#Grabs all his coins ‘don’t mind me just cleaning up’

[bizarrescribblez]

Happy Gideon gets explodes into coins day!!!!

[maskedbyghost]

It was one of those rare quiet evenings. The team had some downtime, and everyone had scattered to do their own thing. You sat on the worn-out couch in the common area, flipping through a book that didn't interest you enough to be fully immersed in it. Your eyes kept drifting to Simon, who was sitting across from you, completely focused on cleaning his gear.

For a guy who could take down entire squads without breaking a sweat, he was surprisingly methodical. Every movement was slow and deliberate, like he found some peace in the routine. You smirked, unable to resist.

"You know, I always pictured you as the type to unwind with, I don’t know, something more...exciting," you teased, your voice light.

Simon didn’t look up. "Exciting how?" he asked, his voice that familiar low rumble.

"I don’t know. Skydiving? Wrestling bears? You know, something that matches the whole Ghost vibe."

Finally, Simon glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly under the mask. "I’m not that exciting," he said dryly.

"Oh, come on," you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. "You can’t tell me there’s not some wild hobby you’re hiding. I bet you secretly knit or have a collection of rare coins."

Simon snorted, setting down his gun. "Knitting. Really?"

"Hey, everyone needs a stress outlet," you replied with a grin. "You could be the most dangerous knitter in the world. Imagine that."

"I'd poke your eye out with a needle," he retorted, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

You laughed and stood up, stretching. "Well, now I know what to get you for Christmas."

Simon just shook his head as you came closer, looking over his shoulder at his gear. "You’re too serious all the time, you know that? Ever thought about loosening up a bit?"

Simon raised an eyebrow. "And what would you suggest?"

Without a second thought, you reached over and ruffled his hair, the only part of him fully on display, as his mask covered everything from his eyes to his neck.

Simon froze, clearly caught off guard.

"There. You look way less intimidating now," you said, holding back a laugh.

Simon stared at you, his eyes narrowed in consideration. Then, with surprising speed, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down onto the couch beside him.

"You’re going to regret that," he said, though his tone was more playful than threatening.

You grinned, sitting up straight. "What, are you going to teach me a lesson in intimidation?"

Simon leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "No. But next time, I’ll make sure to return the favor."

Your smirk faltered for a second. "Wait… What does that mean?"

Simon leaned back, clearly enjoying the slight confusion on your face. "You'll find out."

"You’re insufferable," you huffed, crossing your arms.

"So are you," Simon shot back calmly. He resumed his work, his face a mask of indifference, as if he hadn't been affected at all.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what kind of “favor” he had in mind. But one thing was clear—whatever it was, it would keep you on edge for a while.

As for Simon? He looked more relaxed than usual, and you couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’d managed to get under his skin a little.

[riordanness]

lover — [w.wonka]

wordcount: 1K

warnings: none

requested: yes!! anon <3

You’d think that working for the greatest chocolate maker in the world would be awesome, right?

You’d be correct. However… some parts were not quite so awesome. Especially when you’re head over heels in love with said chocolate maker.

“Noodle!” I scold, laughing as she tosses yet another chocolate in her mouth, rather than stacking them as we’re supposed to be doing.

She shrugs, and gives me a wicked grin. “Sorry, not sorry.”

I roll my eyes, taking a bite out of my own selected piece of chocolate. Willy always says that we should eat whatever and whenever we like. He just cares that much for us.

“What do you want to do when you’re older, y/n?” Noodle asks me suddenly.

I frown at the question. “I am older.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re like eighteen. I mean older, older.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m pretty content just working at this shop right now. But I’d like to fall in love, get married, and have a family. That would be nice, I guess. It’s not likely, though.”

“Why not? That’s totally likely.”

I smile a little. “Because, Noodle-dee, I’m not that kind of girl. Guys don’t just go and fall in love with me.”

She smirks a little, and pops another chocolate in her mouth. “You never know, y/n-doo.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There’s a smile in my voice.

Noodle doesn’t reply, so I let it go, going back to stacking Willy’s gorgeous chocolates in their pretty display cases for the shop. This is honestly probably my favourite job in the entire store. Making it look pretty.

It’s the end of the day, all the customers are gone, and just Noodle, Willy, and I are left, all doing our individual closing duties.

Noodle cleans the floors, I count the till money, and Willy, well, I’m still not exactly sure what he does, but he walks through every single room in the entire building, checking something.

Probably some big important, owner-of-the-chocolate-factory job I don’t know about.

Noodle and her bucket of soapy water makes it way over to me. “Hey y/n,” she sing-songs.

“Mm?” I glance up from counting silver sovereigns.

“You know how you were saying you wanted to fall in love?”

“Someday, yeah.”

Noodle looks amused about something. “Are you already in love? Do you at least have someone in mind?”

My brain immediately, unhelpfully, offers up an image of Willy, with his smiling face and unruly dark curls. I suddenly get very flustered. “Uh—no. Of course not, Noodle.”

“Really.” She raises an eyebrow, deadpanning at me.

I shake my head. “I don’t have anyone, uh, in mind, no. I’m not in love. That’s ridiculous.”

At that moment, without either me or Noodle noticing, Willy reenters the main shop room where we both are. But I’m so engrossed in trying to convince Noodle to drop this topic that I don’t even see him.

“What about Willy?” Noodle suddenly asks.

I drop my stack of sovereigns. “What do you mean?”

Noodle has her hands on her hips. “You like him. It’s so obvious.”

I fumble with the coins, trying desperately to keep my hands from shaking. “No—? I don’t—um. No. I don’t like him. I mean I do, like him. But not, uh, like, like him.”

“Are you sure? You don’t seem sure.”

I groan, slamming the sovereigns onto the counter. “Fine. You win, Noodle-dee. I like Willy. A lot. In fact, I’m desperately in love with him and I think about him almost constantly. Now can you please drop it?” I don’t even realise I have tears in my eyes, but my emotions suddenly come to a swirling head, and I hiccup, and brush a tear away.

“I’m sorry,” Noodle whispers, but she sounds more triumphant than sorry. “I won’t ask you about it again.”

She grabs up her bucket and leaves abruptly.

I blink a few times, let out a sigh, and finish up with the till money. Then I flick off all the lights, lock up the inner doors, and get ready to leave for the day.

Noodle has already signed out, so I guess it’s only Willy left in the shop somewhere. “Willy?” I call, “I’m heading off now!”

Willy appears, hurrying over to me. “Thanks, y/n.” He has a weird look on his face, and he won’t look at me.

“Everything okay?” I ask uncertainly. “You look strange.”

He shakes his head. “Fine, fine. I’m okay.”

“Alright.” I shrug. “I’m heading home now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say this every day. It’s like clockwork.

Willy usually echoes it back, tells me to get home safely, and gives me a smile. But today, it’s different.

“Y/n, wait,” he says, just as my fingers are on the doorknob.

I glance at him. “Yeah?”

He licks his lips, glancing everywhere but me. “I heard you and Noodle earlier.”

I freeze, unsure of what to say or do. “You did?”

He nods. “Is it true? You’re in love with me?”

I don’t answer right away. I look at him for a moment, breathe, and then nod my head once. “Ever since I met you,” I say, and try to laugh. But it’s not really that funny. It’s kind of pathetic, actually. Because I am just y/n, and he is Willy Wonka.

“Me too, you know.”

It takes me way too many heartbeats to understand what he means. “What?”

“I’m in love with you, too, silly.” He chuckles, playing with his fingers.

I stare at him. “You… you, what?”

He laughs again, more forcefully this time. “Y/n, just come here.” He reaches for me, hands cupping my face, and when he pulls me into him, and kisses me, I can’t even breathe. It’s surreal, like a dream, but it’s real, and it’s happening, and it’s him, and it’s everything.

[erwinsvow]

was watching the latest hunger games and i don’t know if you’ve seen it but there’s a scene with snow and lucy gray that is so reader and rafe core. like the scene where he kills the mayor’s daughter and lucy gray is in hysterics and he just grabs her, warns her to pull herself together and go back outside and pretend like he’s not just killed someone and i’m like this is so rafe and his casual dominance with reader. 😍😍

babe STOP you are SOOO onto something here.. + that scene in the movie had me FERAL!!!!! picturing season two after limbrey kills that guy (im so sorry i cannot recall any names.. was too busy staring at rafe's arms)

"oh my god!" you squeal, eyes wide like coins, tears filling up and almost spilling over in a matter of seconds. "oh my god, oh my god-"

rafe fucked up. he shouldn't have gotten you anywhere near this situation, it's his own fault. your insistence on not being too far from him and his own ego that found pleasure in that fact had won him over. rafe liked that you liked him, that you needed him around.

but right now he can tell what you're thinking—probably something along the lines of the fact that he was insane, that his dead body had appeared and he was going to take care of it because he wasn't reacting at all like you were, how any normal person would.

limbrey was staring at you, and a sudden fear ran through his mind that she might try and hurt you too.

"go inside-" he barks at the older lady, who doesn't move, gun in her hand. "go inside! m'gonna have to take care of this, leave-" she stalks off, while you watch with your big wet eyes, shoulders shaking, voice run dry from your screaming.

your reaction is normal, expected. he can't find it himself to even be remotely angry. he leaves the dead body where it is, hands finding your shoulders and dragging you away, like that might help you.

"hey, listen to me. listen to me." he says sternly, and you listen obediently, if not due to fear. "don't scream. don't worry. m'gonna take care of this-this mess, okay? we're gonna be fine."

"r-rafe, she k-killed someone. we, we have to call the police-"

"we're not calling anyone. m'gonna handle it. he was a bad guy, okay, no one's gonna miss him."

"a-and that makes it okay? rafe, you-"

"hey," he barks and you freeze up, listening. "listen, kid, have i ever gotten you hurt? haven't i kept you safe? hm?" he wants an answer, so you nod, still shell shocked. "s'gonna be fine. keep it together. i can't have you like this. we're gonna be fine."

"o-okay." you look down at your white shirt, observing tiny little dots of blood. "what, what do i-"

"go inside. throw this shirt in the fireplace. and then go upstairs to my room and take a shower. okay? i gotta take care of this first. then i'll come join you, got it? alright?"

"okay," you repeat, nodding, frozen. you look up at your boyfriend one last time, trusting him like you always do, even when a little part of you is screaming to run and take off in the other direction. "what're you gonna d-do, with him, uh-"

"i don't know, kid. i need to get you away from it first. just go upstairs, please-" your shoulders relax as soon as the sentence leaves his lips. your mind goes fuzzy, like it always does around rafe, but hearing that even in this insane, unfathomable situation, that his first priority is you, makes your head spin.

you lean in, pressing a kiss to rafe's lips, not pulling away until a minute has passed, your shaking hands tight on his arms.

like always, you follow the instructions he's given you, walking away and heading inside, shedding your clothes and burning them, cleaning yourself in the scalding water until you can smell nothing but the vanilla of your soap and the pine of rafe's shampoo. once out, you put on one of his shirts and some of his long white socks, everything feeling cold still.

you wait patiently on his bed, not able to focus on anything on your phone. when rafe walks in, you don't move, letting him come sit beside you.

"what did you-" you start, before being interrupted.

"don't ask, kid." rafe doesn't sound mad, rather protective. "if i tell you, you're in this shit now. can't have that."

you wrap your arms around his neck, crawling into rafe's lap and into a tight hug. his hands tense around your waist, and you close your eyes, inhaling the scent of his skin. he doesn't smell like blood, at the very least, so you think he hasn't done anything crazy yet.

or crazier, you correct yourself.

"the swamp. in the woods. there's gators, and foxes, and who knows what else." it comes out as a whisper, like you're scared that the walls might overhear. "if you bring him there, no one will find him. if no one finds him you can't get in trouble."

rafe pulls out of the hug to look at you, all shaky limbs and wet eyes. he presses a kiss to your forehead.

[drabblesandimagines]

Cidolfus x fem reader fluff with either sick day or opposites attract 👻🐕

Also just wanted to say your fics are amazing and I'm basically stalking your account almost every day now. With you being one of the only ones making fluffy content for my favourite boys, please keep going. Lots of love, and you deserve all the followers ❤️.

Thank you, lovely! I hope you enjoy <3 Petal Cidolfus Telamon x female (Branded) reader

You’re too hot – a particularly odd sensation as you struggle to recall the last time when you’d felt anything but cold. Spending so many nights sleeping in a drafty chocobo barn had left a permanent chill in your bones.

There’d been a heavy storm a day or so ago when you were on the road to the market – your master took shelter in the carriage and had left you shivering outside on the saturated ground, shackled to one of the large wheels for good measure.

You had made it to Northreach somehow, but hardly the picture of a healthy Bearer who would make good coin. A chesty cough, pale skin, unable to keep focus. Your master was in a foul mood – there hadn’t been an ounce of interest in you at the auction and he was loathed to drag you all the way back without anything to show for it. The market had shut for the evening and so he had moved to the outskirts the opposite side of the town – the mothercrystal of Orinflamme shining in the distance, your arms shackled above your head once more on the carriage’s great wheel in the hopes of flogging you to traders making their way in and out of the town in the early evening.

You no longer had the strength to keep your head held up, your mind fuzzy, so it’s not a surprise that you don’t hear the approaching footsteps until a new, deep voice booms from a few metres away.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

“You look like a man who appreciates a good deal.” Your master chuckles. “Got a Bearer for sale.”

There’s a gloriously cool, gloved hand placed upon your forehead for what turns out to be too short a moment before it is removed.

“Oh, petal.” A velvety voice tuts sympathetically at you in a murmur – too low for your master’s ears. “She’s burning up with a fever.”

“These Branded always run hot,” is his scoffed response. “She’s good stock, mind. Only a little bit of stiffness about her.” He grabs a fistful of your hair in a harsh grip and yanks your head up, and you blearily take in the stranger who is crouched in front of you.

He reminds you of a lord the way he is dressed - his shirt somewhat open with a large collar, two sword hilts jutting out from his hip, clean shaven and looking remarkably unimpressed at the sight before him. “And you really think you’re going to be able to sell her in this condition?”

“If you’re not interested, I kindly ask you to fuck off.” He shoves your head forward to emphasise his point as he relinquishes the grip on your hair.

“Now, now, no need to be rude - I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” The stranger gets back up to his feet. “Why are you selling her?”

“Honestly, I could buy a new Branded that won’t give me any lip for farming work. I’m too old for that.”

“Oh, she’s spirited, is she?”

“That’s a word for it. So, are you interested?”

“Hm.” The man reaches for the gil pouch by his side, as if to check its weight. “What’s the price?”

“10,000 gil.”

He whistles. “For a sick, stubborn Bearer?”

“She’s not sick. And I’m sure a young gentleman like yourself would be able to knock the stubbornness out of her. I paid 15,000 for her originally – it’s a bargain.”

If your head wasn’t pounding, your mouth completely dry, you would’ve had something to say about being described as a bargain… but all your energy is focused on breathing.

“Fine.” The mysterious man agrees, pulling off one of his leather gloves and offering his hand.

Your master grabs hold of it eagerly, beaming. “Pleasure doing busi…” But the sentence is cut off as sparks of lightning crackle in the air, blue bolts shooting from the stranger’s hand and up your master’s arm before sparking all over his body.

Your master grunts, drops to the ground, twitching, eyes wide open in your direction.

He’s alive, breathing, but he won’t be getting up again anytime soon.

The mysterious man puts his glove back on and, using his leather boot, gently rolls your master over. He bends down and grabs a bundle of keys that had been attached to his belt before crouching down in front of you once more. You wonder if you’re next.

You tense as a gentle hand cups your cheek, bracing yourself for pain, but it only tilts your head up to meet his eyes. He smiles – sympathetic and kind. “Hello, petal. Name’s Cid. I’d ask you yours, but something tells me you’re not up for much talking right now. I’m going to get you out of these shackles and we’ll find somewhere comfy to rest up for the night. You’re safe with me – you have my word.”

He removes his hand and you manage to keep your head upright, a little in disbelief as he places the key in the lock of one of the shackles and undoes the mechanism, careful to lay your arm down in your lap before repeating the action with the other.

“There we go. I’m going to pick you up now, petal. You just rest.”

He places an arm around your back, another under your knees and gets to his feet with a slight grunt, mumbling about his own knees. The upward motion seems too much to bear, however, and unconsciousness takes over.

--

Isabelle raises an eyebrow at the sight of Cid at her door, you cradled against his chest. She puts her hands on her hips and tuts.

“Cid, it’s not bring your own.”

“Not what it looks like.” He lifts you up, causing your head to lull back and reveal the Brand on your cheek. “Petal’s not well. Any chance of a bed for the evening and we’ll be out of your hair after dawn?”

“Of course.” Isabelle steps back, widening the door to permit Cid entry. “What happened?”

“Some git trying to sell her on the outskirts. He’s taking a little nap. Poor thing’s absolutely frozen.”

“Did anyone see?”

Cid shakes his head. “No. I’d be surprised if he even remembers.”

“Girls,” the Dame calls to a couple of the women hanging by the door – Cid isn’t a stranger to partaking in the delights the Veil has to offer, after all. “Prepare a fire in Cid’s usual room. Extra blankets.”

Cid nods in thanks, heading towards the staircase to a room he knows well.

--

You don’t know what’s real or what is a dream over the next few hours. Fleeting moments of consciousness - a cold compress against your forehead, a rough voice coaxing you to drink something that feels soothing on your throat and warming in your stomach.

You wake up feeling… comfortable? It’s an odd sensation. What would you be on that’s so soft? You open your eyes, confused at the fact that you’re covered in a soft knitted blanket. The room is strange – a bed, a chair and a man standing over the fireplace, rousing the flames higher with a fire poker.

He turns and his eyes widen as he sees you awake and you panic and begin fumbling with the blanket, stuttering out an apology as you try to get up. How did you end up in a bed of all things?

“Easy now,” he holds up his hands in surrender as he takes a cautious step forward. “I meant what I said – you’re safe with me.”

You’ve just managed to disentangle yourself from the blankets, getting up on legs that just about to collapse underneath you. The man is quick to your side, a hand on the small of your back and another around your shoulder, guiding you back down upon the bed.

“Master, I-”

“None of that, petal.” He cuts off your protest. “I am not your master, and, from this day forward, you will never have one again. Pop your legs back up.”

You do so, automatically – an order is an order, no matter how confusing it may be – and he tucks the discarded blanket around you with a satisfied smirk.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Name’s Cid,” he grins, bowing with mock flourish. “May I have the pleasure of yours?”

“I don’t… Where are we?” You ignore his question.

“We’re at The Veil, in Northreach.” The Veil rings a bell in your head and the colour must drain from your cheeks as Cid is quick to try and set your mind at ease. “Not like that - the Dame is a friend of mine, just set us up for the night. You were too ill to travel.”

“Travel?”

Cid nods, sitting down heavily in the chair by your bedside. “Mm-hm. You see, I have a place that’s safe for people like you, where we can live on own own terms…”

Your eyes flicker to his Brandless cheek. “We?”

He smiles.

-------

“Here we go, petal.” Cid smiles as he enters the solar, holding the bottle aloft in triumph. “Tarja thinks you’re over the worst of it, but she’d rather you keep up with the tonics for another few days.”

You shuffle upright, aided by the multitude of pillows Cid had set up at the headboard of the bed, and frown at the prospect – the tonics are horribly bitter due to one of the plants that make up its components. “Really? But I’m feeling so much better…” Your protest falls flat at how hoarse your voice remains.

“Ah-ah,” he chides as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed and proceeds to pop the cork out of the bottle, holding it out in offering. “Good girls take their medicine.”

It is a battle you know you won’t win. With a sigh, you take it from his hand, closing your eyes tightly and down the tonic with a grimace. It’s silly, but sometimes you think you’d rather go through having the Brand removed again that drinking another one of these foul things. “Thank you.” Cid plucks the now empty bottle from your hand and places it down on the side, smiling wistfully at you – it still makes your scalp tingle, even after all these years.  

“What’s that smile for?”

“Just a bit of déjà vu, love.” He wraps his fingers around your hand, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “This reminds me of that first wonderful night we spent together.” “How?” Your brow furrows in confusion, thinking back to the night he'd first kissed you in the solar after a successful mission and a glass or two of wine. He laughs. “Not that one.”

“If you’re thinking of the one at The Veil, we have a very different opinion of what counts as wonderful.”

“How can it not have been wonderful, the night you came into this old man’s life? Only difference is, now I can do this,” he leans in to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, withdrawing quickly with a wink at your pout. “There’ll be more when you’re better.”

“But I am be-”

There’s a frantic knock upon the solar door and Cid turns, keeping your hand held in his.

“Come in.”

The door is flung open by an out of breath Gav, face red with exertion. “It’s… time.” He wheezes, leaning on her knees. “Shiva’s on the… field, like.”

“Right…” Cid nods, and you don’t miss the subtle frown as his eyes flick from Gav to you in thought. You squeeze his fingers in unspoken affirmation. “Are you sure?”

“Go. You don’t know when you’ll get another chance.”

He doesn’t need to hear it again. “Gav, tell Goetz to get ready. We’re heading out.”

“On it!” Gav turns and sprints back down the hall towards the staircase, and you squeeze Cid’s fingers once more to gain his attention.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” You ask, timidly. His forearms are mottled with petrification now, no matter how much he tries to hide his discomfort from you.

He smirks, patting your thigh through the blanket. “Don’t you worry about me, love. You just concentrate on making sure you’re fully recovered when I return, hm?”

You nod as he gets to his feet with a final squeeze of your hand. He double-checks the belts that sit ever present at his hip and adjusts his gloves ever so slightly – a nervous habit, but not one he’d ever confess. Once satisfied, Cid leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Behave. I don’t need to tell you that both Charon and Tarja will have no qualms in dragging you back to bed if they see you wandering around.”

You roll your eyes and nod, knowing it’s true - you had remained spirited - and watch as he walks over to the door. He hesitates a moment, leaning his head against the doorframe as he takes one final look.

“I love you, petal.”

You smile, gripping the blankets in absence of his hand. “I love you too, Cid.” --

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

Joseph, Jotaro and Johnathan are Werebears or it’s just Johnathan and he considers you his ‘Little Bear’ because of how small and defenseless you are (Or it was Joseph who coined the term)

Or maybe it’s just Johnathan vs Dio and they’re Werebears?

Or it can be Johnathan vs Dio, Joseph vs Kars and Jotaro vs DIO (All Separate)

Darling accidentally enters their territory and finds JoJo’s home (To escape from the storm), seeing that it’s messy she cleans the place up, however she feels extreme exhaustion after all that she endured and falls asleep on the huge couch

JoJo is very shocked seeing a Human in his home! However he wouldn’t toss her out as that would be very ungentlemanly of him to do that, especially since it’s going to storm very hard for a few days

I’m totally not thinking that Werebear!Johnathan would cuddle Darling like she’s his personal Teddy Bear after getting attached to her

OR

Platonic Johnathan and Erina as Werebears with Reader being a Human Child who got lost after running away from her dysfunctional family? (They’ve been wanting a child for a very long time) Maybe they call Darling ‘Little Bear’ because she’s a Cub compared to them (Maybe she’s around 6-10 years old?)

I know a little bit about bears, like how the males leave the mother bears after they mate, however because this is Johnathan I feel like he would want to be part of the child rearing process (He would be very overprotective)

Don’t mind me, I’m totally not using this as an excuse for the idea of the JoJo’s and Villains to have Bear Ears on their heads *Lies* 😅

My mind was sorta scrambled and pretty much everywhere when I thought about this

Ooh interesting.

I think Jonathan, Joseph and Jotaro would be good (have them as siblings in this au)

I was originally thinking sloth bears but they aren't so much hunters, so I'm going with American black bears instead.

Of course seeing darling sleeping in their house causes a back an forward between the siblings.

Jotaro being the stern yet cautious suggests they have darling leave to protect their meanwhile Jonathan and Joseph believe that darling should stay because of the stormy weather. Jonathan being the gentleman his while Joseph has alterier motives.

Of course Joseph is straight to flirting before the other two are quick to pull him away. Jonathan thanks darling for cleaning the kitchen and living room (he feels guilty as he had plans of cleaning) and offers to let darling stay till the weather clears up, even offering his bed. Not just because he's a gentleman but also to avoid her from finding out about their other forms.

Of course Jonathan and Joseph are immediately fawning over darling. If darling is intimidated by Jotaro they will assure her that It's nothing personal, Jotaro is just the abrasive type and he'll warm up with time.

Jonathan offers up warm meals, even dinner which is something they don't partake in their human forms. When darling is about to go to sleep he tells darling to not be concerned by any sounds as bears tend to roam around the surrounding property at night.

The rain doesn't let up for days, even when it does calm momentarily the ground is far too muddy to trek safely.

At this point Jotaro begins to start hovering around darling, which the other two find endearing. In honesty they don't seem to mind the fact that they're all developing feeling for the same person except that Jonathan and Jotaro not to happy with Joseph's forwardness, which Joseph away tells them that if they want something they have to grab it by the reigns and not expect to get her attention if they're just going to sit around and hope she reciprocates.

Unfortunately Jonathan does agree to certain extent with what Joesph is saying. If darling wasn't already flustered by one man trying to swoon her then she definitely is now with Jonathan's flattery.

However one early morning darling wakes up as they return home (luckily in their human forms. Unluckily that they're all probably naked as to not wanting their clothes to be ripped during their transformation) covered in mud and Jonathan as well was Joesph covered in deep cuts. Darling has questions but puts them to the side to quick help Jotaro with preparing hot water to clean them and dress their wounds.

"So what happened?" Darling would ask while bring them fresh clothing.

"Theives, luckily we were able to chase them away before they stole anything" Jotaro would lie but darling is still sceptical. With Jonathan and Joseph in bed recovering darling offers to help around the house.

Darling decides to stay up and watchs them from the stairway. She manages to see them transform and accidentally catches their attention. They can't talk in this form so darling is under the impression that they're attacking her and she trips and hurts herself. Leaving her at the mercy of the monsters in front of her.

They probably have her held down for awhile to calm her before she passes out. She knows their secret now and with monster hunters keen on killing their kind they can't let darling leave, not that they had plans to earlier.

[margowritesthings]

What’s Mine Is Mine

pairing: lh!Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1159

warnings: possessive Arthur, spit kink, low honour Arthur, shameless filth, very suggestive, mentions of sex

moodboard

a/n: i simply Cannot Write Drabbles... thank you so much @elifsukirdaghehe for the spit kink request and anon for the low honour Arthur request! I hope this lives up to your expectations! This is very heavily inspired by this bc its one of the hottest things ive ever seen lol

also click the link at the end for a wonderful surprise and say thank you to @cowboydisaster

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj

“I do believe these belong to me…” Arthur quips, a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulls the pile of chips towards him. A relatively old guy with a fantastically twisted handlebar moustache throws his cards down, cursing as he walks away from the table empty handed. A low chuckle reaches your ears when you squeeze Arthur’s shoulder, proudly standing behind him while his winning streak continues.

“Baby, we’re in the money!” He smugly exclaims, completely ignoring the grumbles of his fellow players. You roll your eyes playfully, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. The action gives your outlaw a pretty fantastic view of your chest, if only for a brief moment, but of course he catches it. The envious eyes of every other man at the table follow you back up to a standing position.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want a whiskey?”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

You catch the coin that is expertly flipped through the air, winking a silent thanks to Arthur and swaying your hips just a little more than usual when you strut to the bar. You know all eyes are on you, as does Arthur, and you know how crazy and possessive that drives him, usually culminating in mind-blowing sex that sends you dumb to everything but screaming his name. He loves knowing how much everyone wants you, knowing that he’s the only one who will ever have you. 

It’s only a few strides to the bar, the next hand in Arthur’s game already being dealt by the time you lean one hip against the wood. 

“What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ with a dog like that, huh?”

The unpleasant feeling settles in your stomach almost instantly as the worst kind of booze breath reaches your senses. Rolling your eyes, your gaze falls to the origin: a man, probably in his 30’s, with a clean shaven face and a suit that didn’t quite fit right. He isn’t completely unfortunate looking, you’d have to give him that, but the invisible layer of slime coating him from head to toe is enough to send women running for miles. That, you’re sure of.

Glancing back to the table, you see Arthur engrossed in the game. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, or the promise of the kind of fucking that can only be fuelled by the fiercest jealousy, but you subconsciously decide what simply has to be done. The buzz of four drink and the electricity in the air only found in a packed saloon of an evening spurs you on, dragging your fluttering eyes back to the stranger and plastering a sickly sweet grin to your plump lips. 

“Why, you reckon you could show me a better time, cowboy?” Your drawl is sickening, but it does the job as a flash of false hope ignites the man’s features. 

You place your elbow on the cool bar, sliding down to place some of your weight on it. Naturally, your chest never rises and falls so dramatically with each seductive breath, but you can smell a free drink a mile away, and this one is much closer than that.

“Oh, don’t you know it, baby, I-I could show you the time of your life.” He’s nervous, clearly not used to making it this far without having a drink thrown over him.

What’s more, Arthur has noticed, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds with the most delicious frown on his face. You can practically hear the territorial growls being ripped from the depths of his throat, low and gravely and vibrating your very being.

The bartender finally arrives, glancing awkwardly between yourself and the other man, not knowing who was there first and who to serve. Luckily for him, and for your grand plan, your slimy admirer speaks up.

“I’ll have a beer. And whatever the lady likes.” He gestures to you, all bravado and ego as he places two coins onto the countertop. 

“Whiskey, please. Neat.”

The bartender nods and turns to get the drinks, leaving you alone to be gawked at.

“Oh, I love a woman who can handle her drink.”

“Really? Do you know something, mister, that is just fascinating.”

Every nerve ending in your body is set aflame as you feel a hand snake around your shoulder, resting just above the hem of your low collar. Arthur’s sarcastic drawl has dropped about three octaves. He’s mad. 

“And who might our new friend be, sweetheart?” His theatrics boom around the room, earning a few sideways glances from curious patrons, most certainly hoping for a bit of evening entertainment. One wrong word from your ‘friend’ might just make their dreams come true.

Standing beside Arthur, the once-hopeful devotee is realising just how large the outlaw is, how his strong arms fill out the sleeves of his duster coat and how one of those sleeves is hemmed with a bloodstain you just couldn’t seem to get out. 

You’re saved from having to introduce your pawn to your king when the bartender places two drinks between the three of you, one beer, one whiskey. 

“Aw, for us? Y’shouldn’t have.” The arm draped over your shoulder wraps tighter, twisting around so that Arthur’s thick fingers cup your jaw and squeeze your cheeks. You’re tucked so close into him that the movement forces your neck to crane up to look right at Arthur. You’re putty in his hands, his dominating stance moulding you to his whim. The action is enough to brand you as completely and utterly his, but it’s Arthur and that just isn’t enough.

He tips his own head back, throwing the whiskey into his mouth in one swift movement. A firmer squeeze on your jaw opens your mouth and you lock eyes with Arthur as the fiery liquid is spat from his mouth into yours. It burns your lips and warms your throat. You feel it all the way from your head to your toes, and you’re not talking about the drink. It takes you a second to catch your breath after you swallow, Arthur’s thumb wiping a little droplet of the spirit off your chin and popping it back into your mouth. You suckle on his thumb, just for a second, letting the rest of the busy saloon melt away. In that moment, it is just the two of you, your plan falling oh so cleverly into place. You’re gazing lovingly, seductively at each other, which Arthur only breaks to turn to the man kind enough to pay for the drink he’d just spat into you.

“Hey, cheers, pal. Real nice of ya’ to treat the lady.” He pats the man just a little too hard on the shoulder, sending him stumbling a few steps. You don’t notice, too entranced by your possessive cowboy to notice anything else. 

“Let’s get you home, missy. Seems I gotta teach you some manners about talkin’ to strangers, huh?”

God, yes.

[ussgallifrey]

Home for the Holidays | Part 1

✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, fake dating, hurt/comfort, light mentions of divorce, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 7.5k

✦ Author's Note: Who are we blaming for this mess? Say it with me: @top-hhun ! The true enabler of all things Jake Seresin. I owe it all to you, love <3

[Master List]

The gym was nearly deserted this time of day. The USS Abraham Lincoln was a mere 48 hours away from port and the crew was anxiously anticipating their first bit of proper leave in over nine months. Your air carrier wing, however, was due to leave in the morning.

You should be packing your things and cleaning up the mess in your locker. But you felt the need to blow off some steam first. And somehow, he always knew when and where to find you.

Even with your earbuds in, you can sense his presence just before he makes himself fully known to you - hovering back by the treadmills. You let him sweat it out, finishing the final few steps of your post-workout cool down on the floor mat, your gym playlist coming to a perfect conclusion. 

If he was going to seek you out during your off time, then he would have to wait.

Wiping the sweat from your brow as you stand back up, muscles aching with a pleasant burn, you pull your earbuds out one at a time before turning to face your companion. Hangman is leaning casually against the side of the squat rack now, watching you with that ever-present smirk on his face.

“So,” he drawls in that familiar accent of his, “We doing this?”

You let your eyes trail over his features for a moment, chest still heaving from the afterburn of your workout. How dare he look so put together in his flight suit while in the presence of your sweat-soaked gym clothes.

“What? Just drop trow and do it on the floor?” 

You make a grab for your water bottle, taking a refreshingly cool swig before wiping your mouth dry. He doesn’t even have the decency to look fazed by the question. 

“At least let me lay down a towel first since I’m not being afforded the luxury of getting dragged back to your berth like one of your other lady friends.”

His eyes narrow and his smirk grows.

Some people had ship wives when they were deployed. Jake Seresin had you.

That wonderfully strange mix of teasing flirtation and sworn rivalry that you somehow balanced between the two of you.

“Don’t tempt a man,” he grins wolfishly, uncrossing his arms and taking a step forward to meet you halfway. “Just say the word, Pita. And your dreams could just become reality.”

You scoff, sidestepping him, “What, the less-than-stellar sex or this convoluted plan you came up with?”

“We - ” he quickly reiterates, waving an accusing finger between you both, “The convoluted plan that we mutually came up with, thank you. Gotta share the credit.”

There was this thing the two of you started doing, way back in the day. The savior swoop, you think he coined it.

The whole thing started with a lovely hole-in-the-wall bar in Sydney during a week-long leave. You had been happily content minding your own business with the three other women from your squadron - Rocky, Juggs, and Barb- when in came an overly smiley Hangman, who had quickly wrapped an arm around your waist and muttered, behind clenched teeth.

“You’re my girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend and I will give you all the money out of my wallet if you sell this for me.”

You had stared at him for a long moment, followed by an affronted, “Yes, hello, Pita. Nice to see you too - ”

That was when he roughly pinched your side. A young woman appeared just a moment later with a lipstick-coated smile that seemed to fall the moment she spotted you. Realization dawned and you pulled the best obnoxious girlfriend ruse you could with six shots of vodka in your system. 

At the time, it had never really crossed your mind as to why he approached you out of everyone else. Eventually, you just wrote it off as the fact that you were far more familiar with the man since you had been flying together the longest. That and you knew for a fact that any one of them would have left Hangman out to dry.

It was a thing then. A very non-recurring, once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing. 

Hangman became your cover boyfriend when a pushy marine wouldn’t seem to take a hint. You filled in when two civilians, eager to hook up with a uniformed airhead, kept him from his pool game. It was just a mutually beneficial back-and-forth for the two of you.

No feelings required. Just the occasional dropping of a honey or babe when it was necessary to sell the point, much to the amusement of your fellow aviators who loved to egg it on even more.

This little plan, however, was taking the fucking cake.

You can’t even remember who got started talking about the upcoming homecoming and eventual leave.

The Vigilantes must have pleased the big names over in the admiralty because your air carrier wing had secured ten days of leave right over the Christmas holiday. It was virtually unheard of. But your squadron had just returned from a lengthy tour and you knew at least one or two new chest candies would be heading your way soon.

But there you were with Hangman, shooting the shit in the officer’s rec room with a few other guys from the squad. Freeze was going to propose to his girl finally, Sparky had his whole family coming up from Arizona, and Cosmo was planning some big soul-searching trip to Mount Rainier. 

Maybe someone had asked if Seresin was taking his girlfriend back home to visit his family - followed by several good-natured laughs. Maybe it was the obnoxious aviator himself who suggested it with a flash of clear amusement in his eyes.

Either way, here the two of you were, a day shy of flying back to Lemoore, with this massively stupid plan waiting in the wings.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s our stupid plan. An unnecessary plan, I may add. You could just tell your family that you’re not - ”

“Too late now. I told my mom you were coming - you know, when we agreed to it a week ago,” he mimics your annoyance with a great big grin.

You stare down the corridor, wondering if you could just make a run for it and avoid the conversation - and the plan - entirely. 

There was a fundamental difference between doing the act to throw off an inebriated barfly and another thing entirely to fly across the country to play house for one of your families for the day.

Hangman crowds your space, staring you down with a knowing look in his bright sage green eyes. Fixing your own stare in return, you stand your ground - lips tight and eyes narrowed.

“You could literally just tell her we’re friends. Only friends.”

He laughs, outright laughs in your face then.

“And miss out on the fun? Where’s your sense of adventure, honey?” he smiles for a moment before finally relenting. 

His features soften, taking a quick cursory glance around to seemingly insure your current privacy from the rest of the crew. 

“Look, you’d be doing me an honest-to-God favor if you came along.”

You knew that. Hell, you had a whole conversation about it six nights ago actually. You knew Hangman’s family was a mess from the day you and him had crossed paths on the flight deck for the first time. It was just written into his very being.

“Yeah, yeah. Classic savior swoop. Pull at my heartstrings some more while you’re at it, Seresin.”

His features light up as he places a stick of gum between his lips, giving a signature smirk, “You’re gonna make a hell of an impression, Pita. I’ll give you that.”

You pat his shoulder playfully, “Thank me after I get your mother permanently off your back.”

“Will do,” he says with a sort of yes ma’am tone as he watches you walk back to officer’s country before your next debrief.

The journey back to Lemoore had been blessedly smooth flying. The raucous crowd spilled past the barrier the minute the first aviator stepped down onto the tarmac. Families and loved ones flung themselves onto their long-lost loves. Wives and girlfriends with single-stem roses, newborn babies, and weepy toddlers holding signs and tiny flags. It was a familiar, happy sight.

You watch from afar, zipping your helmet back into its carrier, and shouldering your duffle bag.

There was no point in having your family fly out just to meet you here. They were going to see you in three days anyway. Might as well save everyone on the crazy airfare for a change.

A sudden scream pulls your attention to the aviator on bended-knee, with a sobbing brunette now throwing herself into his arms.

“He almost lost the ring before we left.”

You eye Hangman as he sidles in next to you, running a hand through his helmet hair. He’s got a fond smile on his face as he watches the newly engaged couple - Freeze is walking his girl back to the hangar and she’s wrapped herself around his waist like a sloth.

“Seriously? Should start calling him Frodo,” you muse, hefting your bag higher on your shoulder.

“Think Smeagol would be more appropriate.”

You know that he can see you openly mouthing the word Nerd with an air of fake judgment. He just gives a silent head shake of a laugh and double-checks the zipper on his own helmet bag.

The two of you watch as the immediate rush of people seems to ease back, clearing the tarmac.

“So…” he grins, “We still doing this?”

Turning to get a good look at him, you take in the very teasing expression on his face. Though his eyes are too squinted from the overhead sun to get a real good take on his exact inner workings.

“Well, as fun as it would be to leave you hanging for a change - ”

He chuckles, taking a step back to grab his own duffle bag from the ground, “Admit it, Pita. You’d start to feel bad for me. With that aching heart of yours and all.”

“Hah!” you tilt your head back with a bark of laughter, “Oh, Hangman. You have no idea just how steel-coated this heart is. I would delight in seeing you hung out to dry. However, I make it a habit to hold true to my promises.”

“Good,” he nods with a surprising sureness. Plucking his signature box of toothpicks out of his pocket, twiddling with a single pick for a moment, he adds, “Because I would have hated having to chase you down and drag you back to Texas on my own.”

“Mmm, in your alpha male dreams, Hangman.”

You part ways in the parking lot with plans to catch up in three hours. It would, theoretically, be enough time to unpack the essentials, clean yourselves up, and pack a carry-on for the flight.

The on-base house has remained the same as when you left it six months prior, albeit a thin layer of dust covers parts of the room that you swear you’ll get around to cleaning before you fly back out. After your gloriously long, hot, uninterrupted shower, you manage to throw together a reasonable bag in no time flat. Rolling shirts and pants up with expert ease.

And then there’s a knock on your door, one minute before your set meet time. It makes you wonder how long Hangman was waiting around, trying to time it just right, before he came up onto the front porch.

You unceremoniously toss your bag into his arms as a way of greeting, locking the door behind you as he laughs.

“Hello to you too, darlin’.”

“Coffee,” you say by way of explanation, pushing by him. “I need coffee and food if you want to keep me from ripping your head off before we board.”

He gives a sharp nod, following after you to the waiting Chevy pickup in your driveway, “Can do. Gotta keep my girl happy.”

“Oh god,” you groan, turning to look back at him as you pull open the passenger’s door, one foot on the running board. “Are we starting that now?”

His eyes flicker with amusement as he carefully shoves your bag in behind your seat, holding the side handle as he peers up at you.

“Well, you know what they say - ” he flips the toothpick in his mouth around with the roll of his tongue, lips tugged into a smug grin around it, “Practice makes perfect.”

You blank, staring down into the all-too-confident eyes of your wingman.

“And I can still catch another flight,“ you retort with an equally Cheshire-like grin.

His smile falls in an instant, “Right, coffee for the missus.”

The howl of laughter you give is worth it as he seemingly scrambles to shut your door for you, jogging around the front of the truck, before hopping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m not a cheap date either, Seresin,” you warn, clicking your seatbelt into place. “None of that gas station stuff. I just spent months with mediocre instant brews and I deserve something to keep me awake and smiling for this little ruse.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles good-naturedly as he places his hand on the back of your seat, peering over his shoulder as he backs the truck out of the driveway. 

The awkwardness hits the minute he pulls out onto the main road, just past the east entrance gate. As though the barbed-wire fence offered a semblance of safety when you were still behind the traffic barrier. But now the cloak was pulled free and you were both fully aware of the situation you were in.

You had spent the better part of a year and a half with this man, both on and off a carrier. You knew his breakfast preferences and his anal retentiveness when it came to the upkeep of both his flight gear and his hair. His argument-worthy movie choices and his pre-flight rituals. It was just a normal part of co-existing on a carrier in the middle of the ocean, you suppose.

And yet, here you were - for seemingly the first time ever - with just him in an enclosed proxy. There was no Freeze or Sparky there to break the tension with an off-the-cuff joke. No Freud to poke fun at the tension itself - should we give you two lovebirds space or do we get a free show?

No, it was just you and Hangman, in his truck, with the genuine realization that you were actually doing this hovering in your quickly sobering thoughts.

Maybe ideas had after doing a twelve-hour, start-to-finish, mission weren’t actually the best things to be acted upon.

There’s the soft hum of a splotchy country radio station that keeps coming in and out of range to fill that voided space between you. A twangy Christmas cover croons over the speakers as you stare out at the open desert landscape that surrounds the empty stretch of road.

You want to say something, anything really to break that strange note of silence.

But for once in your long career of being a give ‘em as good as they get kind of officer, you find the words surprisingly dried up on your tongue. And that doesn’t particularly bode well for the two of you if you have to spend the next forty-two hours together.

Hangman, for all intents and purposes, appears entirely unfazed by the arrangement. As he reclines back in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other draped against the closed window, catching a bit of direct sunlight. 

The only true difference, besides the civvies, is the tightened line of his lips. And his usually slicked-back helmet hair is surprisingly… fluffy, for lack of a better descriptor. You wonder if, like yourself, he only used product when it came to being in uniform or if he just didn’t have the time for it in the mad rush to get to the airport at a reasonable time. 

“See somethin’ you like?”

The quip is a loud, sudden intrusion into your silent introspective. He glances over at you with a teasing smirk already in place.

You huff in abhorrence, eyes flicking back to the road in front of you - refusing to fall into an obvious trap like that.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?” you ask instead. 

He switches hands, gripping the steering wheel with his left as his right comes to rest on his inner thigh. He rubs at the denim for a moment as he seems to contemplate his answer.

“I think it might have something to do with my next month’s worth of bonuses being up for grabs.”

The smile on your face dims for a second. 

You weren’t particularly interested in prying Hangman’s money from him. If it had been anyone else in the squadron, you would have found yourself in a similar situation - you were sure of it. It’s just the fact that the two of you had the practice in hand for this one strange stunt.

But you would have done the same for Sparky, Cosmo, or Freud in an instant. It wasn’t about the money, it wasn’t that kind of favor. He knew that, right?

Turning it around, you kiddingly press on, “And the free flight, free meal, and free accommodations, right?”

He cracks another look at you as you come to the first stop sign in over six miles, “You really aren’t shaping up to be a cheap date, are ya, Pita?”

“Hey,” you hold your hands up in a way that seems to say you brought this upon yourself. “You asked me, Hangman.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, ‘cause my options were real ripe for the pickin’.”

The truck glides through the four-way; no other vehicle in sight.

“Well,” you lean back into the side of your seat, pushed against the window so you can really get a good look at him. “Did you even bother asking anyone else?” 

You can see the thick crease of his brow as he bites down on the toothpick, eyes squinting slightly against the afternoon sun.

“Did you even think to ask Captain Manning to go in on this with you? I bet if anyone could get your mom off your back, it’d be him.”

That at least makes Hangman grin, all bright and genuine as he reaches for a pair of sunglasses attached to his visor. He fiddles them on, one-handed, before peering over at you once again.

“Oh, I have no doubt good ole Zilla would win over my momma’s heart. But the man can’t lie to save his teeth. So, excuse me for bypassing him.”

“Such little fate,” you mock.

“Nah,” he taps the steering wheel with an idle finger, “We’re here now, ’s all that matters.”

You were sure it had nothing to do with the fact that out of your squadron of thirty-eight, you were only one of four female aviators currently flying with the Vigilantes. And certainly, the only one even remotely considered to be close to Seresin.

Of course, the alternative would have been trying to convince some random girl to come along with him for the holiday. And while you didn’t doubt Hangman’s ability to pull, it was a bit of a hard sell given the time of year - even for the likes of him and his classic Ken-doll appearance. And chicks loved the Ken-doll appearance.

No, the truly worst alternative would have been making him face the company of his own family alone. The horror.

Letting the now less-than-awkward silence filter back into the cab, you settle in for the rest of the short ride into the nearest city.

The actual town of Lemoore is far more lively and bustling than the base stationed just thirteen miles west of it. Hangman easily follows your directions to a coffee shop off the main drag - immediately glancing down at his watch, as if trying to mentally calculate the maximum amount of time you could deviate from his schedule. 

After parking out front, he holds the door open for you and another couple as the rich aroma of fresh brew and baked goods hits your senses. Was there ever a sweeter smell? After months at sea, with only the array of mixes in the officers’ mess to keep you going, this was like walking into paradise.

Hangman scooches in next to you in line. His sunglasses are at least clipped to the front of his t-shirt’s collar now as he peruses the colorful red and green menu with an appraising kind of look - flipping that damn toothpick of his around in his mouth as he weighs his options.

It’s still decidedly strange to be doing this with him.

While you frequently found yourself in the company of your squadron, both on and off duty, this was notably uncharted territory. 

There’s a slightly stoic demeanor that Seresin has when out in public, but the minute you’re called up to the register, he’s got the biggest grin on and good old boy charm ready to go. While he ends up ordering a breakfast sandwich and a surprisingly high-sugar content pumpkin spice frappe, you go for the turkey melt and an iced coffee. He pays for it all - out of some sense of duty to the mission, you suppose - and stuffs a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar for good measure too.

The two of you hover at the end of the counter, next to the hanging snowflake decorations, while you wait for your order to finish up. He’s got his arms crossed and a downturned look on his face as he stares at the coffee shop’s patrons - couples spread out amongst the two-seater tables. A modest indie version of “Santa Baby” and the quiet hum of chatter keep either one of you from speaking until his name is called by the barista.

But as you head back outside, he stops you at the hood of the truck - his brow pinched.

“I’m not gonna be insulted if you back out, you know.”

Scrunching your lip, you say, “Good to know - ” while making a move for the passenger door, clutching your drink and carry-out bag in one hand.

“I mean it,” his voice raises slightly as he rounds his side of the vehicle, continuing the conversation from across the open doorway as you hop in. “We get to Fresno and you take a flight back home and we’ll act like this whole plan never existed.”

You wonder, briefly, where this change of heart is coming from. But you give a little nod, slotting your condensation-heavy coffee into the cup holder - it might be December but it certainly didn’t feel like it out here. 

“I mean if you’re looking to get rid of me so easily…”

“That’s not - ”

Hangman groans, slamming his door closed with more force than probably necessary as he scrubs a hand down his face. He stares ahead for a moment before finally saying, in a much more even tone:

“It’s a lot to ask of someone. And I’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes wondering what the hell I was thinkin’ asking you to do this in the first place.”

You have the good grace to leave your sandwich wrapped up and on your lap as you turn to give your companion your full attention.

You’re reminded of the conversation the two of you had nearly a week ago.

He was just about staring daggers into his meal when you found him in the Wardroom, well past the dinner rush. There was a pen settled between his fingers like a damn cigarette that he kept twirling around as his gaze drifted past the food in front of him.

And you - like any good person would - asked him what the hell the plate ever did to him.

As you joined him at the empty table, he admitted that he had just gotten the third email that week from his mom going on and on about his future and how he’s getting older, and that the eligible dating pool is vanishing before his very eyes.

“What, is she dead set on having grandkids before she kicks it or something?” you had asked with a pitched tone.

He had just shaken his head, ruffling a hand through his hair - food long forgotten in front of him, “Nah, she’s got nine already. She just gets into a mood around the holidays. But it’s been getting on more and more like this lately.”

“Guess you got no choice but to get hitched the minute you get your boots dry.”

At least that had managed to pull a laugh out of him, even if it seemed hollow and lackluster compared to his usual booming tone.

“Nah, I’m being serious here, Hangman. Have a 72-hour marriage for show, break it off before we head back out. Just give her something for the holiday so she’ll get off your damn back for a while.”

And though it took a moment, his face had lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. As though he had made the ultimate connection in his brain and had come up with the idea all on his own. As though you hadn’t been joking in the slightest.

“Someone who could pull it off. Someone who has real-time experience with yours truly, right?”

You’re not sure how, in only a matter of an hour, Hangman had convinced you to go along with it. To play the role of doting and loving girlfriend for a one-night-only performance for his mother, of all people. But, at that exact moment, it had seemed like the greatest idea known to man. Hangman, specifically.

But here you were, only hours from hopping on a commercial flight together to put on a show for the big leagues. Was it any wonder either one of you was getting cold feet?

“Seresin.”

His eyes finally drift over to yours. His face is just about as stoic as he can make it be outside of an inspection line. But his eyes, that’s where the real trouble lies.

“I’m already here. I don’t back out of promises - even the most ridiculous kind. So, get the damn ignition started, and let’s go before we get stuck in security for the next two hours.”

He takes you in for a long contemplating kind of moment as you try to be reassuring with only your earnest expression alone. Whatever he finds there, he must deem it good enough for him and his sensibilities because not a second later the truck engine purrs back to life and he’s pulling out onto the street.

He has the good sense not to bring it up for the rest of the drive. When you pull into the airport’s parking lot, he makes a vague last-chance kind of gesture, but you just yank your bag out of the backseat and head towards the terminal entrance. He rushes to grab his own gear to catch up to you.

You discover how much of an antsy flier Hangman is when it comes to flights he’s not personally manning. Constantly checking the time, mumbling about the slow-moving lines - which you remind him is attributed to the fact that you were in an international airport, traveling five days before Christmas.

He had you rushing to get to your gate a good hour before you were even required to be there. And by that point, he was on the edge of his seat, wringing his hands, just waiting for the second your boarding party was called.

His mom snagged the two of you business-class seats for the trip the minute she heard her son would be bringing home a girl this year. You want to feel guilty about it, but you’re actually grateful for the upgrade as you stretch out into the padded seat next to him. The last thing you wanted was to be packed in with the other sardines in Economy.

The flight to Dallas is about as interesting as a FOD walk. With Hangman pulling out a tablet once you’re at cruising altitude, while you pop in your earbuds and almost immediately pass out for two hours straight.

It’s his amused green eyes that you awaken to. 

The rough press of his hand against your shoulder and your last name being repeated with louder and more serious persistence. You feel a bit like a zombie as you shuffle alongside him to your next gate after disembarking. That spontaneous nap had been a bit too deep and dreamless for that short of a period, as you woke up feeling more tired than when you initially fell asleep. 

There’s a nearly two-hour layover there in Dallas. But you just inch forward through the crowds until your boarding group is called and you’re back onto another plane. The skies outside the window have faded to a vibrant amethyst color, splattered with rays of gold and amber as the bright lights of the city disappear into the distance.

This flight is short in comparison, which you’re thankful for as the grime of travel seems to hang off you now. Roughly an hour out and you would finally be able to debark and collapse face-first into a hotel room.

Hangman has his tablet out again, though he seems far less interested in picking up where he left off on his E-book now. He’s got his right leg crossed over his left at the knee, anxiously tapping his foot and therefore jostling his tablet as he peers at the headrest in front of him. 

He had traded for the aisle seat this time, so it takes you a moment to pull your attention away from the changing scenery of the landscape outside your window to properly notice his change in demeanor.

“Hmm?” you hum in question.

He shoots a glance at you - something coming to terms on his face - before he ultimately shoves his tablet against his side and turns as much as he can in the confines of the seat to face you properly.

“My favorite color is blue; dark blue, not sky blue. I hated all of my English classes in school. I track the Longhorns’ scores religiously when we’re out. I despise almonds in their entirety. Non-dairy substitutes are an absolute no-go.”

You stare at him for a long moment before saying, “Okay…?”

With a roll of his eyes, “We’ve been dating for however long. These are things you’d know about me at this point, right?”

“Ahhh, gotcha,” you settle against the armrest in between you both to really look into his eyes. “See, I didn’t realize that to enter your mom’s house I would have to pass the Seresin partner pop quiz first.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he pulls away, running his hand through his unkempt hair.

You kick your foot at his shin, just a playful tap really, to get his attention.

“You prefer sausage links over patties. You won’t shut the fuck up about Hudson Card and his current stats - which are shit, by the way. You suck at poker and any other card game we’ve ever played. You have a lucky pair of briefs that you wear every time we - ”

“Okay,” he quickly interrupts, holding up his hand to cut you off.

“Come on,” you grin. “We’re in too tight of a circle to not know the damn basics about each other at this point. How about, instead of playing twenty questions until we land, you tell me about the off-limits stuff.”

At the questioning raise of his brows, you elaborate.

“Any triggers words? Like, I have an uncle Edward who, if you mention iPhones, will go on an unhinged rant about 5G towers and radiation until he runs out of breath. Anything like that I should be made aware of?”

His features seem to relax at last as he rubs his hand along his jawline for a moment, “Best not mention my Dad at all. Avoid the name Gwen, if you can.”

“Stepmom?”

He nods, blowing out a long breath, “Stepmom.”

“Think I can manage that. Anything else?”

For the rest of the flight, you cover the basics of the trip. His mom, Patricia - but call her Patty - is a bit of a germaphobe. 

She has two guest rooms and will gladly offer to accommodate you both for the night, but she’d actually hate it if you took her up on the offer. She’s a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas dinner; none of that fusion food at her table. She’ll sneak off to the kitchen for a not-so-sneaky drink if the conversation takes a turn at all. 

But most importantly, she definitely does not want to hear about any missions he has been on, though she’s very proud of his current career.

“And where are we on the PDA scale?” you ask as Hangman grabs your bag from the trunk of the rental car.

You had been stuck at the baggage carousel for forty-five minutes, the car rental counter for another twenty, and then the drive from the southern part of Austin up to the northern part had taken over half an hour. At this point, you were done.

But, for once, you had to admit that the company wasn’t the worst to be had.

“Ehh, probably on the low side? Enough to pass as a couple but not enough to make her grab hold of the metaphorical pearls.”

You hum in understanding, noticing that he’s still got his fingers looped through the strap of your bag along with his own as you head for the side entrance of the hotel, up to your room on the third floor.

After nabbing the key card from him, you unlock the door and immediately flick on the lights - making a straight line to the double bed by the window and unceremoniously flopping down on it, face first. Your bag is dropped next to your leg, making the bed jostle slightly, but you merely grunt in acknowledgment.

You can hear his tired chuckle somewhere above you, followed by the sound of his boots being kicked off.

“Before you disappear on me again, Pita. Be a dear and take a look at that informational on the table and find us some damn food.”

Giving a lazy thumbs up in his general direction, Hangman gives a departing laugh before he heads into the bathroom - but only after securing the deadbolt on the main door first.

It takes a moment, but you finally summon the energy to pull yourself up onto your elbows. Snatching the paper brochure from the bedside table with a listing of the local attractions and restaurants. You skim the names until you find a pizza place that’s supposedly open til midnight. It was only - you glance at the radio clock - 10:46 pm, so you should be good to send in a delivery order.

“Pizza?” you call out.

You can make out the muffled what he yells back in return.

“Do you want pizza?”

Your louder query is immediately responded to with a rough I can’t fuckin’ hear you in here.

Flipping onto your side, you wait for him to emerge from the bathroom to bother communicating with him again. Pulling out your phone, you search for the restaurant and casually scroll through their menu until you hear the click of the door.

Hangman shuffles out, grabbing his abandoned hoodie from the bed and methodically folding it up, “What were you hollering about?”

“Pizza sound good?”

He grunts, nabbing his boots and moving them into a more reasonable location in front of the open closet by the door.

“Depends on the place.”

You look at the name on the webpage, “Market Street Pizzeria?”

With a nod, he pads across the room and plops down heavily on the bed opposite yours, running both hands through his hair as he seems to stifle a yawn before it can escape.

“They’re good,” lifting his hips up from the bed, he grabs his wallet out of his back pocket, rummaging for a moment before he tosses a card at your face. “Here, get whatever. I’ll just pick off anything too offensive.”

You glance down at the card before immediately slamming it down on the nightstand, “Yeah, I’ll get this one. And I hope you don’t find pepperoni and cheese too obscene for your standards.”

He stares at you for a long moment before relenting and swiping up his debit card. You eye him as he tosses his wallet down at the foot of his bed before he props the pillows up and rests back against them - grabbing hold of the TV remote.

“Should be twenty minutes,” you announce, dropping your phone down on the bed as you push yourself up into a sitting position.

He hums in acknowledgment as you unzip your bag and fish out a pair of pajama pants that you had packed near the top of your items. You disappear into the bathroom to do your business and change - staring at yourself in the mirror for a long moment. Two flights and an impromptu nap had not done you any favors and that was a fact. After splashing some water on your face, you join Hangman back in the room.

He’s got just about everything settled already. A phone charger’s meticulously looped and plugged into the bedside outlet, a toiletry bag on the left-hand side of the dresser, and his own travel bag secured away in the closet next to his boots. The efficient bastard.

When you get the notification that your delivery has arrived, he heads down to collect your food and tip the driver. He ends up sitting at the desk to eat while you sit cross-legged on the end of your bed. The news is playing on mute in the background with the closed captions turned on.

“So,” you say after taking another bite, “What’s our story, in case she asks?”

He wipes his fingers off on one of the napkins before crumbling it up into a ball and taking aim at the trash can - it lands, of course.

But then he seems to remember that you asked a question as he turns in the rolling chair, legs spread wide as he gently sways side-to-side, “Like how we met?”

You roll your eyes, licking your fingertips clean of pizza grease, “I think it’s pretty apparent how we met, Seresin. What I meant was, how long has this - ” you gesture a hand between the two of you - “been going on. I mean, you’re taking me back home for the holidays, so it’s probably pretty serious at this point.”

He gives a chuckle, tapping his fingers on his knees, “How long a period of time is considered appropriate to bring a partner home?”

“Hell if I know,” you chortle, kicking your legs down over the side of the bed as you lean back on your hands.

His brow hitches up, “What, never taken someone home before?”

You don’t like the pointedness of the question as you squint back at him, “Been a bit busy, Bagman. What about you? What’s your excuse?”

“Had a high school girlfriend, dated for three years. Had her over for Christmas our senior year.”

“No one since though?” you ask.

“Like you said,” he leans back in the desk chair, folding his hands together over his stomach, “We’ve been busy.”

You nod, letting the topic settle in front of you both.

It wasn’t unheard of for people to get together on deployment, even less so on the carrier when you were forced into a confined space with the same individuals for months at a time. Shore leave was good for an easy hook-up or two, but real relationships? Those usually only happened prior to getting your orders for the most part.

The majority of the guys you knew had gotten together with their significant others around their time at the Academy, if not even sooner. Half of them got hitched right after graduation so their girl could get a place on base before they shipped out or went to flight school. But after that? Well, there wasn’t a hell of a lot of time for regular dating.

And it wasn’t that big of a deal when your focus was on your career. People like you and Hangman were all about that life. You didn’t go through the rigors of TOPGUN just to ask to be relocated to a desk job in Pensacola so you could settle down with a nice man and have a few all-American kiddos of your own this early on in your career.

Half your squadron had someone waiting for them back home. It was just a handful of you now that were still noticeably single - happily single, you should add.

“Five months,” you finally announce.

When you’re met with a curious pair of olive green eyes, you reiterate.

“We tell her we’ve been together for five months. Long enough to be serious, but short-term enough to make it seem like we were just being cautious about announcing anything too soon to our families.”

Hangman chews on his lip, mulling over your idea before he leans forward and extends his hand for you to shake, “Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

You just shake your head as you grip his hand tightly, “Guess I need to get used to those cutesy little pet names, huh?”

He laughs, pulling back to scratch at his chin, “Mmm, need to start with calling me by my real name for a start.”

“What, no Jakey or Jakers?”

His eyes light up in the soft glow of the hotel room’s incandescents as he dips his head back to laugh, “I swear to god, it’ll be a miracle if we pull this off.”

“Have a little faith in my acting abilities, baby,” you bat your lashes heavily, your voice turning soft and overly sweet. It probably didn’t help that you were functioning on almost nothing but coffee and pizza at this point.

He immediately pushes up from the chair, “I’m heading to bed before you make me hurl my food into the damn sink.”

“Don’t say that, sweetie-kins!” you coo, flopping over on the bed as you watch him collect the pizza box and methodically crush it in half to fit into the small black garbage can.

“Maybe I’ll call Guy up and see if he’s still available,” he muses with an irritated tone of voice, just to spur you on further as he nabs his toiletry bag and heads into the bathroom - leaving the door ajar.

“Now that is a show I would pay money to see,” you finally relent the act, pushing back the white comforter on your bed.

It only takes him a few minutes before he emerges. Jake smirks as he makes his way back to the bed, wearing nothing but his white t-shirt and briefs. 

It must speak something to his level of exhaustion that he doesn’t even bother to make a you like what you see sort of comment. Not that you’d never seen him, or any other member of your squadron for that matter, in that level of undress before during pre-flight suit-up. But being at near eye-level in a hotel room was definitely a change in pace, though you also choose not to comment on it.

He merely rolls his comforter all the way to the end of the bed before he gets under the sheets, “You’re not an obnoxious snorer, are you, honey?”

You heft yourself up and cross the room in search of your own toiletry bag, “Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

His tone is edged with a false sense of frustration as he grunts a low, drawn-out, “Lucky me.”

When you return to the room, the TV is off and he’s lying flat on his back.

The luminous blue light of his phone casts his face in sharp brightness as he quietly scrolls through something. You let him have his silence as you deposit your shower bag on your side of the dresser and carefully place your folded bra back into your backpack.

Only once you’re under the covers of your bed, with just the single bedside light on, does Jake relinquish his phone - placing it on the charger. He meets your gaze from across the way and, for a moment, it seems like there’s something he wants to say as he worries at his bottom lip.

But he ultimately just gives you a gruff: Night, Pita. Immediately followed by a curt nod before he turns off his light and rolls over to face toward the door. 

With a shake of your head, and an accompanying: Goodnight, Hangman, you roll towards the window and try to settle in to sleep.

The sound of rustling sheets and agitated breaths fills the room for some time before the whirl of air conditioning kicks on. And then it’s only a matter of time before the darkness and the white noise soothes you into the lull of proper sleep.

Story Masterlist || Next Chapter

[azulsluver]

Twisted Tales In The Dark

Dead Man’s Treasure         Halloween event! 

tw. yandere, graphic violence, gore in general, noncon kissing, unhinged/possessive behavior, leona loses an eye.

❥ featuring the three pirates, Leona, Jack, Ruggie.

❥ special thanks to @v4mpirebit3z for helping me write the first bits!

 Something jabs at the side of your face, your breath watery yet horse. You wince at the sore feeling in your lungs, coughing up bits of water. You look up and see a group of dirty-looking men staring down at you–covered in rags and bloodied patches. Pirates. You jump up to your feet, startled, and back away. One of the pirates runs off and yells, "Captain! Captain, they're awake!"

You take in your surroundings, somewhere by the edge of the ship as you lay on the hard and dirtied floor. Your hand is incredibly sore, raising your hand to look at your wound. But you didn’t see the soaked bandages, your hand was clean and perfectly healed. Mouth agape, you didn't notice someone coming closer to your dumbfounded figure.

A young-looking pirate with black hair and a feminine face takes a slow step towards you, his arm extended, offering his hand.

You look at his hand hesitantly and harden your expression, still in shock at the whole ordeal. Your mind refuses to answer the questions of what had recently happened, everything was a blur even if you tried thinking back.

“Are you gonna take me hand lad?”

“Thank you.” He looks at you confusingly before grunting in response. Grabbing your hand to help you stand. “But why did you save me?”

Another pirate with thick brown hair and a long jagged scar over his cheek replied, "You were floating among the sea like a lifeless fishy. You just reminded me of an ol’ friend of mine, my poor brain must’ve been seeing things.” Jokingly ruffling your wet hair, he stands up to throw you a dusty towel.

Another pirate, his face worn with age replies, "Well… I guess yer would make good food fer the fishies- but a youngster like you could be of good use on the ship." You gave a small scoff, face softening at their kindness. Great, you can remember now. The story mentions a small crew of pirates, eager to find the treasure for the sake of their town who lived in poverty. As scary as they look, they were kind. Sadly only one lived while his crew gets cremated to sand or murdered. Your eyes land on a very young man who stands by the side awkwardly, he couldn’t be any older than 14.

‘The youngster who got away, life held by a thread as he’s washed up in the sea. Soon to be found by his people, and a single gold coin held tightly under his palm.’ That was how the story ended. 

Yet you couldn’t remember the aftermath of it all, how exactly did you end up on the sea. Your mind scratches and screeches terribly whenever you try to make sense of the pain and emotional trauma. Why say it if you don’t remember it happening? Yea, maybe you’re just overthinking.

“That’s a nice looking key you got ov’er there, something straight outta a royals bedroom key.” The man with thick brown hair laughs joyously, holding his stomach like the old man he is.

You make a confused face until he points at your waist, looking down there is a black key ring attached to your belt. Staring in awe at the beauty in beheld, red jewels and their dark patterns looked majestical. You trace your fingers over the key, mind now blanked from the cool touch.

“Yer kay lass?” Mumbling a quiet yes, you finish off drying your hair. The air was chilly and your soaked clothes could have made you catch a cold, so you wrap the small towel around you, caring little for how dirty or what it is used for.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, the life of a pirate. Being treated with a warm meal even if they didn’t have many supplies, you got to know the crew by name since the book never once mentioned it. The captain was an old geezer who gathered these young men to find hope for their town, hearing their personal stories of friends and families they had back home. His name was Edward, but he preferred to be called captain. The feminine-looking pirate was Klaus, a kind gentleman who had an interest in collecting small trinkets. He had two brothers on board named Hudd and Percy, both on cleaning duty. You remember the face of the one who had saved you, a cheerful grin showing missing teeth. Peter was very talkative, explaining to you how he fished a net and hooked you up on the ship, flexing his barely seen muscles now and then. And for him.

He stares at you once again, cutting up some vegetables as you chat away with the rest. You didn’t understand why they brought someone so young on board, it was a miracle he lived. You take a spoonful of fish soup in your mouth, moaning softly at the taste of fresh food. When was the last time you’ve eaten?

“Don’t worry about James over there, he’s a little shy.” You drop the spoon and stare widely at Peter. Your throat is suddenly dry and your nails dig into your palm.

“Pardon?” Your voice is weak, on the verge of crying from the sudden emotional wreck of the name. James, such a nice name it was, but hearing it made you sick. It made you think of things you don’t remember happening. It’s like you can smell the dirt and copper, the heaving of lungs, and a flashing image of flesh to bones. Peter holds the side of your shoulder and causes you to cry out, clutching your hands as the world before swirls into a fog.

A sharp sting comes from your cheek, making your eyesight slowly come back to normal. You hold the burning cheek as you stare back at Peter, a look of frustration and worry.

“What’s wrong with ya ey? You got poor ol’ James running away from his duty, did ya see a ghost or somethin?” Peter shakes you once again, letting you have small streaks of tears fall before apologizing to him. You rest your head on the small wooden table, Peter being a kind soul took your half-finished soup back to the kitchen.

It would be a burden to not help around the ship, you didn’t want to be a freeloader no matter how useless you were. Letting your head relax for a couple of minutes before heading to the kitchen. To start nice you wanted to apologize to James for giving him an ugly look. You were flattered knowing how the crew left you to your device, trusting you in such a short period to leave you alone on the ship. The kitchen was just across from you, James has been ignoring you. He was more focused on cutting the vegetables, with how much time had passed you guess he was struggling.

Knock

Knock

“Need some help?” You stand by the open doorway from where James stared at you, funny-looking pieces of potatoes and onions scattered across the cutting board. You stifled a laugh at his flustered face, but he didn’t refuse the offer. Holding out the large butcher knife for you to take.

You stand next to him, flipping the knife in your hand and chopping it down onto a new patch of potatoes. James leans in to watch your culinary skills, a small sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “You’re a pro at this, I’ve only seen ma cut veggies like that!” His childish nature brings a small smile to your face, you give the knife back to him and will show him a proper way of cutting. James was very shy in the book, talking and getting to know these people in person was enjoyable. They were so real you thought, looking at James and the rest of the crew made you rethink. You didn’t belong here. It’s not your first rodeo.

“Hey, James.” He gives a hum. “Don’t you think you guys can find a safer way of getting treasure? You’ve heard the stories so why to risk the danger?” James stops cutting and looks up at you. “My ma is very ill. We need the money to pay off her medicine, the king isn’t so kind after the death of his brother. So he started to collect more taxes from the whole town, we barely have enough to feed a family of four.” This was new, you haven’t heard of this part of the story.

“A king?” James nods. “The king had a brother who envied him, he became a pirate and sailed across the great seas. He owned a large fortune of money with the king, but the pirate refused to come back home. I heard it was because he wanted to start his own wealth elsewhere, but a terrible storm caught up to em. Causing it to crash on a faraway island just where we headin, even if the stories are true it’s too late to turn back.”

The silence fills in the space between you two, minus the sound of slicing.

“AY LASS WER HERE.” Both you and James were startled by Hudd and Percy who barged into the room. James drops the knife and runs past you. Who knew the time you fell into this world they were just in time for the treasure. A bead of sweat escapes your forehead as you follow suit.

The captain is already setting out a plank for the others to step foot onto the sandy ground. You quickly run up to him and place a hand over his shoulder. Brows furrow as you try to come up with a sentence.

“Ah, what got yer so worked up lad?” He turns to look at you.

“Captain please, let me grab the treasure for you! It’s dangerous out there and–” You stop yourself from explaining anymore, worried that if you told the truth they wouldn’t believe you. Leaving you on the island for such a nonsense imagination. Biting your lip, you give him a stern look that stops him from saying anything. “It’s the least I can do, please. It won’t take long. And once I’ve given you the treasure you must leave this island immediately.” Gripping his ragged clothes in protest, he gives you a reassuring look.

“Ok. If that's what you really wanna do then you have my thanks.” He pats your shoulders, you think you can see his glossy eyes irritating him. “Be safe. I’ll make sure everyone knows your name.” you give him a quick hug before snatching a sack away from Peter. Captain ordered everybody to stay back and scout for any sign of you. As you run past the rest you can hear a faint murmur from Klaus.

“Thank you.”

.

.

.

.

Stepping across the gritty land, you finally found the beaten ship, bodies of skeletons and swords lay in the pile of gold. There is a large hole in the middle of the ship, leaning against a dark and isolated cave. Clenching the bag tight in your hands, you try to recollect the outcome of the situation. As soon as you take one treasure you will be trapped on the island. James was lucky for how the ghost pirate was merciful or was that what happened? You kick the bundles of gold in the test, looking around to see if a key was around. You dared not to pick a gold coin, not until you found what you were looking for. The key to your way out of here. You hope you’re ready to have some sort of combat against greedy ghost pirates.

‘Shishishishi!’

Your body freezes at the sound, coming from your right yet no one was there.

“What the hell. I didn’t grab anything…” Twisting your body on time, you’re met face to face with one of the ghost pirates from the book. “Bucchi.” Ok, why did you say that?

“Hm, I knew there was something off about you. Say, the nice key you have there looks familiar. Are you perhaps looking for this?” He pulls out a golden yellow key, made of brown patterns and yellowish-orange gems. Spinning it on his index finger, he gives you a grin. Huffing, you needed to remember you’re facing another monster from the book, Ruggie Bucchi was ruthless to the crew by tearing their hope to live. You didn’t respond to him, only glaring back at him and the key. He was teasing you, he knows something about your situation by just the tip.

You held your breath before speaking. “Do you know something about this key?” The red key glints under his gaze, and he yawns before responding. “Keys. Yep. Used for transporting different worlds. I know an old buddy who had that key, strange to see it in the hands of a human.” Ruggie sits down under the piles of gold, leaning back and giving you a look of boredom.

“If you know about the key and its use, what are you willing to do to let me have it?” You hold out your hand, eyeing him up and down as his expression morphs; interested in what you have to say.

“You want this key badly huh? Shishishishi! Fine, humor me a little won't ya.” He throws the key at you, catching you off guard as you stumble to catch it mid-air. You looked perplexed as you examined the key, it felt real and didn’t turn into sand. Ruggie laughs at your face, standing up from his spot to stretch his limbs. You thought he wasn’t alive. Could have been the same cause as last time. Oh no, you’re head hurt again.

“You’re by yourself, odd. I was expecting to see a crew of fools digging into our precious booty, we put our lives under the line for this treasure ya know.” Ruggie caresses the edge of his hat, he gives you a dirty look. “Let’s play a game. If you want the treasure, you need to outrun us first. We haven’t had a visitor for years! So come on, I’ll even let you get some gold before I start counting.”

From a distance, you can hear a howl.

“1.”

You quickly kneeled to scoop up what you can grab, pearls, large and small gold, anything. Your fingers are in pain in a minute, and the bag is full. You hope it would be enough for them. It’s heavy, it’ll slow you down if you’re planning on running, luckily they didn’t set their ship far.

“70.”

With all your strength, you flip the bag over your shoulder and dash it, ignoring Ruggie’s annoyingly cute laugh as he calls out.

“Run! Run! Or he’ll catch you!!” A prick of needles is stabbed into your body as your feet pound the floor, in the distance, you can see the ship. The captain is waving his hands in panic, shouting at you to run faster. You can still hear him counting in your ear, irritating you further to hurry up.

You hurl the bag at the ship, hearing the treasure scatter.

“Go! Don’t look back and head home now!” James rushes over to the edge, tears in his eyes at the sight of you.

“Yer alive! You can come with us!” You suck in a breath and give a wheezed laugh. Shaking your head. He’s still counting. “Make sure your ma gets well, ok? Don’t come looking for me James, I won’t be here long.”

James attempts to jump off the ship to chase after you, Peter holding him back. You run into the woods, dodging branches and skulls. A rustling comes from behind you. A flash of white attacks your fleeting form, rolling down a hill with the beast on top of you. Its jaws are locked on your arm, making you bite your tongue till blood draws. Your other hand searches for a weapon, grabbing ahold of a rock and smashing it repeatedly over the head. You thought the hit was useless until you aimed for the eye. The white beast lets out a loud yelp before backing off.

Clutching your arm, you didn’t get to see the monster transform back. His devilish hair was stained with his blood. Alive or not?? He pulls out a sword from his chest, the flesh of his skin opening and closing. He lunges at you but you duck under, the sword hitting the tree behind you. You kick the back of his knee, making him stumble, and enough time for you to throw the weapon away from his reach.

“Oh my fucking god, you don’t give up do you.” His larger form looms over you as you look around for an exit. He resorts to lounging at you once again, keen on using his body weight to trap you. 

You feel light-headed when he grips the side of your face and slams it down on the floor. Spit flying out of your mouth from the impact, you struggle to breathe as his palm holds down your windpipe. You can feel the hot of his breath on your shoulder, his blood drips down on your face. Teeth tear at your shoulder blade, going past the meat and breaking the bone. The sound is horrific as you scream in pain, gagging noises leaving your mouth as he continues the assault. His eyes have an animalistic tint to them, a hungry wolf gauging down his meal he hadn’t had for ages.

The pain is unbearable, the body is uncontrollably hot when you wither. You can’t die. You made it this far. The sword, you look up to see the sword. Taunting you as you reach for it. He’s too busy feasting on your shoulder to see you struggle. You let out another cry when your hand gets a hold of the handle, pulling your arm back and striking underneath him. The sword stabs into his stomach, and with one final try you push it upwards; cutting past the clothes and opening a large wound, his intestines dangled above you.

He doesn’t make a sound but rolls over, clutching his stomach and staring at you with wide eyes. So much for being a ghost. His breath is heavy as you struggle to stand, the open wound of your arm ugly. You take one last look at him in disgust, his face is coated by a shade of pink as drool and blood seep down his mouth.

“You’re perfect…You’ll be a fine trophy.” You couldn’t tell he said that out of respect, he was a huge guy and you didn’t think you would make it.

Turning away with a limp, you find yourself back to all the riches. Leaving stains behind as you make it to the cave. A flame lights its way down for you. You’re in for a ride.

“You’re still alive?” 

A voice echoes from above. A man with an eyepatch stares down at you. His green hues are bright in the dark. “I must say. I’m impressed. Herbivores like you wouldn’t last a minute on this island.” He tilts his head at you before giving a sharp grin.

“Now don’t look at me like that, I didn’t cause that nasty scar on your shoulder.” He pulls out a sword from a rock beside him. “I plan on making my own.”

His body is fast and coming straight at you, with all the adrenaline building up, you back away from his hit. His moves are sharp and you couldn’t keep up, his sword hitting your body a couple of times and leaving cuts on you. Pain fills your body up once more, you’re not sure how much energy you have left to defend yourself. Behind him is a large mirror, so close yet so far.

He does a blow to your stomach, knocking you down with a thud. The heel of his boot presses down onto your chest, he looks down at you with disappointment. 

“Can’t fight more? Shame, we were just having fun.” He laughs, dropping his sword and holding the collar of your neck towards him.

His lips smash against yours, his teeth brutally biting down on your lip and tongue. Your consciousness is fading in and out, the taste of copper flooding your nose as well. He groans at the taste of blood, hungrily lapping up the fallen tissue of your ruined lip. His hand travels down to your waist, you can hear the keys jingling under all his breathing and licking. A pump of determination fills you, panic in your system as you knee him. Hard. He sucks in a breath, clutching himself from the humiliation.

Crawling away from him, you grab the sword beside him. These idiots love leaving their weapons around for you. He looks up at the sound of metal clanging, just in time for you to stab it down on his eyepatch. He lets out a blood-curling yell, you leave the sword there as you run for the mirror.

“I’LL FIND YOU. I HAVE JUST THE PLACE FOR YOU.” You turn back to look at him, and a sickening smile and a crazed eye stare back at you.

Shivering, you held your hand out to the mirror, the swirls sucking you in. You didn’t notice the glistening shine of the keys. Leona had made a vow to find you. Such treasure must be confined by his truly.

Shishishi!

[alicepen]

[E-18]

Kaidan x AFAB db WARM oneshot

Kaidan mod belongs to livtempleton on nexus

Will involve spoilers of the kaidan mod

mention of Inigo, Auri, and Lucien who belong

to SMARTBLUECAT, Waribiki, & JosephRussell

I had only just defeated alduin on the throat of the world- but it wasn’t enough. What I need is a plan- and the context of Alduin going to Sovngarde after cowering off in the heap of battle surly made a mess of things.

I needed a drink.

I thank my companions who had followed me through this unfortunate incident- one of them being Kaidan. He and I had known each other longest; with finding him in an abandoned prison, going through an old cave from his childhood, unmasking his past and heritage, and an ex lover.

This ex lover of his was a powerful destruction and conjuration mage, whom had a disturbed body due to her own mutilation for spells. Kaidan, in response, said that when she threatened my life, he lost any sympathy towards her. Thus, he killed her, and I suspected it took a toll on him mentally.

A couple weeks or so after the incident, Kaidan was clearing his mind still. What helped distract him was the fight on the throat of the world. It exhausted all of us, but it helped Kaidan move on from his past. He was still his broody, serious self, but he seemed more…distracted as of late.

We spent an entire day and a half in solitude. Inigo and Lucien had went off to the Bards College- Lucien wanted to look at some books, and Inigo had to tune his lute. Auri had kept a distance from the market and went to the inn for some jagga- she’ll be disappointed. Kaidan followed me to the blacksmith as I needed a tune up on my bow, and it was an awkward silence between us. Kaidan would eye me from to time to time, and I, of course, noticed but kept it to myself. His mood today seemed strange, and I could tell he was anxious about something due to his boots shuffling against the floor from time to time.

“This is a dwarven bow, pulls back perfectly twelve inches, and the quiver can hold up to eighty arrows.” Fihada, the owner of the flecher, spoke. He showed a case with a amber metal crafted bow, carved with dwarven material and a thick string.

“Looks great. How much for it?” I asked, tilting down to the bow with a gleam. Amazing how a weapon from an extinct race was still crafted after all this time.

“Well, I have a couple. Enchanted, sharpened, both or none. Which would you like?”

“Both.”

Fihada pulled out a dwarven bow, pulsing a red glow. “Fire enchantment, can pierce through heavy armor, around 1400 septims.”

I pulled my coin purse, the jingle caused the shop owner to grin.

Kaidan quickly put his hand on my arm, lightly touching to my hand with his other. I looked up, he furrowed his brows.

“Hey, I can get it if you want. I owe you this.” He mumbled, his voice was a crackle, like a fire in a cold home.

“I suppose.” I shrugged, he gave a soft hum and pulled out his own coin purse. In the heat of the moment, back when we faced a troll, Kaidan had his bow disarmed in battle, causing him to grab mine. Mine was not a war bow, it was made for less strong pulls and more quicker tactics- and in the heat of the moment, forgetting it was not his bow’s strength, completely snapped the string.

“Thanks for the business!”

The sky was a golden tropic, shining down on solitude and her lovely stones. Lucien and Inigo had already gotten back to the inn to rest, while Kaidan and I were alone. The silence came back, to us sitting in silence and only merely glancing at each other when the said other was looking away. I didn’t have the courage to speak, I still don’t, not with this gauge of a thick layer called “tension.” We decided to head back to the inn, where the group was rested.

“No Jagga? What type of inn is this?” I heard Auri complain to the keeper of the winking skeever.

“I.. I’m sorry we only sell Nord, Imperial, and Breton drinks here.” Corpulus Vinius sighed, he was rubbing the counter with a wet rag, cleaning up stains.

“Besides alcohol,” Lucien interrupted, “do you have any rooms for five?”

“Five?” Corpulus itched his neck, thinking for a second. “I’m sorry I only can give four for tonight…”

“One of us needs to share a room with each other. Is one of the rooms with two beds at least?” Inigo asked, bringing his tankard to the counter.

“No, but we have a one queen sized bed that can fit two.”

“Oh boy.” Auri tapped her fingers against the wall, very much keeping her hands away from wood.

“Hm.. is any of us alright with sharing a bed with anyone?”

“I erm..” Lucien’s awkward voice chimed, “I rather sleep alone in one room… if that is alright…”

“That’s fine, Lucien.” I nodded, and he was already leaving for the night. Poor chap was exhausted.

“Why don’t you and Kaidan share the room?“ Auri proposed, smiling slyly towards me. I fumbled, twisting my hand behind my back to grip my fist.

Kaidan cleared his throat, “would it be more appropriate if you two shared?”

“Why is it not appropriate for you two to share? You two are close friends, besides one can sleep on the floor if it’s that bad.”

“You just want a room by yourself too.” Inigo glanced to Auri, who giggled.

“Fine,” I sighed, touching my temples with my fingers. “We can work something out.”

“Aye. I’ll stand uh, guard if need be. I don’t need rest.” Kaidan tried to comfort the situation, leading me to run my hand through my bag to pay for the rooms.

“You do, but sharing a bed isn’t the worst since it’s just one night.” I paid for the rooms, and immediately Auri and Inigo went upstairs.

“Have a nice night!” Auri chirped, mostly looking at me and having a mischievous grin.

I faltered my footing slightly.

I would assume it was around eleven in the night, and the group was asleep as I sat at a table upstairs near the bedrooms while I drank. My armor was in the room, in the corner by the bed and I was in more comfortable clothing, a brown shirt with black trousers. I couldn’t sleep due to pondering over what transpired for the past month. Alduin, Sovngarde, Kaidan…

A door quietly creaked open, and I turned in my seat. Kaidan-who was out of his bulky armor and in a soft, low cut rugged shirt with loose pants-was gazing at me through the door.

“Y’alright?” He asked, opening the door fully and leaning against the frame.

“M’fine, just having something to drink before I sleep. What about you? Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

“I can’t sleep.” Kaidan mumbled lightly, his voice was forced but still gentle, a breeze tickled my earlobes.

“Hm?” I got up from my seat quietly, keeping a hand on the table, “What’s wrong, then?”

“I...” The tall man stuttered, pinching his eyes shut as he gulped down what I could tell to be his strained words, “Skyrim is cold, a very chilly province- you would be freezing once the weather hits. It will be freezing soon.. and I’d like to… help you stay warm…”

“What do you mean?” I asked, raising my brow as to egg him on more.

“Haven’t you figured it out?” He looked me in the eyes, standing up straight, his hands fidgeted by running through his messy hair. “Me… stealing glances of you… any moment I’m with you... I can only think of being closer… physically.. mentally..” his breath hitched as he saw how far he was going to his words. My chest was pattering.

“Come to bed with me, you know I’ll still be there in the morning..”

I flushed- he was suggesting.. oh gods. My whole body warmed, my arms crushing to my chest as to feel if my heart was still beating like a hummingbird.

“I-I.. uhm.. yes.. maybe..? Uhm..” I couldn’t speak, this felt embarrassing. I was independent, strong, free willed... but this moment made me feel so bashful. I didn’t know how to understand this.

“Are you blushin,’ dragonborn..?” Kaidan chuckled under his breath as he walked to me, taking my hand into his. His lovely shade of red eyes were codling down into my weakest conscious. “Let’s see how long that’ll last..?”

I obligated, giving a soft nod as we entered his room together, letting the door slowly close and letting a soft click play.

Kaidan kept his hands on mine the entire time, letting them run up my shoulders and to my cheek. His hands were large, as any Akivirian, and Kaidan used them so gently. His fingertips running across my skin, leaving gentle flutter kisses with the feeling of his freshly shaved face on my neck- it’s almost as if he prepared. He smelled so nice, and his hair was washed and still cold. Oh yes, he definitely prepped for this moment.

“You freshened up, didn’t you?” I spoke under my breath, causing Kaidan to leave a hum on my neck.

“It’s a coincidence, I assure you..” he gave a breathy chuckle, letting his hands slowly trail to my torso- he was hesitant, moving his head for his eyes and mine to be in contact as we exchanged consenting glances. He knew what he was doing, I wonder if he at least knew how he makes me so weak...

We haven’t touched our lips yet, though instinctively I felt hot under the collar. Kaidan was only touching to my cheek, staring me down with his gentle eyes. The moment was long and quiet, so far only eye contact was the most intimate moment. My hand gently rose, cupping to Kaidan’s cheek all the same as he did mine, but I tilted him down to me- the man was a towering sweetheart.

Kaidan accepted the tilt, leaning down to put his nose against mine. The hold of our breaths kept us on edge, through the mental contact of souls: our eyes. My entire body flared up as I contracted our lips together- finally. It was slow, and mostly breaths touching each other’s skin as we awkwardly sealed our lips. This kiss was what you would expect for a first time. Of course, Kaidan felt aback- as if it was his first. I knew it wasn’t, and that kind of got me a bit relentless. But his surprise and shock as to the kiss made me wonder if he accepted this more than the ones before.

Our lips touching for the first time felt electrified, for how small the connection was.

“You..” I breathed, once we got our space, “you’re okay with this.?”

The man smiled lightly to me, giving almost a soft chuckle, “Thought maybe I should be asking you that? Yes, I’m fine.”

“How should we..?” I asked, looking to the side as to distract me from staring too deep into his eyes. gods, those eyes..

Kaidan gave my cheek a gentle caress as to calm both of our nerves. “We’ll improvise.” Kaidan gave a soft twitch at his lips, like a smile, to me which was chasing butterflies around my stomach. I sighed and gave him a kiss to the chin.

“That works.”

Kaidan had gotten my lips again for another longing kiss, putting his hands on the bed as to coax me down to it. The tips of his fingers were leaving nerves working on my skin, as his fingertips connected to the nape of my neck, caressing down to my collarbone. The feeling was so gentle, and careful: complete opposite of how I knew Kaidan to be in battle. He was aggressive, rough, a tank in a fight. But now, he was so gentle and loving- it made my heart swell.

His hands rested on my shirt, and gave me his longing eyes to ask for the removal of the damned clothing- which I immediately acted on. I took the cloth off and even went as far as to tease my undergarment strap to fall off my shoulder.

As his cheeks went to match the color of his tattoo, he eyed my face and kept his hands on my shoulders, lightly using his thumbs to circle my skin.

“Can I take the rest off..?” He asked, so gently it was almost a whisper.

I smiled warmly to him and gave a soft nod, “yes.”

He took a gentle inhale as his fingers found the hooks to my undergarment, and lightly undid them. The straps gave into gravity as my garments fell off my body. I tossed them to the side as they were no longer wanted. I could almost hear Kaidan’s heart beat like a hummingbird. An adorable display, even so when he went to give a kiss to my chin for light measure.

Kaidan’s lips caressed down my neck and to my collarbone. His nose tickled my skin, along with his feather-like kisses. My body tingled and shivers were up my spine, which caused my back to curl towards him slightly. He was intrigued by this, continuing his lips to my abdomen as he ignored my breasts. The feeling had my heart sink a bit, but was reversed as his hands went to cup them, gently. Kaidan’s palms were warm and big, and they’re enough to be a bra themself.

Kaidan was not a talker, that was obvious. But it was curious to see his eyes speak for him. The way he looked at me, I could hear him say the most heart melting things- his actions spoke for him.

As a Hand stayed on my chest, with gentle fondles and playful squeezes, the other went to hook a finger onto my last undergarment. His lips were right under my stomach, and I could feel my entire body shake with anticipation. Kaidan gave me his longing stare, practically begging me to let him continue. I nodded quickly, and tried to lift my hips to help remove them faster.

Once removed, Kaidan silently gazed, plotting out his next move. Embarrassed, my legs hesitatingly went to close, but Kaidan put his palm on one of my knees in a light touch. He looked up to me, and gave me a small quirk of a smile. His fingers of his free hand laid against my inner thigh as a tease.

“Would you like to… prepare…?” He asked, removing his hand on my knee but keeping his other dangerously close to my abdomen, as he scooted his body up to nearly lay next to me. I bit my lip and raised a brow.

“How much do you think I need preparation?” I hummed. He shrugged playfully.

“I don’t mean to brag, but…” he snickered, which caused a humored huff of from me.

“Oh, fine then. Let’s sate your ego…” I replied and he gently kissed my cheek as a response.

His hand went to lovingly crawl down to my folds, eagerly awaiting my plea. This tease…

“Please.” I muttered, and he obliged. Two of his fingers dipped gently around my labia, feeling around. I inhaled at the sudden feeling, and silently watched his face as he did mine- most likely scanning for discomfort.

I can hear my arousal, and it made me shiver with embarrassing thoughts. Lip biting was my last resort to keeping my cool.

Once he got his fingers… wet… enough, he dipped in and I inhaled slowly. The impending ring of fire was more light and gentle than I would have expected. Nonetheless, it felt discomforting but not painful.

“You alright? It will pass… but tell me when it’s too much and I’ll stop…” he spoke, the second half being more clear and stern than his gentle ask. I gave him a nod.

“‘M fine… just gotta get past the…” I huffed and he nodded in an understanding. He curved his palm in a way that had the carpal of his hand rub against my clit. I whimpered slightly at the feeling and Kaidan took it as a good sign. He pushed his fingers in deeper, and started to make a more curving motion.

The ring felt less hot and more comforting. It slowly began to undo me into a mess. I relaxed my muscles and limbed gently against the bed. My mouth was slightly ajar, feeling so relaxed of just feeling his fingers. Hearing the sounds of his fingers thrusting in a quicker manner, even adding a third that I barely noticed, I felt my body go hot, mind numbingly hot.

Even as he stopped, I could feel my mouth water from the pleasure.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

“Huh?” I asked, just coming out of my dazed thoughts. Kaidan chuckled.

“I asked if you think you’re ready..”

I cleared my throat and hummed, lifting my torso up with my elbows balancing me.

“Yes.”

Kaidan’s swift movement of removing his clothes was short lived, and rather a blur. Though, I was in awe that he was, in fact, valid to brag. He moved his hand back down to me and gave a firm wipe, and lubricated his shaft. I let my legs fall in a opening display as I waited eagerly.

A hand on my knee, and with an aim, he slipped in. The ring of fire was hotter and brighter, a far harsher reaction than his tough fingers.

“Gods- I…” I impulsively whimpered, clasping my fingers over my lips. He gently went to hold a hand, which was basically now pinned to the bed, as his other pressed against the bed too, but left my other hand free. He looked down at me, dazed as I, as he waited for me to relax my nerves. Once I was in a less uncomfortable situation, he thrusted out and pushed back in gently, going farther in.

The process repeated till he hit my cervix. Kaidan sat in a patient demeanor, kissing my neck as I adjusted to him fairly quickly. I wrapped my legs around him, loosely, and asked for a continuation. He obliged.

Kaidan kept his eyes on me, and I felt a surge of flush fill my face as I awkwardly tried to keep the eye contact. I could tell he was amused at this. Considering he was closer and closer to just fucking me silly.

With hips hitting mine, I felt the edge gently grow closer. But it always felt far. Kaidan went to gently sit up, and placed his hands against my hip as he dug me closer. My hands wrapped around the sheets of the bed as I felt my body go limp. My skin felt hot, my brain was fuzzy with warmth, and my mouth let out sounds of pleasure. I did my best to see that I was never loud to wake the damn inn, especially my companions. But Kaidan made this oh so difficult.

The edge drew near, and I could hear Kaidan growing to the end as well. Oh, if the world ended I would be content to die on the spot.

“Ka-Kai..dan.” I stuttered, whining out his name as I felt my release on the tip. My breathing became vocal, and my legs squeezed him tight. My entire abdomen burned.

He predicted my edge, as a hand went to my clit and gently rubbed in a slow motion. That was the line, and my run came to an end. My breath became hitched as I felt it so hard to keep my voice contained. Kaidan went to kiss me to help, and I moaned into his mouth without shame. My hands twirling in his hair.

The hair gripping probably helped him release, because I couldn’t feel him anymore after my high. Just a very warm and wet sensation on my belly. His voice echoing my name in our kiss was sensational.

Taking all our energy to catch our breath and mind, we both slumped over on the bed. Heavily gasping.

Though, Kaidan snapped out of it quicker than me, and went to grab a rag to clean me and him up. He went to lay back down next to me, and we quietly went into each others arms, no words were needed.

As Masser and Secunda filled the night, Kaidan and I exchanged a voiceless cuddle, holding each other in a warm embrace as we let the night take us.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Ten - Prompt: Rocks @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 618 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

The outskirts of London were tinged with shadows by the time his Fiesta sputtered down the quiet streets. Barty muttered encouragement under his breath as he approached a Tesco petrol station. His promises to fill the tank and give its 4-stroke engine a rest seemed to work. As he coasted into the station, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s it, princess. You’re always so good for me, aren’t you?” he whispered, stroking the dashboard. The car purred beneath his feet as it slowed to a stop beside a pump.

Barty parked the car and hopped out to stretch. A strained groan escaped as he twisted sharply to the left. His muscles ached from a solid four hours hunched over the steering wheel. Heather was pretty dependable, but she was a little cunt and he barely fit inside. Even when the seat was pushed all the way back, his legs were crowded into the dash.

He stripped off his shirt, tossed it in the backseat, and grabbed the last clean one from the duffel. After a full day on the road, Barty was sure he looked a bit shite. The least he could do is freshen up before he loped across the lot to pay the attendant. If he was lucky, they might have his favourite brand of cigarettes. He’d run out about an hour ago and was itching for smoke.

“H’lo! Welcome to Tesco!” a cheery voice greeted him as he walked in the door.

Barty saluted half-heartedly on his way to the counter. “You have Marlboro Golds?”

“I think so. How many do you want?”

“Three, if you have them.”

By the time he reached the other end of the shop, the perky blonde had three packs on the counter and was watching him curiously. She was cute, but far too cheerful. The smile plastered on her face appeared genuine and it creeped him out.

“How much?” he asked, digging his wallet out of his pocket.

“£46.30.”

“Add forty litres on pump two.”

As she rattled off the obscene total, Barty winced. He handed over the cash and picked up the Marlboros. She handed him a receipt and a handful of coins.

“Keep it,” he said, turning away.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded distractedly as he shoved his wallet back into his pocket. The last thing he needed was change weighing down his jeans. As it was, his belt was on its last hole and still struggled to hold them up over his flat arse. Evan used to love winding him up about it.

As he pushed the door open, she cleared her throat. “I’m off in an hour.”

Barty stopped short and glanced over his shoulder. Out of habit, he gave her a slow once-over and smirked. “Yeah? You’re gagging for it, are you? Need to get your rocks off?”

Her face flushed bright pink as she ducked her head. If he wasn’t on the verge of passing out, he may have considered giving her a go out of sheer spite. Unfortunately, Barty doubted he could convince his dick to cooperate with Evan’s cold, furious voice echoing in his mind.

We are nothing to each other. I don’t want anything to do with you, Crouch.

He shook his head and huffed at his own stupidity. “Next time, sweetheart. I’m knackered.”

Barty left before she could respond. It didn’t really matter what she said, he’d forget she existed the moment he slid into his car. Heather was the only woman in his life, at the moment. She was likely the only one who could tolerate him anyway. He patted the hood approvingly.

“Just a bit further, princess. You can take a little more, can’t you?”

Next Part>>>

[hiraeth-witch-11]

Magnolia Jasmine Part 2

Part 2: His Very Own MJ

Warnings: canon typical stuff, nothing really

Word Count: 1300ish

In the days that followed the wasp men’s attack, the media has gone crazy over the appearance of a new vigilante. Not that you have any intention of returning back to the hero scene, no this had been a one off. No one else knew that, though. They all assumed you’d be back after your heroic debut. Names were being flung around as different outlets scrambled to be the one who coined your official name. Some of them were quite silly like ‘The Wasp Whisperer’ and ‘Mother Earth’. Others you could admit had a nice ring to them. ‘Briar’ was fun, even if it was a bit of an insult in some places. ‘Queen Bee’ was cute. ‘Meadow’ was one of your favorites. You diligently avoid anything comparing you to your mother’s alter ego. The media is clueless to your heritage, but it’s an obvious connection to draw between 2 plant controlling women.

Business booms as children request flowers to be put in their hair, couples are reminded that it’s been a while since they got their S/O a bouquet, and displays are made by businesses to take advantage of the flower hero and their 15 minutes of fame. You exercise caution with your powers over the next week or two, aware of the potential for scrutiny.

You are closing up one evening as the rain is finally starting to let up, when a boyishly handsome man with a mop of brown hair comes jogging up to your door, just as you are about to turn the sign. 

“Sorry, I know you’re ‘bout to close. Do you think I could grab a bouquet real quick before you close? I promised my aunt I would bring her some flowers for dinner tonight, but then I got caught up in the rain and I’m already running super late,” he pleads.

You smile as he rambles, it’s not like you have anything better to do with your evening. A few extra minutes don’t bother you.. “Sure, come on in.” You hold the door open for him and watch him track wet, dirty footprints through the front of the store.

I really need a better door mat, you think to yourself.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver. I’m Peter, by the way,” he says as he grabs a small bouquet from the shelf and takes it to the register.

“I’m Maggy,” you offer though it may be obvious with the sign out front. You ring him up, carefully wrapping up the flowers and putting a loose bag over the tops in case it starts raining again.

“Well, Maggy. It was great to meet you. I totally owe you one.” Peter sticks some change in your tip jar and makes his way back to the door, noticing the footprints he tracked in.

“Oh jeez, I am so sorry. Let me clean this up.”

“It’s okay, you’re late to dinner. Go, I don’t mind,” you say honestly.

“If I wasn’t running so late I would stay and clean it. I’m so sorry, my aunt raised me better than this. You sure you don’t mind?”

“I really don’t. Go, enjoy the flowers.” You smile reassuringly as he gives you an apologetic look, dashing out the door and down the street.

You grab the mop and laugh a little. You try not to hope that you’ll see him again. It was a big city, you could go the rest of your lives without your paths ever crossing again. But you know what they say: it might be a big city, but it’s a small world.

*********

A week or so passes before you see Peter again. It’s sometime in the afternoon and you’re doodling little flowers on receipt paper as you wait for another customer. It’s warm today, even in the shop and your red hair is pulled up off your neck with a claw clip. Your legs swing freely as you perch on the stool behind your counter. 

His hair is dry this time, though a bit messy, and in the sunlight, you can see how beautiful his chocolate brown eyes are. You can also see the gnarly shiner he has on his left eye. At the sight of him, you almost fall off your stool.

“Peter, what happened?” You blurt out in concern before you realize it would probably be more polite to ignore it.

“Oh, it’s fine, I just got mugged.” He says this all with a smile on his face, speeding past the whole ‘ and adding, “Anyways, I felt really bad about the other night and I wanted to come and apologize. I also feel like an idiot ‘cause I didn’t make the connection of your name and the shop.”

“It really is okay, Peter. I didn’t have anywhere else to be, I really didn’t mind. And yeah, Magnolia is a mouthful, it’s cool for a flower shop name, but I prefer Maggy or MJ.”

Peter looks at you with a mixture of surprise and awe. “MJ?”

“Yeah, my parents named me Magnolia Jasmine. You can’t even imagine how hard that is to get little kids to say. I went by MJ ‘til college.”

“Do you wanna get some coffee with me? I mean, obviously not now, I can see you’re busy, but some other time?” He’s all giddy energy, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking at you like you’re the moon and the stars. 

“I don’t even know you, Peter…?”

“Parker, Peter Parker. And isn’t that the point of a date, to get to know each other better?” He asks with a grin.

You aren’t necessarily opposed to it, you can’t deny the connection you feel, but you aren’t going to be stupid. Safe dating practices was something your dad has hammered into your brain since you were 13.

“Tell you what, I’ll think about it, and in the meantime,” you scribble your name and number on the receipt paper that is covered in various drawings of flowers, “here’s my number, Peter Parker.”

Peter takes the paper with a grin, glancing at it before pulling out his phone, an older model with an extremely cracked screen, and adding you to his contacts. Your phone vibrates in your back pocket and you check it in time to see a message from a new number that says ‘it’s peter parker :)’. 

“I gotta go to work, but I’ll text you later.” Peter ducks out the door. “Bye, MJ!”

*******

Peter hasn’t been able to get you off his mind since that first night when he tracked dirt through your store. You were absolutely beautiful with your red hair hanging loosely and your bright, hazel eyes. You had been wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt with some floral pun on it and he swore you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, dirt smudge on your cheek and all. He had made a note to visit you again as soon as he could.

Today, he had rushed to your store on his break. You’d been focused on your doodling when you looked up. He completely forgot that he was still healing a black eye, he should’ve waited another day. 

Peter had been completely flabbergasted when you said your name was MJ. Ever since he got back from his multiversal adventure, he’s been keeping an eye out for his very own MJ. It’s not like he had been searching for you actively, there are far too many MJs in the world for that to make sense. But the moment you told him, he just knew that you were the MJ meant to be in his life.

Before meeting his pseudo-brothers, Peter would have struggled to come to terms with any sort of new relationship. The most he was comfortable with was casual flings and friends held at arm’s length. But when he caught Peter 1’s MJ, it was like he could finally forgive himself for what happened with Gwen. He’s been doing better, been lighter, something May had commented on. Peter is ready to at least get to know you. He’ll do better this time around. He will keep the lives of Peter Parker and Spider-Man separate. He’ll make sure you don’t get hurt. He can keep you safe if it comes to it. He’s certain of it.

*******

Let me know if you want to be added to or taken off a tag list! Feedback is the spice of life, any and all thoughts are welcome.

Series Taglist: sunflowers-4, dark-night-sky-99

Peter Parker Taglist:

Everything Taglist: @kayhi808

[prerodinu]

⸻@kinglyisms Toshiro & Artem.

"Things with the Pack are a bit complicated, as I'm sure you've noticed." Toshiro stated, moving around the desk in his office toward the filing cabinet in the back. He opened it open and dug around a moment before fetching out the map of the forest. He carried it over to his desk and moved things out of the way before unrolling it and spreading it out. He weighed the corners down with the various things on his desk and then rested his hands against the edge of it. "My--father died. He got very sick, it was incurable, and he passed away two years ago." Toshiro had not taken his death well, but he got there with Elliot's help. "He was a great leader for the Pack. Brave, strong, tall and wellbuilt. When you think Werewolf my father would fit that image." A soft smile spreads across his face before it falls off. "Apparently, those genes skipped me. I take more after my mother." A woman he didn't meet. "My father didn't get to teach me a lot of what he needed to, and as a result I don't--know a lot." He picks his head up and motions toward one of the big, very full bookshelves in the room. "I try to read what I can on Werewolves and Packs to make up for that." Toshiro is doing his best, he wants to be a good leader. It just wasn't easy when you didn't have anyone to learn from. "Anyway, the Pack doesn't really--respect me I guess. At least not all of them. A good majority does, but there are those who don't." He shrugs a bit, pretending it wasn't bothering him. It does. "So, here's the map of the forest." He grabbed a coin and placed it down. "This is where our Pack Houses sit, take a look and see where you want to place yours."

There are times Artem often forgets how new and exciting it could be to be an Alpha. He hasn’t really wanted a pack, though he had gotten it by simply being himself. Leaning into nature his mother should have taught his sister but taught him instead.

How to cook.

How to clean.

How to care for people.

All while his father raged upon his sister and made her a nightmare.

She hadn’t wanted this position anyway either. Some how though, they did it together. Fixed the missed pieces each other needed to create a strong pack. Even if some were disjointed and bad.

Artem loved every bond he had, every person who came through his door.

This is why sitting in Toshiro's office he found himself wanting to give the other whatever he needed. Money. Advice. Love. A home-cooked meal. Whatever he needed Artem would provide it.

“When I think of a werewolf I think of cunning. I think of grace, a quick mind and I think of family. I don’t think of a big strong man or woman. Those things are, pointless if you are backed against a wall on your own Toshiro. An animal or person hurt and backed against a wall will eat its own self to protect itself or get away cleanly. Even if it hurts them.” He glanced at the books feeling at home with them. “Someone with family, a quick mind, they don’t need brute strength. They need the support.”

Artem was giving out advice someone once told him. Someone special to him. Lachlan wasn’t a father but he was the only person Artem and Katia had to point them in the direction of being good and fair leaders. Though he wasn’t going to tell Toshiro stories he didn’t care about.

“I am sorry about your father. Losing someone you love leaves a hole you can’t fix.” He looks at Toshiro, really looks at the other, he was wearing his glasses today, the heart-shaped ones sitting upon his mat of blonde hair he had tied back to keep from overheating himself. He was dressed down more than normal, gray sweatpants and a short-sleeved forest green shirt were all he needed, even if that was a little warmer for him.

Though he didn't want to be shirtless in Toshiro's office. The last thing he was going to do was show off his scars.

“You can learn a lot from books and others. Use your resources.” He offers looking away as the coin comes into view. He detangled his glasses from his hair, wearing them as he looked close.

RESPECT. Red-brown eyes snapped back to Toshiro's face upon hearing the mumble of people not respecting him. Artem could fix that, but he didn’t want to fight the other's battles but a couple well-placed words and maybe he could give those pack members a piece of his mind. The other didn’t have to know.

Taking his glasses off and placing them back on top of his head he stood up leaning close enough to Toshiro to brush his fingers over the others before tracing the map. Moving around the coin thinking about where he would want the house set up.

“Is there a place you would suggest?” Artem values the other's opinion. He obviously wouldn’t do anything without Consulting his sister or the pack but a couple good ideas would be nice.

[trixiwritesfanfic]

Crackfic snippet - Red Dwarf

Kryten’s cleaning routine had carried him to G deck today, and now he was engaged in pleasant chit-chat with one of the vending machines. Its voice was pleasant and well-spoken, its accent a buttery and smooth Irish. They had just finished discussing the marvels of Mr. Lister’s capacity to consume chocolate bars and had been about to make a start on a conversation about the pleasures of folding shirts when Kryten ran a duster across the top of the machine.

The machine shuddered in its place, a faint purring of motors accompanying a whimper so close to human it could have been mistaken for one in the dark.

‘Oh goodness, I do apologise, Miss. 19X, I ought to have asked before dusting you!’ Kryten whisked the feathery tool away as Shame Mode activated, compelling him to shuffle and twist his hands. His left was far looser than his right, so he strove to direct the impulse productively, wrenching the part as deep back into its socket as possible.

‘Oh Mr. Kryten, sir, I don’t mind at all,’ the machine trilled after a moment, the light in her display fluttering and flickering coquettishly. ‘In fact, I’d rather like a good cleaning, if you don’t mind me saying so! It’s been quite a while, after all.’

‘Oooh!’ Kryten’s excitement expressed itself in the rapid vibration of his chassis, and he quickly turned to the hovercart he’d brought with him, rummaging through his various tools. ‘Let’s see, then – I could go over your outsides and scrub off Mr. Lister’s food stains and give you a lovely polish,’ He placed two separate sets of buffing pads at the top of the pile, then continued digging. At length, he emerged with his vacuum attachment. ‘And then of course I could vacuum your slots, and then restock you!’

‘Oh, please, please, restock me!’

Kryten’s cubic face stretched with his approximation of a human “smile” as he grabbed one of the pads and smeared it with a cleaning agent.

‘Are you ready, Miss. 19X? I should warn you; I have been trained to clean most vigorously by Mr. Lister!’

‘I’m ready,’ the vending machine murmured, its voice breathy and eager. Kryten bit down on his artificial lip as he pressed the wool pad against one grotty metal side of the machine. Somewhere inside the machine, snacks tremored, their wrappers rustling. The odd bottle of juice that hadn’t ever been bought sloshed provocatively. He pressed the pad more firmly against the metal and began to drag it languidly up and down the side of the machine, prompting still more of those deep quivering sounds.

‘How’s this, Miss. 19X?’

‘So, so good…’ The unadulterated enjoyment in the simulated voice was more than enough to prompt Kryten into Bliss Mode, something he normally only reached when doing a particularly demanding load of laundry for Mr. Lister. So he took his time, thoroughly cleaning every inch of the lucky unit with that woollen pad first, and then eventually shifting over to the foam pad and a thick layer of shinebrite solution. This, he applied with a featherlight touch, prompting machine 19X to groan appreciatively.

Had the humans – or the Cat – been around to hear this, they might have been quite jealous, reflected Kryten as he finished the last long, luxurious swipe down the front of the machine. The display had returned to the indecent flickering and fluttering as he finished up the external cleaning.

‘Now, Miss. 19X, may I vacuum your slots?’

‘Oh god, please!’

Grinning from ear to artificial ear, Kryten fumbled in the cart for his groinal attachment, which he then slotted into its appropriate position. He tested the suction against his hand first, something which the vending machine appeared to take as quite the tease, for a torrid whine emanated from its voice grate and the display flickered yet again, turning to a gentle pink.

‘Goodness, this one’s small,’ he commented as he manoeuvred the nozzle into the coin slot. The machine whimpered as he flicked the switch and began to vacuum.

[coffeecat1983]

“All He Deserves” pt 2 Mario bros AU.

(keep in mind I wrote this like, 11 years ago, so waaaay before the movie. Also I’ve always held the headcanon that Luigi is gay, so don’t like it, don’t read it. Pretty simple. CW language, implied sexual content, smoking etc. If you want to know what Trace’s voice is like, look up Double Trouble from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

    "Trace? I'm home!" Luigi called out as he closed the door, making sure to lock it.     "Hey sugar, in the kitchen!" Trace's smoky voice came from beyond the alcove. After hanging up his coat and slipping off his boots, Luigi followed the smell of Trace's cooking.   The Hammer Bro, or Hammer Sis, as he preferred to be called, was frying up something in a skillet as a pot of lemon sauce bubbled on the back burner. Trace was about 42 years old and dressed in female clothing when out of his shell, which was often when around home. Today he had on a hot pink silk tank top and white shorts with silver glitter around the waist and hems. Oversized pearl earrings that were yellowed with age peered out from the dark brown locks that hung down to his shoulders. One of many wigs he owned. Pink fuzzy slippers covered his feet. He swayed and hummed to the tune that crackled over the cheap radio. Luigi grabbed a can of pop from the fridge and popping it open, chugged it down.     "Were you safe?" When Trace asked were you safe, Luigi had long ago learned he meant three things. 'Did they hurt you?', 'Did they follow the contract' and most importantly, 'Do I need to kill anyone?'     "I was safe." he replied, coming over. Trace kissed his cheek, leaving a red smear of lipstick.     "That's my sugar. Now, grab some plates, this is almost ready." Luigi's thoughts began drifting as he set the table...   It was raining and near freezing. Luigi, desperate for food and sick with fever, was searching through a dumpster behind a little diner. He had had a little luck here the previous night and found some scraps. Now it looked like he would go hungry tonight. He had searched for coins but most had been taken by Troopas when they built the new buildings. He had also tried Wario's castle, but it was a disaster site. The windows were smashed out, and no sign of his cousins or the treasure Wario had worked so hard to collect remained. He hoped to find something amongst the rubble to sell, but it had all been looted or destroyed. Now he was here, digging around as best he could in the dim orange light of the flickering streetlamp. His clothing was torn and stained with mud and dried blood, his hair was plastered down from the rain. His cap had been lost when he fled from the battle.   There was a cough and he jerked, falling to the ground.  A dark figure walked towards him as he shrank up against the dumpster, sniffling as he tried to hide in its shadow. There was the faint glow of a lit cigarette and it bobbed as the figure knelt next to him.     "Oh sugar, what happened to you? You look like death." The voice was kind. The first kind voice he had heard in a long time. He let out a soft sob. Trace slid off his coat and kneeling, wrapped it around Luigi's trembling body. "There now, you're gonna freeze out here. When's the last time you had a good meal?"     "D-Don't 'member." Luigi looked up at the Hammer Bro. He was wearing red lipstick, and a silver sequin dress with black heels. A black pixie cut wig with silver hairband covered his head. The Hammer Bro smiled at him. "Well c'mon then. Lets get you into some warm blankets and I'll fix you a hot meal."     "I-I c-can't pay you." Luigi mumbled tearfully as he helped him up. The Hammer Bro looked him up and down.     "Oh, I think you got a way to pay me, sugar, but we'll work that out later. By the way, my name's Trace."   The next thing he remembered was waking in a soft bed. His eyesight was blurred but he could make out he had been bathed and dressed in warm, clean nightclothes. Trying to sit up, Trace gently pushed him back down.     "Shhh, just rest, sugar. You've been through hell." Something cool met his lips and he drank the bittersweet liquid from the bottle. He recognized the taste of the mushroom potion, followed by a drink of cold water. He grew eager at the water and tried to gulp it down but Trace pulled it away.      "Ah, easy, don't want to get sick."

  After he had recovered, Trace had given him the upstairs of the old two-story house, which had been converted into an apartment of sorts. It was a roomy bedroom complete with bathroom and small kitchen, but Luigi often took meals downstairs with Trace. The Hammer Bro had nursed him back to health and offered him the chance to work as his only employee with Trace as his first client and his teacher. That first time, Luigi drew his legs up against his chest, his eyes wide when Trace suggested they practice.     "I-I've never... I mean I'm..." Trace stroked his cheek.     "It's okay, I've taught many a first timer."   Learning took a while. Trace was strict but gentle. "Don't cry in front of a client, save that for home. You can cry with me or on your own but never in front of a client. Drinking is fine, but not getting drunk. Always keep your head on enough to make sure you get paid. Don't count the payment in front of the client, if they insist you do, tell them to call me."   When Luigi asked, Trace claimed he had picked that name because there was only a 'trace' of what made him male left. Luigi would later tease him saying it was one big trace and that Trace's own clients were lucky. Trace would counter by kissing him and saying he preferred sharing that luck. The two fell into a comfortable relationship with each other. Both understood they had only one thing to offer clients, and when together in the bedroom it felt different than work. More peaceful and fulfilling.   When it came to work, Trace set up the clients, both did the work, and the pay was a decent split between them with a household fund set up for groceries and other items.    Admittedly it was hard at first. Many times, Luigi came home and had stayed in bed, refusing to come out and eat until Trace had made the threat of force feeding him. After a while the praise from clients came in. He was polite, kind, and easy to be with. This led to repeat clients. The pay was good, there was a contract in place, and woe to any clients who failed to follow the rules. Trace was not one to mess with and he had a reputation for enforcing the contract. One way of reinforcing was the large knife he kept on the table when interviewing new clients. There had been one time Luigi had come home with a black eye. After Trace calmed him down, he went out and Luigi found the large steak knife was gone from its usual spot on the kitchen wall. Trace came back around four that morning and Luigi never saw the client again.

    "Sugar?" Luigi blinked, coming out of his thoughts. "Huh?"     "I said 'time to eat'." Trace laughed. "You were in lala land for a minute there." Luigi blushed slightly. "Sorry, guess I'm pretty tired."     "You didn't sleep afterwards?"     "Nah, you know me. I don't want to scare away anyone with those nightmares I have."   Trace hummed and nodded. Luigi was prone to waking up crying or sometimes screaming from nightmares. He had taught himself not to go into a dreaming sleep when with clients. The only time he fell fully asleep was at home. Many times Trace had to wake him with soft words and a soothing touch.     "Well eat up and then how about you go crash for a while?"     "Sounds good." They ate in silence for a while until Luigi spoke.     "So anyone call for a job?"     "Two, but they're on hold." Trace's eyes sparkled. "I'm giving you the week off, sugar." Luigi nearly choked. "W-What?"     "I think you've earned it." Trace said. "You've been working that cute ass off and I'm tired too, so I figure we can take a break." He paused as he took a bite. "Besides, now you can give me a chance at your sweet behind." Luigi burst out laughing and Trace joined in.   After eating and clearing away the dishes, Luigi looked out the kitchen window. "Ugh, still raining." He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. "Mind if I...?" he motioned towards the back door and Trace nodded. One rule was neither smoked in the house. Luigi could in his room as long as the window was open. Luigi cracked the screen door and lit up, blowing the menthol smoke out into the rain. "I hate this weather." he said softly.     "Bad memories?" Trace said gently.     "Yeah." Luigi grew quiet as he stared out at the grey sky. Trace came over and kissed his cheek again. "You don't let those old thoughts get to you, okay sugar?"     "I won't." Luigi agreed. "Guess I do need a break. Seems like they come up when I'm tired." Trace paused, thinking. "Sugar, I have something for you. Put out that cancer stick and sit down for a minute." Luigi chuckled as he crushed the cigarette and tossed the butt in the garbage. He sat at the table and Trace vanished into the other room. There was a rustling sound and he came back holding a thin, square package wrapped in leftover Christmas paper. He handed it to Luigi, saying "wait a minute, okay?" Luigi felt a little puzzled as Trace pulled the other chair close to him and sat down.     "It took me a while to find this, but I understand if you don't want to keep it." He motioned towards the package with a soft 'go ahead.' Luigi pulled the paper off and gasped softly. A whimper escaped him. Framed in an old wooden frame was a newspaper clipping, a photo of Mario with his arm around Luigi's shoulders. His brother's smiling face was full of joy. Luigi held the frame close to his chest as he began to cry. He had lost all photos of his brother and finding any hint of him after Bowser took over felt impossible.     "H-How?" he whispered.     "I found it in the attic," Trace said. "I was looking through old papers and there it was." Luigi let out a shuddering sob. "Th-Thank you." He murmured something in Italian, holding the picture out to look at it again. Setting it gently on the table, he buried his face in his hands and broke down. Trace put his arm around Luigi before looking at the photo again. "You share his eyes. That's the first thing I noticed about you in that alley, those stunning eyes." Luigi wiped at his tears. "Same as Papa." he sniffled. He turned and hugged Trace tightly. "Thank you so much for this."   Trace pulled back slightly and kissed him. Luigi closed his eyes and returned the kiss as Trace's hands wandered down his back to grope at him. Finally pulling away, Trace took his hands.     "C'mon sugar, you can get some sleep later." Luigi laughed as they went hand in hand to Trace's room.

Life was rough at times, and the past hurt, but sometimes Luigi had to admit it wasn't all bad. Maybe he deserved a little more than he thought.

By “CC”

[theinfertilitydiaries]

Introduction

It all started with my period being late. I noticed about three days after I missed it. I communicate to K that my period is overdue and I’m slightly worried. It’s the first time I had to give him such ‘news’ and  I’m a bit worried about his reaction. Thankfully, he’s cool as a cucumber and I breathe out with relief. In our relationship, I am the hysterical one whilst he’s always calm and practical. It usually works to my advantage, apart from the times when I mistake his coolness for coldness which I do occasionally in the heat of the moment (i.e when I do much ado about nothing)

Four days after my missed period, I decided to buy a pregnancy test. So here we are, off to the shop where I’m trying my best to hide the Clearblue box away from the curious eyes of the other shoppers and cashiers (in fact, I think I have added some extra items to my shopping basket in order to bury the test on the bottom, underneath packets of cookies and cleaning products.) WHAT WOULD PEOPLE THINK?. Look at her, she’s been knocked up! How slutty of her. She wasn’t careful enough - what an idiot. 

‘ You know babe, there is no shame in buying a pregnancy test. Lots of women do. You’re at this age when it wouldn’t surprise anyone. It could have been a planned pregnancy.’ Except it was not.

I am not ready to be a mother. It was not an option. My life will be ruined. What will I do? What would my parents say?  What about my plans: saving up for the house, pursuing a career in management? God, please let that be a negative.

Back from Tesco, we sat down on the floor in the spare room. The guest bedroom serves us as a storage for all extra bedding, suitcases and useless pieces of furniture. It is the room where we don't mind smoking a lot, knocking over the ashtray and spilling red wine on the carpet. There are piles of board games on the shelves, and on the table there’s our newests acquisition - Scythe. The table is overflowing with plastic resources, mechs, characters and cardboard coins. In the end, no one ever sleeps here so it doesn’t really matter. For now… 

 I am smoking one cigarette after another. I chug a couple of cans of beer to ease my nerves.

‘What if it is positive…?’ I ask K. Back in the past we briefly talked about marriage and having children at some point in life. But it wasn’t like serious talk. We laughed about it as most couples do. They tease each other about these ridiculous names they were going to give to their children or fantasise about the beautiful wedding reception. It’s all fun to imagine but then it takes years before they actually decide on the big step. In the end, they name the children after the grandparents, and the wedding fantasies turn to a panic attack because how on earth are you supposed to seat the family at one table so they don’t kill each other. Not to mention, many of these couples once teasing each other actually never marry or have children together because life just doesn’t go as planned. 

‘ If it’s positive then we will make it work’, K says. ‘ Look, I’m with you no matter what.’ To be honest, it wasn’t my first time taking a pregnancy test. But this time it felt… different. Like it can really happen. I might be pregnant.

I am ready now. I go to the bathroom, empty my bladder and set a timer on my phone. Three minutes later I grab the discarded test with a shaky hand and prepare myself mentally to read the result.

‘It’s all blurry. I can’t see anything. I don’t think it’s valid’ I say surprised and show K the wet strip. 

‘For God’s sake, Monika. You can’t even pee on a stick!’. Somehow I’m glad that I bought myself more time.

Another trip to the supermarket. This time K stops me from buying random boxes of sweets to serve me for a camouflage. Thanks to whoever invented self-check-out points! We rush to the house to repeat the peeing procedure. Problem is, I have run out of urine in my bladder after dispensing it all on the previous test. Another excuse to drink a couple of glasses of wine! We continue sitting in the spare room, smoking cigarettes while waiting for my bladder to fill up.

‘Let’s play a game’, I say. ‘I can’t deal with this pressure.’  I feel like I’m going crazy and I want to kill some time. We play ‘Shot in a Dark’ and I relax a bit. However, soon a hundred different questions hit my head.

‘But honestly, what if it is positive? You know I could not abort…’

‘Then, we will keep it. We can make it work. We both have secure income, well-paid jobs. We’ve got a solid relationship. It does not have to be a disaster.’

There is something sweet about the way he says it. Like reversing a bad charm. He’s right. Some people barely make ends meet and still happen to be good parents. There are much younger women than me that get pregnant and yet they grow to become good mothers. Some mothers-to-be don’t even know the name of their baby's father! I definitely do  have an advantage here. Truth be told, K and I have been together for just over a year and a half but we have been through so much together and our relationship feels special - it is a person I want to spend my life with. Would a child be such a complication on my way to happiness with this man? I think I am ready to pee again.

Three minutes later, we knew. It’s negative. I feel half relieved (because that means no major changes in my life), and half deceived - I have already started imagining ‘what if’, and now I was robbed of this potential family we could have started. I think K sees I’m conflicted and says, ‘Maybe your urine was too diluted. You’ve drunk lots of booze the past couple of hours. Maybe if your period doesn't come tomorrow, try testing again’. There it is! Hope again! Wait…, hope?

I test the next day. Negative. On day six I decided to send a message to my girlfriends on our group chat. ‘Have any of you missed your period by 6 days but still tested negative?’. I receive a lot of comments and advice from drawing a blood sample to check hCG levels to giving it more time because I have travelled abroad recently and that could potentially have an impact on my menstrual cycle. No clear answers but lots of questions. On top of that, my inner hypochondriac self has activated. I think I have googled all the possible diseases that list symptoms of irregular periods. I just want to know what the hell is happening.

Finally, Aunt Flo came to visit. Now, I don’t think I’m pregnant anymore and I highly doubt I am dying from some terminal disease too. I feel… upset. I tell K and I let him hug me. He asks how I feel. I say I’m relieved but sad at the same time. He’s happy to hear I am sad because he feels the same way. 

‘You know, the last few days I’ve been daydreaming that you are pregnant. I have imagined you with a bump and us raising a baby and all...’

I cry. I’ve been daydreaming too.  How do we know we are ready for a baby? I google and see some key points noted such as financial stability, health, solid relationship, the ability to sacrifice time and energy, and so on. But before I tick off the boxes and discuss with K every single aspect of starting a family - from maternity pay to the reaction of our dog to a new baby, I already know - from the moment I got my period nothing will be the same again. Because I wanted the baby. Before I even realised I do. I just feel I’m ready. And then we stop the protection and here I am - set on a journey of trying to conceive. And then everything changes.