This is a coda to Ragtag Heroes, not really intended to become a separate thing but my attempt to get into Sirius’s head. Excuse me while I upend my drabble bin over your heads. :D
Sirius’s little brother has
always been just that—little. Regulus was a slight and slender child, and has
grown into a lean and lithe man, a little too thin and rawboned from constant
stress but still pretty in the way that their parents always despaired of. Sirius
can admit, despite his hatred of her, that Walburga Black was an absolutely
stunning woman, and Regulus takes after her very much in looks.
Not so much in personality,
though, regardless of what Sirius thought as a child. Not after what he’s managed
Slumped in a dusty old armchair,
Sirius watches his brother wander around Grimmauld Place’s library, touching
covers, stroking long fingers over worn spines. This is Reggie’s element and
always has been—Sirius was honestly astonished that he ended up in Slytherin
rather than Ravenclaw, during the Sorting. Regulus as a child, in Sirius’s
mind, was forever clutching a book, sometimes as big as himself, and wandering
around with a dreamy, distant expression. He thinks of it with a bit of a pang,
now, because at some point during his first year at Hogwarts that warm burst of
fondness at the sight of his little brother, forever trying to please everyone,
transformed into something sneering and derisive and passively loathing.
Regulus being sorted into
Slytherin was the final straw, and Sirius, already immersed in being different from their parents and
surrounded by Gryffindors who held the same beliefs, had turned his back on
Regulus, not about to associate himself with a sniveling follower.
Never mind the fact that Regulus
was eleven. Never mind that their
parents had always leaned harder on Regulus, who was never nearly as willful.
Never mind that Regulus adored Sirius
since birth, as the only one who spent any amount of time with him outside of
the house elves. Sirius had turned away, found a new brother in James who
suited him so much better, and left without a backwards glance.
Their parents were never kind,
even to the family favorite, and Sirius watches Regulus meander through the
shelves with something like guilt roiling in his gut. Should have known, he thinks, and the vague, distant regret he’s felt
since learning of his brother’s death is back in full force, because Sirius had
run away from the family and left Regulus
behind. It doesn’t matter that they were at odds at the time; Regulus was
always a gentle soul, always tried to please their parents no matter what.
Sirius could have easily taken him along to James’s, could have convinced him
to abandon their parents’ ideals if only he’d remembered the sweet little boy
Regulus had been, rather than looking at the distant, aloof Black prince he’d
been forcibly molded into.
But he didn’t, hadn’t bothered,
and something in Sirius is—
“Leo Prince,” Regulus says
unexpectedly, making Sirius jump.
“What?” Sirius asks, blinking.
When he looks up, Regulus is
giving him that nostalgic
you’re-a-moron-Siri-and-must-I-lower-myself-to-your-level look. He’s seen it
quite often—usually from the child Regulus used to be, excited about some
obscure spell or ritual or potion, some little-known aspect of ancient magical
theory that lost Sirius completely about twelve words into the explanation. Not
that he’s an idiot, academically—Sirius has always been proud of his grades—but
Regulus is something entirely different. Even their parents never quite knew
what to do with him, beyond shipping him off to Voldemort in a gift-wrapped
“Yes, Reggie?” Sirius grins at
his little brother, for the sole reason that the nickname drives him batty and
nothing gets his ire up like pretending to be stupid. “What was that?”
Regulus rolls his eyes so hard
Sirius wonders how he doesn’t strain something. “My name,” he explains, tone
long-suffering, “for teaching at Hogwarts.”
Sirius turns it over in his head
for a moment. “Leo?” he repeats dubiously, because outwardly Regulus is the
perfect Slytherin, and whenever he’s not being Slytherin he gives a damned good
impression of being a born Ravenclaw. Nothing leonine about him, really.
That gets him another roll of
Regulus’s eyes, though it’s subtler this time. “The star Regulus is the
brightest heavenly body in the constellation Leo,” he says, and his mouth
quirks in a wry smile. “Also called ‘the Heart of the Lion’.”
Sirius snorts at that, wondering
what twist of fate gave Regulus the one Black name that suited him exactly.
‘Heart of the Lion’ indeed. “And Prince?”
“From the literal meaning of my
name.” Regulus turns back to his books again, plucking one off the shelf and
adding it to the already sizeable pile he’ll be taking to Hogwarts with them.
“’Little King’. It’s a name I’ve used before, in parts of the Continent. So if
a particularly overprotective parent should try to trace my movements, there
will be a trail. Leo Prince spent two years in Italy and then Eastern Europe, studying
blood rituals from ancient times.”
Of course he did, Sirius thinks with a roll of his own eyes. He’s
spent several weeks already with Hermione, and even she can’t hold a candle to
his little brother. But rather than say anything—although it’s tempting,
because Reggie being defensive over his rituals and spells is easily one of the
more amusing things Sirius has ever encountered—he just asks, “And disguises? It’s
more than likely that Peter told Voldemort about my Animagus form, and I hate
to say it, Reggie, but you—”
“Yes, yes,” Regulus cuts him
off, clearly annoyed. He’s always been easy for Sirius to rile. “We look very
similar, I’m aware. Harry thought I was you, at first glance.”
Sirius blinks and fights a
frown. Regulus is pretty, and Sirius
has always considered himself—not without corroboration from other sources—to
be handsome. Then he glances up,
catches the tail end of Regulus’s wicked grin as the younger Black turns away,
and huffs. “Oh, go on, rub it in,” he growls, chucking a cushion at his
smirking brother. “At least I take after Father rather than dearestMother in looks, pretty boy.”
That earns him a rude hand
gesture and a scowl. “Anyway,”
Regulus says forcefully. “I won’t use charms to change my appearance—they’re
too easily detected and broken, even by the simplest of wards or spells. But…”
He trails off, rummaging in a cupboard for a moment, and then, with a
victorious sound, emerges holding a pair of glasses with delicate silver
frames. He slips them onto his face, then pulls his hair from its loose tail
and twists it into a messy braid falling over his shoulder.
They’re simple changes, but
they’re able to highlight the differences between them. Sirius sits up
straighter, taking in the way the glasses manage to entirely change Regulus’s
face, and the hairstyle gives him a bookish, distracted, professorly air. With
a change of clothes—good-quality robes, he thinks, maybe a little tattered,
quiet colors, slightly too large—Regulus will be all but unrecognizable. Oh,
there will be similarities, but there used to be a pureblood Prince family, and
they intermarried with the Blacks enough to write off the resemblance as a
result of typically tangled pureblood genealogy.
Regulus is giving Sirius the
same look in return, but his is faintly distracted. “You, however,” he murmurs,
“will need a charm or two, if only to keep from giving any of the more
superstitious students a heart attack, looking like a Grim.” He trails off,
muttering under his breath, his gaze absent, and Sirius realizes that this is
his contemplative look. He’s no doubt running through every glamour charm he
knows, cataloguing faults and weaknesses.
Such a Ravenclaw, really, Sirius thinks, and doesn’t even bother to
fight the fond smile that rises. Good old Reggie, the walking encyclopedia of
Then Regulus looks up at him and
smiles that singularly angelic smile that means he’s about to show how he and
Sirius really are related. He taps long fingers against his lips to hide the
beginnings of a smirk, and murmurs, “Well, you’re the size of a bear, so
there’s no way we’ll actually be able to pass you off as a normal dog,
but…white, I think. Yes, white will do nicely. Maybe with a touch of tan?”
Sirius only has a moment to feel
horrified before Regulus’s wand is out and moving.
“Well?” his little brother
demands, sounding unnervingly like McGonagall. “Change already, we haven’t got
It’s going to be a very long
It’s been a near age since
Regulus last set foot on Hogwarts ground. He stands just outside the gates,
staring up at the vast and imposing castle—strangely comforting, a home more
than Grimmauld place could ever be, and he wonders if it’s like that for
everyone. Perhaps only those from broken homes, if the Black family can count
as such. Sirius, at least, had the Potters, but Regulus was always a distant,
aloof child with few acquaintances and fewer friends. He had no one.
Unconsciously, his fingers curl
into the thick fur of the beast standing at his side, higher than his waist and
as big as a bear. White fur now, rather than black, but it’s still Sirius,
still his brother brought back to him. Maybe everything isn’t entirely easy
between them yet, but they’ve been strangers longer than they’ve been family,
and they’re readjusting. Sirius whines softly and bumps against his hip, and
Regulus musters up a smile for him.
“I’m fine, Siri,” he murmurs,
although his fingers stay buried in pale fur. “Just…overwhelmed, a little.”
Normally he’d never admit to
such a thing, but this is Hogwarts
and he’s coming back and there’s
absolutely nothing in the world he’s dreamed of more than destroying the Dark
Lord with his brother at his side and the Light at this back. This is a step
closer, the fifth out of seven, and then there’s only the snake left to find.
Regulus has thrown out his net already; there are many people who owe him
favors by now, with his knowledge base and skill set and Slytherin cunning, and
Nagini will be found soon enough.
Just Ravenclaw’s artefact now,
and then Harry. Their goal is so close, so achingly close that Regulus can
almost taste it, and after sixteen unwavering years, he’s ready. Ready for a
normal life, a death not at the hands of his former master, days not spent
running from even the vaguest chance that Voldemort could discover him or his
plans. It’s been too long.
With a huff of very un-canine
impatience, Sirius shoves at him again and then heads up the road, strides sure
and confident. Regulus only hesitates for a moment longer before hurrying to
catch up with him, careful of his baggy robes. He hates them, if only for
Sirius’s teasing at how he looks like a waifish scholar who thinks too much to
eat. Not that Sirius is one to talk, really—he’s changed from looking like a
Grim to looking like something out of Norse myth that’s about to devour the
But Sirius is happy to be out of
that dreary and rundown house, and Regulus can’t blame him. About the only good
thing remaining there is Kreacher, and the elf is getting on in years. He’d
been overjoyed that Regulus returned, but as much as Regulus missed him he
hadn’t been able to bring himself to stay. He’d packed everything he needed in
a day and headed out to Hogwarts and his new post, Sirius in tow. They’re quite
a pair, really.
McGonagall meets them at the
main doors, still regal and authoritative in a way Blacks can only dream of
being, but she smiles faintly at Regulus. “Professor Prince,” she says. “How
good to have you back. If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your chambers.”
This is happening, Regulus thinks suddenly, as his heart stutters
and leaps forward into a gallop. This is
Professor, she called him, and that’s what he is now. No longer a
nameless, fleeing face but a person, a figure of some standing, with a name and
a past even if it isn’t his own.
@likingthistoomuch recently said that the lyrics from “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine really fit Molly post the ILY phone call. I chewed up and digested the words as well and totally agreed! So I wrote a somewhat feelsy little one shot from Molly’s POV after the call. Though, naturally, I had to get an actual Sherlolly scene in there too hehe. Enjoy, readers! ;)) And thanks for helping and beta reading @artbylexie ❤️
Molly’s fingers lost their grip on her mobile phone and it clattered onto her kitchen counter. She jumped slightly but didn’t bother to pick it back up, instead covering her trembling lips with her hands while gulping back silent sobs.
As anyone tends to do after an emotionally charged conversation or confrontation, Molly began desperately trying to replay it in her mind; trying to solidify and retain the details as best she could and understand it all fully. And often, after an experience like that, one would naturally tend to bring to mind the things they wish they’d said in hindsight. But strangely enough for Molly…
Pairing: Reader x Bucky Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Fluff
A/N: I went with a more normal storyline, I hope that’s okay!
I don’t have any younger siblings or cousins, so I don’t know how tall 10 year olds are, so just, sorry.
I also don’t know anyone that’s autistic, so I hope I portrayed the child okay.
If you were being honest, you were having as much fun as the school kids were. You had to keep reminding yourself that you were just a teacher’s assistant, not a 5th grader yourself, but you were enthralled with Stark Industries. The teacher you were helping, Mrs. Robins, had told the kids that none of the Avengers would be making an appearance at today’s field trip, but they had all hoped they’d catch a glimpse, as did you.
The kids squealed when Tony Stark casually strolled up to you and Mrs. Robins, introducing himself and informing you both that he was just dropping by to say hello. It was a frenzy, all the kids descended on Tony Stark like a tidal wave, clamouring for photos and autographs. You were dazzled too, but something in your gut told you to look for Lucas. He was autistic and Mrs. Robins told you that he had a tendency to wander away from the group on previous trips.
Your stomach sinks through the floor as you notice he’s missing. You check and re-check the crowd of kids a dozen times, you were starting to panic.
Warnings: Breastfeeding (not explicitly described), mostly just fluff, I think I dropped one F-bomb in there too
Word count: ~700
“It’s your turn,” you mutter weakly, turning over onto your side as he groans in protest.
“I just checked on him,” Sam returns sleepily, though you notice how he sits up and rubs his tires hazel eyes, the both of you tuning out the sound of the crying child a few feet away.
It’s loud and needy, but the few hours of sleep the two of you have been running on for weeks helps to dull the volume slightly. Just slightly.
“Fuck,” you moan, and you find yourself sitting up as your son let out another wail. “He’s probably hungry.”
Sam makes his way to the small crib and softly coos to your child, picking him up to bring him back to your bed.
The crying doesn’t stop, and you exhale quietly as you take the red faced infant into your arms. He settles within seconds of beginning to nurse on your breast, and you lean back against the headboard, closing your eyes.
“You okay?” Sam asks, and you nod weakly.
“Just tired,” you admit to him, rubbing your son’s tears from his cheeks carefully as he nursed. He was fussy and very picky when he ate; he didn’t like to be bothered.
“Daddy, Bubba woke me up,” you both look to the small voice in the doorway, rubbing her eyes with the back of her tiny fists.
“I’m sorry, baby girl,” Sam makes his way to your daughter, scooping her into his arms to bring her back to your bed as well. “He’s hungry.”
“Why can’t he just learn to say I’m hungry like I did?” she asks tiredly, laying her head against his shoulder. Her pout is almost as good as Sam’s, and you have no doubt that as she grows she will perfect it into a weapon that will be hard to combat.
“He will, when he gets older,” you tell her quietly. “Right now he’s too young to talk.”
“He cries a lot and hurts my ears,” she continues, sticking a thumb into her mouth.
“No thumb,” Sam reminds her, gently patting her forearm. “You said you’re a big girl, and big girls don’t suck their thumbs anymore.”
“I don’t wanna be a big girl, Daddy,” she pouts and nuzzles into his neck. “I wanna be little again and not wake up when Bubba cries.”
“I know, baby girl,” he rocks her slightly as he sighs. “He’s gonna grow up soon, and he won’t cry at night anymore. Can you wait just a little bit longer?”
You turn your focus to your son, who is now pushing away from your chest, signaling that he is done with his meal.
You don’t hear your daughter’s response, or Sam’s following comments as you focus on your son.
Grabbing the rag from the bedside table, you throw it over your shoulder and burp him gently as Sam quiets your daughter.
After the burping, you rock your son gently until he falls asleep, and one look at Sam shows your daughter asleep on his lap, her arms curled around his neck.
You smile slightly at the sight and catch his gaze. As one, you both move to put your children back to bed, Sam to the adjacent room, and you to the crib nearby.
You make it back before Sam does and crawl under the covers, already almost asleep as he moves in beside you and lays his head in the crook of your neck.
A hand moves instinctively up to his hair, settling through the long locks as a comfort to the both of you as he places a featherlight kiss against your collar.
“And you want more of them,” you mumble against his forehead, throwing a leg over his hip as you cuddled into him comfortably. The lack of sleep was a very large reason of why you were hesitant to have more children, but Sam didn’t seem to mind.
“Shh, go to sleep,” he states against your flesh. “We don’t know how long this one will last.”
“When he cries again, he’s yours,” you inform Sam with a yawn. “I fed him, he shouldn’t need me.”
“Fine,” he agrees. “But she’s yours.”
You groan against him and then sigh, closing your eyes as sleep closed in.
“Deal,” you say, but you’re pretty sure he’s already back asleep and taking advantage of the quiet moment.
How today’s clip “Playing Alone” should have been:
Sana: “Give me the ball.”
Yousef: “Come and get it.”
Sana: “Seriously? I’m not in the mood Yousef. Give. Me. The ball.”
Yousef: “Seriously? I’m not in the mood Sana. Just. Come. And get it.”
Sana: “I mean it Yousef. Give me the ball. I won’t say it again.”
Yousef: “Okay. I’ll take the ball then.” Sana doesn’t respond. “And leave.” He says to make his statement clear and get some kind of reaction off of Sana. But she doesn’t respond, again.
Sana: “Bye.” Sana turns over to go get the other ball which is resting next to a wood bench. “I’m tired of your shit.” Once she gets there she takes it and starts playing by herself, this ball doesn’t bounce as well as the other does, it lacks of air, but it is enough for her to not be close to Yousef.
He stands right where he was when he arrived while he watches Sana fail miserably twice. He goes over to Sana and takes the other ball of her hands. They are two feet apart, Sana looks over to Yousef.
Sana: “Are you kidding me?”
Yousef: “Talk to me.”
Sana: “I got nothing to say to you.”
Yousef: “Well, it feels like you do.”
Sana: “Well I don’t.”
They stand there, looking at each other, Yousef has a worried look, while Sana is dead serious, not angry, not sad, just plain no emotion face. She takes one ball off of Yousef’s arms and goes sit in one bench while she bounces the ball, looking at the floor, but this time you can see sadness in her eyes. She is not in the mood to play anymore.
After a minute, she hears steps coming in her direction, but she doesn’t look, she stops bouncing the ball and hugs it, still, staring at the grass. Yousef stands right in front of her resting on the wood table behind him. He waits for her to make eye contact with him, but she doesn’t. He leaves the other ball, next to Sana on the bench. He goes to the other side of the table and he drags it through the grass so there is more space in front of Sana. Once it’s far enough he goes and sits on the ground, right in front of her, he is slightly lower than her, this time she looks at him. He grins, not to much, but enough for him to show that he’s happy that she finally looked at his eyes.
Yousef: “What did I do wrong?”
Sana: “What makes you think you did something wrong?”
Yousef: “You are not talking to me, you don’t seem happy.”
Sana: “I am happy.”
Yousef: “I can’t see that. You are not smiling.” Sana fakes a smile, not showing her teeth.
Yousef: “Is that supposed to be a smile?” He says making a quick laugh. Sana drops the smile and a “Ugh” escapes her mouth while she quits hugging the ball and leaves it next to the ball Yousef left before, she rests her back on the back of the bench and crosses her arms. She stops the eye-contact and looks at the little basketball court on her left.
Sana: “Just drop it already.” Yousef’s smile fades.
Yousef: “I’m not dropping it Sana.” She sighs. “Just tell me. Clearly I did something wrong, just tell me so I can apologize.”
Sana: “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
Yousef: “I don’t get it.”
Sana: “That’s the deal, you don’t have to apologise for kissing Noora.” Sana realising what she just said, closes her eyes and bites her lower lip, and wishes, she didn’t acutally said that.
Yousef: “You said I don’t have to apologize for kissing Noora.” Sana looked at him and a low, soft, almost inaudible “Nei” went through her lips. “You saw that?” Sana looks down bending her body towards Yousef and supporting herself with her arms on her legs, and licks her lips, her mouth got dry in seconds. “Sana, you saw that?” She takes a deep breath.
Yousef takes of his hat, and runs his hand through his hair.
Yousef: “Faen.” He said it almost copying the “Nei” Sana said a few seconds back. He starts to pull out the grass in front of his feet. They stay quiet for minutes, three? Four?
Sana: “I just don’t understand why you did it. I mean, I do, she is pretty, of course you would kiss her…”
Yousef: “Can I explain?”
Sana: “You don’t owe me an explanation Yousef.”
Yousef: “I kinda do though…” He sighs. “To be honest, I don’t even have an explanation for myself, I mean I do, it’s just not a good one.” She looks at him, but he doesn’t. “That Friday I thought you were mocking me…”
Sana: “Why?” she interrupts with a sad tone. This time he looks at her.
Yousef: “Because I had told you about Even, and then he was at the Karaoke, and I thought you hadn’t took me seriously, like you invited us just because you wanted me to see Even and create tension, I don’t know… It just felt wrong, so wrong.”
Sana: “But that wasn’t my intention…”
Yousef: “I know, I know that now. I’m sorry for assuming things…”
Sana: “You don’t have to say sorry, I probably would’ve assume that too. Sorry.”
He shows a little grin, so she knows it’s okay.
Yousef: “So, I was angry at you, and I just thought: you know, if she is this kind of person, I might as well forget about her, she’s not as I thought she was.” Sana looks away, although those are feelings that were because of a misunderstanding, it still hurts to know that he felt like this about her. “After you left because of the fight…”
Sana: “You should’ve come with me. You left me alone Yousef.” She needed to get it off her chest.
Yousef: “I know… I’m sorry, I just…”
Sana: “You were angry at me.” She closes her eyes while she says that.
Yousef: “I’m sorry…”
Sana: “It’s okay.” Of course it wasn’t, she knows that although he was angry at her he should’ve come with her, Noora could’ve go with her, she heard it too, but she was angry at her. What a surprise.
Yousef: “So… after you left, Noora and I started talking, and I mean… I like Noora” Sana stops breathing, Yousef notices it and tries to explain it better. “Not romantically, as a person, she doesn’t look like a bad person” Sana starts breathing again. “And after a while talking, she just kissed me, I was shocked at first but then I just went through with it. But then I realized, that I didn’t know why I was doing it, I didn’t and I don’t have feelings for her, I’m not the kind of person that kisses someone for the LOLs, it felt wrong and pointless and it didn’t got me anything but hurting you. I’m so sorry Sana” Sana still isn’t able to look at him, she just nods to let him know that she heard everything.
Sana: “Does she know?” Yousef frowns “Does she know that you don’t have feelings for her?”
Yousef: “Yes, absolutely. I told her it didn’t mean anything and that it was a mistake. She apologized and left.” Sana nods again. “You are not looking at me Sana” She turns her head in his direction and looks at his eyes, she grins.
Sana: “I’m looking at you now.” Yousef smiles.
Yousef: “So… you forgive me?”
Sana: “There is nothing to forgive Yousef. Did it hurt me? Yes. Will it take some time for the pain to stop? Probably yes. But I’m not angry at you, so don’t worry about it okay, I will deal with it on my own.”
Yousef: “Okay? But I’m still sorry.”
Sana: “Okay.” They stare at each other for a moment.
Yousef: “Are we cool?”
Sana: “Yes, we are cool”
Yousef smiles and lets out a little “Great”, while he gets a message from Elias, he takes his phone and reads it.
Yousef: “Elias is looking for me, I should go” Sana nods and gets up and takes the balls of the bench while Yousef puts his phone back in his pocket, when Sana turns over to Yousef his left arm is streched out. “Little help here?”
Sana lets out a little laugh and leaves the ball that she is holding with his left arm on the bench again, reaches out to Yousef’s hand and helps him get up. Once he is standing in front of her he doesn’t let go of her hand, neither does she. After thirty seconds or so he slowly gets closer to Sana’s face and gently kisses her on the cheek.
Sana lets go of Yousef hand and they both smile. After that Yousef leaves the little basketball court, Sana smiles.
After that clip we just got I felt like I needed to write something that has Yousana fluff and that we still got a bit of answers. I kind of guessed the whole kiss thing, I really don’t know why it happened but it’s the only thing that came up to mind, I haven’t talked about the fight because I really don’t know what happened, so addressing that was going to turn out really bad haha.
I DON’T KNOW IF THE WHOLE HOLDING HANDS AND KISS ON THE CHEEK IS APPROPIATE, BECAUSE EVEN KISSED SANA ON THE CHEEK I ASUMED THAT IT IS OKAY FOR YOUSEF TO DO SO, AS WELL AS HOLDING HANDS. IF IT’S NOT OKAY, I’M VERY SORRY IF ANY MUSLIMS FELT INSULTED, IF THAT IS THE CASE PLEASE TELL ME AND I WILL CHANGE THE STORY. I DON’T MEAN TO OFFEND ANYONE, I want it to happen, the hand holding and kiss, (SKAM wise and therefore in this little story) ONLY if it is appropriate.
I am form Spain so sorry if I made awful mistakes writing in English.
Anyway, hope you guys liked it and again, sorry if was disrespectful towards Islam and muslims. And happy Ramadan <3
word count: 877 words story peek: you make me shiver. in which she is the only thing that keeps peter steady.
Moonlight seeped through her window that night, coating parts of the room with a soft blue light. Her anxiety was getting the best of her as she paced the length of her small bedroom. Peter had a hectic schedule during the night but he typically popped in around the same time every night. Yet, tonight he was later than normal. She was chewing away on her thumb nail when a light tapping sound was heard from her window.
She turned and hurriedly went over to open the window, upon seeing the red and blue clad figure. As soon as he entered, Peter pulled his mask off of his face and dropped it on the floor by her bed. She didn’t get a word out before he pulled her into him, hugging her tightly. She let out a breath, before tightly winding her arms around his neck. Her face pressed itself into his neck before she turned to place kisses to his shoulder.
“Are you alright, Pete?” she whispered, taking a hand and rubbing it up and down his back. She felt him inhale sharply and shake his head.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked him, yet he remained motionless in her arms. She pressed another kiss to his shoulder before grabbing his head and turning it to look at her.
“Let’s get you changed and in bed, and then you can tell me if you feel up to it. Okay?” he nodded this time, and she gave him a weak smile before pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. Quietly, she walked to her dresser and pulled out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of his sweatpants. She silently offered them to him and he gratefully took them from her. With a push of the spider emblem on his suit, it loosened immediately and dropped to the floor.
A frown made its way to her face as she took in the deep purple and blue bruises that littered his torso. She traced her fingers across them, retracting them instantly when he gave a quiet hiss of pain. He slipped the shirt and sweatpants on and she took his hand, leading him to the bed. She let him climb in first before following suit. With his arms around her waist, she raised her left hand to push away the stray hairs on his forehead. It slowly slid down his face to cup his cheek and he leaned into her touch, allowing a content sigh to slip past his lips. His hand slowly reached up and placed itself over hers, giving it a small squeeze.
They stayed like that for a while before she questioned him again.
“Are you going to tell me what happened now?”
It was silent before he responded.
“I..” his voice was hoarse, and she grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers, gently urging him to continue.
“I just, I couldn’t save everyone..and so many people got hurt..and I,” his voice cracked and concern rooted itself in her eyes.
“Peter, baby, it’s okay. You can’t always save everyone, and that’s okay, no matter how bad it sounds. Everything works out in the end. You’re okay, Pete.”
“I know, but I just don’t feel like I’m doing enough. I’m not meant for this job. I’m not meant to do this. I’m not-” his words were cut off by her lips pressing against his. She pulled back and took notice of the tears slowly building in his eyes. The pads of the fingertips wiped them away and she pulled him into a hug, his face residing in the crook of her neck.
“You’re more than perfect for this, Pete. Don’t beat yourself up to harshly. Okay?” she mumbled.
His body tensed in hesitation, before he spoke again, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, anything,” she responded, her voice barely grazing a whisper.
“Why do you wait for me every night? Why do you put up with this? You could be anything, do anything and you want to be doing this every night. Why?” the curious vulnerability in his voice broke her heart. Couldn’t he see?
“There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing, Peter. I care too much about you to just let you fend for yourself. I’m always going to be here to stitch you up. Even if you’re not badly hurt like tonight, I’m always going to be here for you to talk to. I wouldn’t want anything else in the world,” she stated, her hand firmly cupping his cheek. He turned to press a kiss to her palm and gave a small smile.
She softly stroked his cheek with the pad of her thumb, the corners of her mouth also lifting in a smile. A slight shiver ran down his spine, and he closed his eyes contently. She leaned in to press a kiss against his forehead.
“You’re the only thing holding me steady, darling,” he whispered. A soft pink dusted her cheeks and she gave him a smile. Her lips pressed against his and she soon pulled away, her thumb brushing against his lower lip.
“I love you, Peter Parker.”
A sleepy smile crossed his features, his eyes still closed as he mumbled back, “And I you, sweetheart.”
I wrote a take on the crypt scene from the trailer.
Baelish should not be here. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t deserve to stand at the crypt of Ned Stark. He betrayed Ned Stark.
Just seeing that worm down here makes Jon’s skin crawl. Granted, that’s how he reacts to seeing Littlefinger in any context. But it’s especially bad down here.
Baelish’s presence doesn’t even make sense. The man is almost always either hovering around Sansa, or trying to. Even when doors get slammed in his face, he’ll wait by those doors, ready to pounce the moment she emerges from the council chamber. Ghost even started sleeping right outside her bedchambers to keep the man away.
Seeing him here, though, it’s especially odd. And not just because Sansa isn’t here. It’s past midnight, everyone should be asleep.
Jon was unable to sleep for a number of reasons. His whole world has shattered and turned itself upside down over the past year. And the revelation Bran arrived with certainly hasn’t helped. In addition to his identity crisis, it’s subconsciously made him a bit more receptive to… well, thoughts he shouldn’t have. Especially at night.
The King figured no one would be down here now. That it was safe to visit his mother’s crypt.
He and Sansa decided to keep it secret for now, not wishing to ignite anymore chaos within their already-fragile government. Or, rather, Sansa decided. Jon jumped at the chance to abdicate in her favor. He’s never felt comfortable with his title.
But they especially didn’t want Littlefinger to know. If Baelish found out that Eddard Stark’s eldest son, the King in the North, wasn’t really Eddard Stark’s son… That he was in fact a potential rival to that dragon queen currently setting half the south ablaze…
As she pointed out, it’s better keeping things quiet.
Still, Jon likes visiting Lyanna’s grave when he’s restless. It helps at least add some context to his new identity.
Littlefinger shouldn’t be here.
Jon supposes it’s better than having the man hovering outside Sansa’s bedroom window, but he still has no place in these crypts.
Baelish hovers around Robb’s crypt instead, studying it by the light of his lantern. With his black cloak and white fur collar, raised arm, and pale face, to Jon he looks like a vulture. Fitting.
The King in the North loathes to be alone with this man. He always feels on the verge of snapping and throttling that vile son of a snake. Especially when he sees that condescending smirk.
Jon knows better. He can’t trust himself alone with this man, not here, with no sleep. But before he can flee, the vulture looks up and spots him.
He straightens up, turns theatrically, and smirks. “Your Grace! I suppose sleep eludes you as well?”
No, I’m asleep right now, actually. This is how I do it, the king thinks impatiently.
“Aye,” Jon says, reluctantly walking over to Robb’s crypt. He wants to know what Baelish was looking for. He stands next to the man silently, arms folded in front of him. He examines Robb’s newly-finished resting place. The masons did good work.
There’s silence for a while. Until…
“You see me as a threat, don’t you, Your Grace?”
Jon glances sideways at Baelish. “I see you as lots of things, Lord Baelish.” Sometimes I see you in my dreams, your cries for mercy dying away as I crush your neck beneath my boot. “You’re a powerful man, and you didn’t become powerful by accident.”
“Good. You’re a smart man. But you must believe me, I only want what’s best for Sansa.”
“I believe you want Sansa,” Jon replies before he can stop himself, “As a smart man, I know the difference. And I also believe that your desire for her is not what’s best for her.”
Baelish doesn’t know that Sansa’s told Jon about him selling her to the Boltons. He doesn’t know that he’s a dead man walking. That the only reason he still breathes is because Sansa wants to milk him dry of all of his contacts, gold, and secrets before she has him executed. He doesn’t know she’s only pretending to trust him again out of resentment towards the half-brother who was crowned over her. He doesn’t know that she’s faking her apparent receptiveness to his attentions. He doesn’t know that she spends at least a quarter hour every evening detailing how revolting she finds him to Jon. Baelish thinks he’s playing the Starks. He doesn’t know they’re playing him. He’s a man who thinks he knows everything. He knows nothing.
“Oh? The man who got her out of King’s Landing before that lunatic Cersei Lannister executed her for a murder she didn’t commit?”
Jon seethes. You’re the one who framed her! But he’s not supposed to know that.
“A man who immediately let her be kidnapped and tormented by a sadist?”
Baelish flinches. “It was a mistake. But I remind you, when you were both about to fall to that sadist again, I was the one who gathered the men you needed. The army that won you back your home.”
The same men you might have gathered before. The one you could have used to win her her home back without selling her to her raper! Jon is ready to scream.
“If the aid you gave us,” Jon says after several deep breaths, “Came under the condition that you have her, then you’re not the sort of man I trust her with. You are her uncle, I’d remind you. You are the Lord Protector of her cousin. The ward of her grandfather.”
“I made no such condition.”
“Are you making a proposal now?” Jon asks.
“No, that would be improper. I’m just… interested.”
“Yes, you’ve made that clear.”
Baelish snorts. “Not just in Sansa. But in you, how you see me. It’s clear you don’t like me. I can’t imagine why.”
This is a trap. Jon chooses his words carefully. “I don’t like the way you do business. Even in the North, we know what trade you deal in, my lord. I also don’t like how you got your current title. You served the Lannisters very well for years. And were richly rewarded for it. Once you got what you wanted, you betrayed them. Just because it served my interests doesn’t mean I can’t find it suspect.”
“I see. But why would I betray those who so rewarded me to serve the Starks if I didn’t truly care for her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you do. But even if that’s so, that doesn’t mean you’re right for her. Besides, after what my sister endured, she doesn’t need that sort of attention.”
“She’ll receive it regardless,” Baelish points out, “You of all people know that.”
Jon’s heart begins to thud in his chest. There’s something in the man’s tone… He turns slightly and looks Baelish in the eyes.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Though I don’t have any siblings, I understand the instincts of a protective male relation, especially when it comes to suitors. I grew up watching the Blackfish with Catelyn and Lysa. I see hints of it in your little brother. He doesn’t like me, either.”
“We don’t like how you look at her.”
Baelish smirks. “I don’t like how you look at her, either.”
“Despite what you pretend to think, we both know that when it comes to Sansa, you have far more in common with me than you do with your brother. You don’t care a fig about my business. You don’t care about shifting loyalties. If you did, you wouldn’t be so friendly with the wildlings. The real reason you see me as a threat, Your Grace, is that as a brother, you’re less a Bran Stark and more a Jaime L-”
Jon has him against the wall. He clutches Baelish’s throat the way he’s dreamt of doing for nearly a year. Baelish struggles only a little, grasping Jon’s wrist. He still smirks.
“I observed Jaime Lannister as well,” he chokes out, “I was one of the first to see it! Not hard for a brothel-keeper to notice!”
The King in the North tightens his grip. He can’t stand another word.
The man is silenced, aside from a few choking sounds. His smirk finally drops. His face starts turning blue. And, at last, he looks truly afraid. Now it’s Jon turn to smirk.
“You know nothing, Petyr Baelish,” he hisses, “Better to stay silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. So why don’t you shut up for once?”
It’s become an instinct with him, the way he responds to that voice. He knows it at once. It commands every ounce of his attention at the slightest syllable. And he cannot resist it.
He drops Baelish, who crumbles on the floor, sputtering and clutching his throat.
In a flash, Sansa’s crouching down on the ground beside him, helping Baelish to his feet. She glares at Jon, who stumbles back.
“What are you doing?” She cries, “You could have killed him!”
Jon swallows. Not ‘could have’. ‘Would have’. Would have killed him.
“You don’t understand, he-”
“-I don’t care!” Sansa snaps, “He’s my friend, Jon! And even if you don’t care about my feelings… Strangling a guest, a vassal, an ally under your own roof?! What are you, a Frey?!”
That hurts most of all. Jon is speechless as Sansa tries to soothe Baelish and escort him towards the exist. It’s only now that Jon notices Ghost. He shares a look with his direwolf, and the beast follows the two out.
Jon sinks to his knees when she gone, clutching his temple. Oh, gods. How much did she hear?
He recalls something his fa–Lord Stark– once said, “Cutting out a man’s tongue does nothing. It merely tells the world that you afraid of what he has to say.”
What did strangling Baelish tell Sansa?
How will he face her again?
Even if she isn’t convinced now, the idea will be planted. And she’ll be looking for it. And, eventually, she will know for sure.
He was her brother.
“He’s a madman!” Littlefinger moans, still clutching his throat as she escorts him back to his chambers. He says much for a man who claims, “He’s broken my neck, I’m sure of it!”
“I’ll have a maester called,” she tells him, depositing him in his rooms. She turns away, as eager as ever to leave him. He reaches for her.
“Sansa… Stay with me, please.” His voice, like the rest of him, is pathetic.
“I will come right back once the maester has been fetched,” she lies, fleeing. Her heart pounds. She gives a quick instruction to an on-duty guard to get Maester Daemon, but then hurries off to Jon’s rooms. He’s not returned, so she rushes back down to the crypts.
She finds him on the floor, back against Lyanna’s tomb, head in his hands. Her heart sinks. Perhaps she’s become too skilled at masking her feelings for her own good.
He looks up and scrambles to his feet. “My Lady!”
She stifles a giggle. When he’s at his most nervous, he addresses her by title or style. He doesn’t do that with anyone else, she realizes. Only her. Gods, how did she not realize it before?
Sansa walks toward him, gentle smile on her face. “So, what are we to do now?”
“I-I-I don’t know. Have I ruined everything for you?”
“Not everything,” she replies, “Littlefinger has lived out enough of his usefulness, I think. He’s officially become more trouble than he’s worth.”
Jon closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m glad to hear that, at least. But I’m still sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She pauses, take a deep breath, and makes her decision. “You love me. That’s nothing to apologize for. I’ve always wanted to be loved by a good man.”
Jon goes white. “Of course I love you,” he sputters, “You’re my–”
“–Don’t,” she stops him, moving up close and pressing her fingertip to his lips, “Don’t do that. Please don’t pretend anymore.”
Jon closes his eyes again. “Sansa, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t want to be like the others.”
“Mission accomplished.” She smiles. “You’re not.”
She leans forward and presses her lips to his. He’s still for a short time, but then responds enthusiastically. When she pulls her mouth from his, she presses her forehead to his and sighs.
“So I ask again,” she whispers, stroking his cheek, “What are we going to do? You are still a Stark as far as the world knows, and we do not want to provoke the Dragon Queen. So how do you intend to manage this?”
Jon takes a few deep breaths. “I’m not sure. This sort of thing is usually more your specialty. Any suggestions?”
“I suppose we’ll just have to be discreet.” She smiles. “You’ve become a man of many secrets, Jon Stark. Who knew you could be so duplicitous?”
He grins. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything except that I love you.”
Gods, that feels so good. It feels even better to reply, “I love you, too.”
They trade more kisses.
Petyr Baelish is arrested for treason the next day. Sansa revels in the shock on his face as she accuses him. Littlefinger’s trial goes a fortnight. All that time, she and Jon steal wicked kisses whenever they can steal away. They’re like naughty children.
But even he doesn’t know about the things she’s sent for, the materials she’s required. The herbs, shipped in from The Vale, that she hides in little silk bags she keeps in the locked drawer of her desk.
She watches in satisfaction as Longclaw sinks into Littlefinger’s neck, as the blood sprays, as Jon wipes his blade once the deed is done. Their eyes meet as the gallows are cleared. She feels so free.
She feigns a headache at dinner and retires early. She sneaks into Jon’s chambers and slips naked beneath his furs. When he finally enters, his jaw drops at the sight of her. His grey eyes seem to glow with lust in the candlelight as he steps to the side of the bed. She expects him to kiss her.
He does, in a fashion. He drops to his knees, reaches up, grabs her thigh, and pulls her roughly so her spread legs hang over the bed. And he kisses her other set of lips.
Sansa doesn’t know what she expected, but it isn’t this. Her toes curl, her eyes roll back, and she’s as much at his mercy as Baelish was.
She doesn’t mind, as she knows the feeling is mutual.
I love your blog! So I have an ask; what if the turtles got drunk with their crush, then woke up naked next to each other in his bedroom the morning after?
Thank you so much for your kind words!!
|| Leonardo ||
Leonardo is a man of great honor and discipline. He trains hard and does the best he can for his family at all costs. It figures that the one time he allows himself to act like the young man he is, something horrible happens. It had been Michelangelo who had convinced him to drink. It was his birthday after all, and could Leo say no to his baby bro on his birthday?
The lair is warm, it always is because the turtles are cold-blooded, but on this particular morning, Leonardo realizes that his bed is much warmer than usual. At first, he thinks nothing of it. His brain is far more curious about a headache that clutched his frontal lobes. It is the smell that tips the turtle off that he is not alone.
He jolts out of bed and onto his feet. The cooler air outside of his comforter has him clutching his arms around himself. It is then that his nakedness becomes apparent. However, his attention is not on himself. His eyes are locked on the slowly waking human curled up on his bed. That human is his crush, and he/she is also naked.
“Shit,” he mutters to himself as his foggy brain finally starts putting the pieces together. The turtle suddenly springs into action and slips a pair of shorts on before the human can fully wake.
What has he done?
How could he have let this happen?
The terrapin is embarrassed, ashamed. He backs up until his shell hits the wall. His legs tremble, threatening to give out at any moment. Leonardo is all but certain that he had, in his drunken state, taken advantage of this human. There is no way anyone would willingly have sex with him. No way.
A foreign feeling of cold terror rushes through his veins. What would his family think? His father? He may have just outed their family to the world.
The human stirrs and turns to face him. Leo holds his breath as his/her eyes flutter open. Those beautiful pools of color land on him. But there is no fear, no pain. He/she does not scream or try to run. He/she, smiles.
Leonardo’s legs finally do give out when he/she speaks, “good morning, handsome.”
|| Donatello ||
Donatello rarely ever wakes up in his bed. Most nights he either falls asleep at his desk, or he crashes on the cot he keeps in his lab. He figured Leo had dragged him here at some point in the night. Likely after he and Raphael had that drinking contest. The one which Donatello had won. Raphael would be grumpy today.
The genius terrapin groans and buries his face deeper into his pillows. He should have never agreed to that. There is a rustle of movement and Donnie freezes. At first, he wonders if it is Mikey. But, it couldn’t be. Mikey tends to sleep on him rather than beside him. Slowly, Donnie lifts his head and peers over at the intruder with squinted eyes. He can not make out any facial features, but he does see the peachy color of the person’s skin.
Donatello yelps and he pushes himself off the bed. His hands fumble with the items on his nightstand until they fall on his glasses. He frantically pushes them onto his face.
“Donnie?” The human grumbles, turning to see what is the matter. Upon realizing that this human, his crush, is naked, he realizes that he is naked as well. The turtle searches the room for something to cover himself with and he dives at the first piece of clothing he finds. Thankfully, it is a pair of shorts. “Donnie? What is going on?” He/she asks again, sitting up.
Donnie stutters as his brain attempts to find words. “Wha-who…you-”
“Did I hurt you?” The human’s question throws Donatello way off.
“No!” He quickly responds, “did I hurt you?”
“No!” The human retaliates, “though I am a little sore…”
Donatello then proceeds to faint.
|| Raphael ||
Raphael is a heavy sleeper, his crush wakes up before him. The turtle wakes up after he/she decides to make breakfast for Raph.
Raph grumbles as he enters the world of the conscious. He rolls onto his side and places his palms on his temples. The throbbing in his brain makes it difficult to think.
What the hell happened last night?
All Raph could remember was sitting next to Donatello at the breakfast bar. The terrapin sighs, he would ask about it later. It doesn’t matter now. He is safe and alive in his bed.
Something foreign and delicious tickles his nose and he inhales deeply. It is familiar, he curiously turns his head towards its origin. He finds the empty spot beside him on his bed. One of his hand subconsciously comes down and feels the sheets. They are warm.
“What the fuck?” He grunts, tilting his head up to look around the room. There is no one there but him. But someone had definitely been sleeping beside him.
His bedroom door slowly begins to creak open and Raph prepares to yell at Leo for coming into his room without knocking. The words never leave his mouth.
For instead of his eldest brother, Raphael sees his beautiful little crush, with a plate full of food and a gorgeous smile on his/her face.
“Hello there,” Raph mutters, beckoning him/her forward. Bits and pieces from the night before come racing back to him and he is both terrified and thrilled at what he learns happened. He masks it with his usual cocky armor.
|| Michelangelo ||
Michelangelo is incredibly clingy in his sleep. Whenever he spends the night in one of his brother’s rooms, he always wakes up tangled around them. Raphael is usually the only one who minds.
As Mikey began to stir awake, he realizes that there is someone in his arms and wonders, why is his brother so hot? Is he sick? Mikey opens his eyes and is shocked to find a peach colored being instead of green. He is suddenly very awake as he withdraws his limbs and shuffles away. He curls his hands into fists and rubs his eyes.
He is losing his mind.
There is no way that he was seeing his crush, naked, in his bed.
“Uggghhh…” he grumbles to himself, trying to figure out what was going on. Is it possible to have such a bad hangover that you hallucinate?
If it was, Mikey was starting to believe that that isn’t what is happening.
“Yes?” He carefully responds. Wide baby blues watch the human turn over to look at him. Mikey’s natural response is to prepare for a scream. Maybe even a few minor hits. But the human doesn’t try to attack him. He/she just smiles sleepily up at him.
“Are you alright?” He/she asks, putting a gentle hand on his arm. Mikey pauses and looks from the hand on his arm to the human several times before he stops and grins. The turtle flops back down on his side and curls around his crush again.
Lefou sat down in the chair Gaston had pulled out for him, before Gaston took the seat on the opposite side of the two-person table. He had asked Lefou earlier that day if he had wanted to go out to dinner with him, which had come as a shock to Lefou. He knew that Gaston wasn’t yet ready to have their relationship displayed to the public, however, he had been making small progress, and Lefou considered the dinner to be a huge step towards a more open relationship.
Many heads turned to look over at the pair, but nobody said anything. Lefou kept his head down in slight embarrassment, but couldn’t stop himself from looking out into the ornate restaurant.
“What do you want to order, love?” Gaston asked, causing Lefou to turn his gaze back onto him. He noticed a young waiter standing next to their table, holding a notepad and pen, ready to take down their order.
“I’ll uh- I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Lefou said quietly, still thinking about all the eyes that were watching them.
“We’ll have two of option three, and a slice of chocolate cake too, please.” The waiter quickly jotted down the order Gaston had said, and walked away.
“Is everything okay, Lefou?” Gaston inquired.
“Yes,” he replied quickly, feeling a bit nervous. His tenseness was probably visible on his face, telling by Gaston’s worried expression.
“I-uh-… ” Lefou mumbled, staring down at his lap. “It’s just, well, you know how I feel about all this attention-” Gaston chuckled at that, and reached across the table to hold Lefou’s hands.
“What, are you embarrassed by me?” Gaston joked. “I’m just as nervous as you are, but we can get through this. It’s just a simple dinner, my love,” he whispered, bringing Lefou’s hands closer to his lips and kissing the backs of them, which made Lefou’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red. “Now, tell me, why are you so adorable?” Gaston asked, fluttering his eyes at Lefou.
“Gaston, cut it out, I-” Lefou stopped himself mid-sentence, noticing how Gaston’s gaze suddenly left his and flashed towards something over Lefou’s shoulder. Gaston released Lefou’s hands and growled.
“What’s wrong?” Lefou asked cautiously.
“No, nothing, Lefou,” Gaston’s voice was slightly hushed, but his eyes were fixated on whatever was behind Lefou.
“What are you looking at?” Lefou demanded. “Who’s behind me?”
Gaston bit his lip, his face becoming stone cold, and his eye going from the colour of the ocean, to a dull gray mist, with a hint of darkness creeping at the corners.
“There's… There’s a woman. She’s staring at you from across the room.” Gaston said through a sneer.
Lefou giggled, and Gaston leaned back into his chair, his sharp gaze wavering just a bit at the sound of Lefou’s laugh.
“She’s eyeing you like some kind of prey,” he said with a look of disdain, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands. “She’s checking you out, Lefou, and I don’t like it.”
“What are you so angry about? I’m dating you, Gaston. She can look at me all she wants, and it’s not going to change anything.” Lefou said with a small smile as he slowly reached out and pulled Gaston’s hands out from under Gaston’s chin, holding them and gently kissing them, as Gaston had done earlier. “I should go talk to her. Maybe she wants to know the secret to my perfect curls.”
Gaston held onto Lefou’s hands a bit tighter, blushing as he looked up at Lefou.
“I’m not gonna stop you from going over there and talking to her, but if you do, I’m gonna have to eat the chocolate cake all by myself.” Gaston said through a smirk.
“You bastard.” Lefou said, shaking his head.
“And I love you, too.” Gaston winked.
send me prompts here and i’ll write a “mini” gafou fic!
“Hi Dee! 💕 Would you please write a fluffy Spencer Reid x reader in which Spencer constantly has intense nightmares due to what he’s seen on the job. (Y/N) is always there to comfort him and even though Spencer feels bad for waking her up or having her take care of him (Y/N) always reassures him that there’s no where else she’d rather be.”
WARNING: MENTION OF DROWNING AND DEATH.
Opening your eyes you look at the time on the clock. 3:30am. Spencer’s tossing and turning has woken you up for the second night in a row. Turning over on your side you can see part of his face from the moonlight shining in through the bedroom window. His brows were furrowed and a tear slid down his cheek. “Spence..” You speak gently shaking him awake. He jolts up panting as he tried to catch his breath. You sit up next to him and brushing his sweat drenched hair off of his forehead. “Is it happening again?” You ask. He nods his head as he stares straight at the wall in front of the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” He shakes his head. “It helps to talk, Spence. You tell me that all the time when I’m in distress.”
“I don’t want you to worry. I feel bad already for waking you.” He said running a hand through his hair.
“Spence, I don’t mind.” You say rubbing his back.
“But I do.” He says turning to face you. “You need the sleep.”
“You need the sleep more than I do. And with these nightmares they’ll keep you awake the rest of the night and that’s not healthy.” You move on the bed to sit down in front of him. “I want you to talk about whatever is bothering you. That was part of your deal. We are open with each other no matter the circumstances. I always tell you everything no matter what it may be. I could have hit a bird and still talk to you about it.” You see a small smile appear on his face. “I can handle whatever it is that it bothering you.”
“I just don’t want to worry you.”
“Would you quit saying that?” You say grabbing his hands. “Whether it’s about your mom, work, or just some random nightmare I want to listen. I want you to be able to come to me and just let it out.” You look him in the eyes. “Okay?” He nods his head. “So what is it?”
He takes in a deep breath before his mouth again to speak. “It has to do with a case.”
“This past case?” He nods his head. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t save her.”
“The victim.. We were so close and yet we didn’t get there in time… The unsub.. He drowned her in the lake.. I tried to resuscitate her but nothing was working. She was alive just five minutes before we got to her. She was still alive but then… She was gone.. Just like that.. She died in my arms..” Another tear slipped down his sweaty face. You reached up to wipe it away but another one followed just shortly after.
“Spence..” You whisper grasping his hands in tighter embrace. “You did what you could do. You tried to save her.. She knew you were coming to get her but she probably also knew that the unsub wouldn’t be stopped in time.”
“But I could have stopped her!” He exclaimed. “She was only fifteen! She still had her whole life ahead of her. She had a family.”
“Spence, please don’t beat yourself up over this.” You say wiping his tear stained face again. “You had no control over the situation.”
“But I could have saved her, (Y/N). Don’t you get that?”
“I really think you could have but some situations just can’t be controlled and this was one of them. You can’t keep yourself down because of this.” He looked down at his lap as he sniffled. You lifted his head back up and leaned closer to him. “You save who you can but you can’t save everyone.”
“Now you sound like Rossi.”
“Paraphrasing the great David Rossi.” You say making him smile. “See? There’s that smile I’ve been looking for.” You say giggling. Leaning closer to his face you gently kiss him. “I love how big your heart is. And I love your passion to save people and keep others safe.” You speak before kissing him again. You feel him start to kiss back and one his hands grasp onto the back of your neck deepening the kiss. “I love you Spencer, and I just want you to let me be there for you.” He lays down on the bed pulling you with him making you laugh.
“Did I even mention how lucky to have you in my life?”
“Nearly every day but I don’t mind hearing it just one more time.” You say making him smile.
“Well I’m lucky to have you in my life.” He said before pecking your lips.
“Now that we’ve talked about your problems, can we please go back to sleep?” You ask laying back down in your spot on the bed.
“Yes we can go back to sleep.” He said wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his body. He nuzzled his face into your neck before giving it a gentle kiss sending goosebumps all over your body. “I love you.” He whispered.
“I love you too.” You whisper back. Turning over to face him you snuggle closer to his body and burying your face into his chest. Soon you found yourself falling asleep in his arms.
Two in one night, AGAIN! Short one but I loved writing this one. It was cute and fluffy and sweet and oh my gosh just imagining Spence crying made me tear up a little, I’m so sorry by the way.
Daisies your mission is to like, reblog, and leave your feedback in my inbox! Thank you so much for the love these past few weeks! I love it so much! :)
ok but all of those earlier asks about kira’s literature degree got me thinking more about, like
rohan finishing a manuscript and kira just
“hand it over”
and proofreads it. rohan snarks about how that’s what editors are for but kira insists he knows what he’s talking about and can do it better. (he just asks that rohan lets him have the manuscript for one night)
the next day, kira turns over like 20 pages worth of commentary, corrections, and suggestions on the written part of the story because, as kira says, “as a mangaka, your strong suit is your art, isn’t it–not the writing.”
(it’s true but there’s no way rohan will admit it)
(he begrudgingly acquiesces to let kira do more editing when it turns out his editors and readers alike take to the changes rather well)
I personally am of the opinion that not enough has been established of Pentos for Tattered Prince taking over to truly "matter" in an emotional sense. I mean we have seen Volantis and it would be appalling after hearing the Widow that Tattered would take over Volantis and topple the Tigers and Elephants, likewise if he was granted White Harbor or if he takes over Braavos. I think the appalling thing would be that in the Epilogue or Post-Dawn footnote, Tattered takes over and invades Braavos?
Imagine Dany *turning over* Pentos to someone like the Tattered Prince; IMO that’s what will ground it emotionally. What’s meant to tug at our heartstrings is how Tatters’ cause corrupts/draws out the worst in our heroes, from Quent to Barry to the silver queen herself. For the record, I don’t see any sign that Tatters has ambitions beyond Pentos, or that he could pose an existential threat to Braavos on his own. The latter city is what the future of Essos looks like; I very much doubt it’s going to end up as mere fodder for Tatters.
i wanted to buy moenie and kitchi by gregory and the hawk bc its a great album but its not on itunes -_- here i was ready to turn over a new leaf and start legally buying music for the first time!! fine then universe smh
I love how in SR4 kinzie and Matt have such a cat and dog relationship, like she hates him and wants to be left alone and wishes she could throw him out an airlock and he’s like “yes friends, kinzie saved me because we’re besties!!”. “I almost killed you but we are friendos yes!!”.
I think we all know the two bonded over turning the boss into a toilet during Johnnys loyalty mission and that it totally was kinzie idea
i described a picture to my housemate as “cryptid stance” and he goes “that’s exactly like you when you’re making tea in the kitchen and someone opens the door and you kind of hunch over and turn to see who it is” and im SCREAMING
An eerie silence settled in with the cold grey morning, fog dancing with the wind. Debris was dangerously scattered all around them and Jason never felt so tired in all his life.
Pulling his mask off his head, he took in a fresh breath of clouded air and scanned the area for any form of life. Taking a few steps forward it didn’t take him long to see the crumpled heap of Red Robin. Panic blossoming in his chest, he broke out in a sprint.
He dropped to his knees and grabbed Tim by the shoulders, carefully turning him over. It was worse than he thought. His mask was blown off his face, and deep cuts and broken glass lay embedded across his skin. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.
“Aw Jesus Christ,” Jason pulled him close, “Red, Tim can you hear me? Wake up buddy.”
With a hitched breath Tim weakly opened his bruised eyes and managed a smile.
“God…” he breathed, blood spattering up Jason’s face, “You look so handsome…”
His eyes stayed open, but his smile faded and his body went limp in Jason’s arms.