ones i haven't gotten to see yet

My Top Posts in 2022:

From New York to London ~ A HooperStrange Fanmix (requested for @fandomtrumpshate)

8tracks | Download

13 notes - Posted April 12, 2022

Fic cover for “The Loskr” by @pkrosche.

Star Trek AOS; Kirk x Spock; rated Teen.

14 notes - Posted September 16, 2022

What Child Is This? -- SanSan

I’m stretching my fandom fingers into a new ship for a fandom I don’t really write much. @lareinadehades, you’ll have to tell me if this is any good. But I hope it is!

Their Christmas Miracle - Sandor Clegane II was born December 25th at 12:35 AM to Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark, their very own Christmas miracle.

READ @ AO3

Sansa yawned and woke up, not quite comfortable in her hospital bed. She much preferred the bed she shared with her husband Sandor, but she had an excellent reason to be dozing in a hospital bed. She had been through eighteen hours of delivery to give birth to her son Sandor Clegane II at 12:35 on Christmas Day. He was the first child born in the hospital on Christmas, and so they had gotten quite a few gifts from the hospital staff, including things they needed and things they hadn’t thought of. Arya and Gendry had already taken the things they already had to an organization that could put them to good use.

Her family had crowded in the hospital waiting room and they had ooohed and ahhhed over Sandor II for hours before leaving her to get some well-deserved rest. Her husband had been allowed to stay in the room with her and the baby, and it was because of that that she woke up to Sandor softly singing “What Child Is This?” to their son. A smile crept on her face but she stayed quiet, taking in the sight.

When he was done singing, he noticed Sansa was awake and brought the baby to her. “Our Christmas miracle was a little fussy,” he said.

“You’re going to refer to him like that for the rest of your life, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Well, I was told as a lad I would never have children. He is a miracle.”

“Are you sure he’s not someone else’s?” she teased. He had never suspected her of cheating, even when she had shown him the pregnancy test. And she never had; she loved this mountain of a man far too much to go looking elsewhere for anything she might be missing.

“Sansa, I had low sperm count, not a vasectomy. It was always possible. We just had to try often enough.”

“And when I’m discharged and feeling better, we can try and give him a little sister.”

“I think I would enjoy that very much, Little Bird.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead before she got one of the prepared bottles to supplement with breastmilk to feed her son. Sandor sat on the edge of the bed and looked down, brushing back his son’s dark hair. She rather had hoped it would be red, but the nearly black hair suited a child who already looked so much like his father.

Sandor began humming the song he had just finished while she fed Sandor II, and she leaned back into the bed, comfortable and happy and knowing Christmas would be just a bit more special every year from now on.

16 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

Teach me how to love ~ A The Hunger Games Fanfic Inspired Fanmix

Download | 8tracks (TBA) | AO3

16 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

15. “My horoscope told me I would meet the love of my life next year.” “Then let’s meet up again after midnight.” -- Darcy/Loki

And a longer fic for my "Just Pieces On The Board" series, set more towards the beginning but after Darcy and Loki meet in the series.

Reunited (And It Feels So Good) - After nearly six months from their introduction, Loki returns to Darcy's life at Tony's New Year's Eve party.

Read @ AO3 | Buy Me A Coffee?

Darcy had to admit, even though it was just for the Avengers and the rest of those who lived in the tower, Tony Stark spared no expense for a party. She just wished things had been looking up for her and she wasn’t set to have a miserable year being alone. There had been a...thing with Loki in London, when the Avengers had chaperoned the politicians on the trip to Asgard. It was damn good sex, she’d freely admit it, but it was almost six months later and...nothing. Not that he had left her in bed alone, but he had left a few days later, ostensibly to go back to Asgard to take care of things with Thor.

Thor made trips back to see her and Jane. Loki didn’t. That was the difference.

What was it about him that drove her nuts, anyway? She couldn’t stop thinking about that week no matter how hard she tried. It was like he haunted her dreams or something.

She knocked back her glass of champagne and turned to get another one when she saw him and he saw her. It was like a homing missile; he made a beeline for her. “Loki…” she said.

He took her in his arms and kissed her as she’d never been kissed before: desperately, like she was nectar from the gods and he needed to taste her now. And she kissed him back...what else could she do? The kiss made her weak in the knees.

Finally, when she was almost on the brink of running out of breath, he pulled away, “I am sorry, Darcy. For everything.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” she said, wrinkling her brow.

“No, everything I did. Leaving without seeking you out again. Disappearing. But I can explain.”

“And you should. But you think you can let me stand up straight for a minute so I can get my bearings?”

He looked sheepish but he helped right her and then let go. His touch had been like fire, even though she knew he was part Frost Giant; the week they spent together just hadn’t been about great sex. It had been talking, too, and secret sharing, and maybe that was why it had hurt so much that he’d left her alone for so long.

“My apologies,” he said.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “Are you planning on staying for more than tonight?”

“Yes. Thor has arranged for us to stay here while Mother leads the Asgardians from Norway. Thor was taking care of most of the political discussions with her, while I was otherwise occupied.” He looked down. “I was traveling the realms, readying them for the disappearance of Asgard once the move to Earth has been completed, and with Sif’s help, making sure Earth remains neutral in dealing with those realms. The politician Mother has taken a shining to was traveling with us.”

“That’s news to me,” Darcy said.

“He’s...interesting, I suppose. Mother still mourns Odin Allfather, but I believe she may make the politician her consort in the future.”

“Which politician was it?”

“Mycroft Holmes,” Loki said. A waiter came by with a tray of champagne and Loki took two flutes, handing one to Darcy. “Yes, I realize that will make me related to an Earth family if it happens, but he is not the worst person. His brother came with us, as did the S.H.I.E.L.D. member of the family. It was an interesting time.”

“Well, that explains why Coulson was here so much,” she said, taking a sip of her champagne. “I just figured he missed Thor’s witty repartee.”

“No, we were traveling in less civilized realms, and also less technologically advanced ones. Passing details to Thor and Mother took time and effort. But the business is finished, and I can start my life here on Earth and in New York City soon. My apartment here should be ready tomorrow, Stark said.”

“Wait. You’re staying here here? In Avengers Tower?” He nodded and she grinned. “I’ll have to bake you a welcome home gift.”

“You could just stay in bed with me for another week,” he said. “Unless my absence quelled those flames?”

She set her glass down and pulled at Loki’s tie. “I haven’t really stopped seeing you in my dreams. I just thought it meant less to you.”

“Darcy, it meant more to me than you could have realized,” he said, sliding his hands to her waist as the host of the party said it was five minutes to midnight. “You haven’t been far from my thoughts as well.”

“I really should slap you for going so long without contacting me, but my horoscope told me I would meet the love of my life next year.”

“Then let’s meet up again after midnight,” he said.

“Or we could just leave the party and bring in the new year in the privacy of my apartment,” she murmured.

See the full post

18 notes - Posted January 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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imthebadguyyy · 3 years

Note

maybe something like interviewer asking her sexist questions and the boys stand up for her , after that interview she feels insecure and the boys comfort her . that's just an idea you don't have to write it !! <33

I hope you like it, and I'm so sorry about the delay 😭 I couldn't find my footing with this one, and I hope it's what you wanted ! Have a lovely day 💙

The One Where They're There For Her

Pairing - One Direction x Reader (6thmember!female!reader)

Fandom - One Direction (Directioners)

Summary - A particularly sexist interview decides to reduce you to just a sexual being and makes no effort to hide his misogyny. But the boys are there to support you.

Warnings - sexualization of the lgbt community, sexist comments, swearing, (honestly I hated myself for writing some of the comments here,and I'm so sorry)

Being a part of the biggest band in the world comes with certain responsibilities. Not responsibilities that come along with signing a recording contract, but those that a person deems themselves responsible for. For example, as the only female in a boyband, a female with a fanbase as large as yours, you took it upon yourself to always stand up for what's right, and to be an ally for the causes close to your heart.

That meant that your social media was often flooded with information about important causes, or your opinions on issues like feminism. Was it always well received? Heck no. There were people filled your feed with hate and comments calling you the most horrible names and labelling you a 'man hater' and a 'bitch' But you didn't let it get to you. On most days. On days like today, it was all you could do to keep it together. It had been a tiring few days, touring, recording, performing and doing an endless amount of interviews and photoshoots. It was safe to say you were on the last of your nerves, having battled your way through a makeup artist who had insisted on pointing out your flaws and had used a shit ton of makeup to cover them up. You had battled a photographer who had not hesitated to tell you that if you didn't look more feminine people would think you were turning into a man.

Before you could retaliate, Paul had dragged him away and told management to cancel the photoshoot, and find another photographer before grabbing the six of you some sandwiches and had let you all go back for a quick power nap at the hotel. Then in about half an hour he had woken you up, to get you ready for another interview. That's how you were here, in a white jumpsuit and a black blazer jacket, paired with black heels. Another day, another interviewer that got on your nerves. But this one, this one was different. This interviewer was different, but also the same. Another misogynistic man who thought he was entitled to stare at your ass and cleavage, and eye fuck you as you settled into a seat in between Niall and Zayn.

Settling in, you crossed one knee over the other, plastering a fake smile onto your face, as the man leaned back in his chair, throwing you a sleazy smirk. Noticing the look, Zayn shifted so you were out of view of the interviewer, but in view of the audience. It was in moments like this that you were a 100× more grateful to have your boys. They were well aware of how sleazy some interviewers could be, having had plenty of experience with them, and Zayn and Louis in particular were very protective about the way you were treated. Squeezing your thigh softly, he leaned back a little, lips settling into a thin line as he looked at the interviewer with a cold look. A little behind, Louis threw the interviewer a dirty look.

"So, One Direction! Congratulations on the album, as you all know its out on November the 22nd, with eighteen new songs, including the singles Night Changes and Steal My Girl Speaking of stealing girls, do you think I could steal your number Y/N? And may I mention, you look ver, very hot in that outfit" The interviewer joked, throwing you what he thought was a sexy smirk. (P.S - it wasn't) Answering with an awkward laugh, you shook your head, as Niall tensed up beside you. "Aww come on, your'e a pretty girl, I'm a handsome guy, let's go out sometime" he pressed on, ignoring the growing anger in Harry's eyes. "That's umm, nice. But no thanks, I'm not going to go out with you" was your answer, as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Picking up on your nervous tic, Zayn moved his hand to rest on your knee, stopping it from bouncing up and down.

"Aww come on baby, what is it? You like girls or something? Because I wouldn't mind being a part of that action either" the sleazebag chuckled, ignoring the disgusted look Liam sent his way. "That's rude" Liam said, while Zayn tightened his grip on your knee. "Oh come on lads, are you telling me the idea doesn't appeal to you? Two women together, mm, makes me all excited just thinking about it, especially if one of them's Y/N" That comment was all it took for Louis to stand up, turning to the man and saying in a voice much rougher than his usual voice, "Alright, that's fuckin' enough, what the fuck is actually wrong with you?" he was backed up by Liam, who stood up, going to tower over the interviewer, whose eyes had lost some of the sleazy look in them. "All you've done since we walked in here is make those disgusting comments about Y/N, and it's sickening. Have some fucking respect" he practically spat.

Behind him, Zayn took your hand in his and pulled you to your feet, noticing the slight glossiness in them, leading you back to the dressing rooms, while Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry stayed back to continue to snap at the interviewer. "That is no way to treat a woman, and not only are you disrespecting her, you also made those god awful events about seeing women together. Your'e a shame to every single person in this room by talking like that" Harry continued, glancing over his shoulder to check if you were okay.

"And no, it doesn't excite us, because we are not assholes, and you are, a disgusting sleaze who does not deserve the job he has. Fuckin loser" Niall chimed in, standing up and storming out. Louis stood up as well, turning to directly face the cameras and the cameramen and sound technicians, who had all looked shocked when the man had made his comments towards you. "I sure as hell hope you have that on record, so you can see just how fucking sexist this industry is to women. Y/N does the same job as us, works just as hard and has the same number of awards, nominations, and records and yet you decide to only focus on her body, clothes, love life and sexuality. Get a fucking life" he spat at the camera, before walking away himself, eventually followed by Harry and Liam, who apologized to the outraged fans before leaving themselves. As they made their way to the dressing rooms they could hear the audience telling the interviewer to apologize to you, their anger at the way you were treated echoing through the building.

Walking in, Harry caught sigh of you curled up in one of the armchairs, with Louis sitting beside you, while Niall and Zayn talked to a furious Paul. "He had no damn right to treat her like shite, and you need to make sure that he knows those comments were un-fuckin-acceptable" Niall was saying, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "And to make those sickening comments about wanting to get action? Can't we sue him for something?" Was Zayn's reply, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure you were still okay. "We can't sue him, atleast I don't think we can, but I'll have someone let the smug bastard know that he needs to learn how to respect a woman" Paul said, before leaving the room to give the six of you some time together before you had to head back to the hotel.

"How're you feeling darling?" Louis said, moving over and patting your knee so you moved. "I'm okay" you mumbled back, letting Louis settle in next to you, leaning back to rest on his chest. "He had no fuckin right to say any of that, and don't you let it trouble you for a second" Zayn added, pouring out a cup of tea for you and for Louis and Harry. "I don't care about what he said, I couldn't care less, but it was just so frustrating, sitting there and listening to him just sexualize a whole community of people. You've got to be in a really sad place to think of shit like that. That's what annoyed me. You think I give a damn about what he said about my clothes or wanting to take me out on a date? It was the way he was talking, like he was sure any woman would be glad to have him that irked me. He's really tiresome" was your reply, as you reached forward for a sip of your tea. "That's the right attitude love. Haters gonna hate" Harry said.

"I know that. But I just wish I could punch him once, which sounds mean, but he does kind of deserve it" Niall said, earning a laugh from you. Niall was never usually aggressive, and even now, he wasn't particularly rude but it was rare to see him wanting to punch someone. "It's okay Niall, you don't have to. I can do it myself, but I won't" you replied, leaning up to squeeze his hand. "Besides, Ni, if you went and punched him, I'd do it too, and then we'd all go to jail" Liam chimed in, scrolling through his twitter. "Twitter isn't happy either babe. #stopsexualization and #Y/Ndeservesbetter is trending already" he added, showing you his phone. "If it means some of these sexist asses get their heads out of the sand, I'm happy. But I dont want to to think about it now" you replied, cuddling closer to the warmth radiating from Louis's body.

"Okay, we won't talk about it. Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Harry asked, standing up and walking to the door "No I want to go to Nando's. Anybody else hungry?" You asked, to nods of assent from the boys. "I'm starving. Those stupid sandwiches didn't fill me up at all" Zayn said, standing up to grab his coat and wallet. "I know and I'm craving some hot Peri Peri chicken with some fries. Do you think they'd let me put the lemon and herb sauce on the fries?" You asked, standing up yourself, earning a laugh from Louis. "Your'e an international superstar babe, I think they'd give you some lemon herb sauce" Liam joked.

Laughing, the six of you made your way to the car, with Harry and Niall squishing you in between them, as Louis sat in the back with Liam, and Zayn sat in the front with Paul (he was driving thank GOD) "I'm proud of you darling" Harry chimed in suddenly. "I am too" Niall added. "You know I am" Louis said, before Liam added "Always babe" and Zayn turned to smile at you before adding, "We are all proud of you, and we always will be, not only because you do a damn good job of not listening to the haters, but because you do what you think is right" "Awh come on, your'e gonna make me cry" you mumbled, leaning into Niall's shoulder. "Almost makes me feel bad for teasing you about having an extremely low spice tolerance the last time we were at Nando's Haz" you smirked, earning a roar of laughter from the boys.

"That chicken was spicy love!" "It was lemon and herb with no peri peri!" "And it was spicy!"

And just like that, you were back to messing around with each other. Sleazy interviewers would come and go, but your boys were always there to support you. Always.

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A/N - Thanks for reading ! I'd also like to apologize on the behalf of this fictitious interviewer I made up, I felt so bad while writing some of this 😭 anyways, I hope this is what you wanted! Enjoy !

Tags - @zaynkissbot @gucci-hazza @bxtchboy69

#one direction x reader #one direction x sixth member #one direction imagines #one direction fanfiction #one direction #harry styles x reader #liam payne x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #niall horan x reader #zayn malik x reader #imthebadguyyytags #harry styles #niall horan #liam payne #louis tomlinson #zayn malik

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