#Wall Light Installation Service | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

highvern · 8 months

Text

Burnt Coffee

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x gn! Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Running a cafe hadn’t been as glamorous as you initially believed. You loved your job; the cozy aroma of the different roasts, the hum of the espresso machine, the foam art you tediously practiced until a cute bear face stared back from the surface of a cappuccino. But any new shop comes with quirks, like the fire alarm that goes off almost every morning. Luckily, the fire station is just across the street and you unknowingly have one of the fireman wrapped around your finger.

Warnings: coffee shop owner reader, firefighter Hoshi, pockets of angst, crying, lots of mentions of food and coffee, firefighter jihoon and his baker gf, crying, kissing

Length: ~4.6k

Note: second valentine's fic! surprise! written for the Cupid For You Fic Exchange hosted by @svthub. Happy Valentine's @idyllic-ghost / @bee-buzzez !!! i hope its the cafe au of your dreams

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

“I’ve got an iced dirty chai with oat milk at the end of the bar!”

A sour-faced woman scoffs, “That isn’t what I ordered.”

“Well, is your name Samantha?”

“No.”

“Then it isn’t your order.”

The exchange between Seungkwan and the woman rings familiar. Sundays bring out the best in everyone it seems. But you're too busy handling the never ending line of drink tickets to scold him for poor customer service. Focusing on the machine, you pull shot after shot; inadvertently covering yourself in errant splashes of milk and coffee. The rush of the morning is still going strong but you hone into the rhythm and let your mind fall away from anything beyond the cups resting atop the counter next to you.

But as always, the steam from the milk frother continues to heat the space above; right where the over sensitive fire alarm was installed.

The shrill blaring freezes everyone in place. A few children scream in shock, making the vein on your temple throb. Your ears ring with each pulse as your head falls into your hands.

Every single morning since you opened Fika two months ago the alarm went off without fail.

And then he would show up like clockwork.

The bell attached to the wooden door chimes as Soonyoung breaks through the threshold of the cafe. Grimaced faces greet him. The shrill fire alarm with flash lights blares into the industrial space, bouncing off the walls to echo inanely.

“Earlier than usual.” Soonyoung chirps as he saunters past the line, easily rounding the bar to access the screeching piece of junk inconveniently placed above the espresso machine.

You step out of the way, face flat and mouth tense. “Busy day.” You explain.

The alarm cuts off as swift as it started, Soonyoung stepping back to smile down at you.

“I can hang around in case. Seems like that line isn’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you want something to drink?” You offer stepping back to the line of cups littering the metal counter.

“Ooo, buying me drinks already? Aren’t you presumptuous?”

The wiggle of his eyebrows is meant to be suggestive but they only make him look like he ate a mouthful of sour candy.

“Nevermind.” You huff, stepping around the man as you grab the next cup in line and start working. “Go save a cat in a tree or something.”

Sensing your waning mood, Soonyoung cuts the act. “I’ll just have my regular.”

“You know where the cups are.”

A full cup of brewed coffee joins him on the opposite side of the counter. Soonyoung plants himself in his usual chair, chin resting on his curled fist as he watches you work your magic.

On slow days he’ll chat your ear off until the fire station calls him back. But on days like today, he’s content to in silence; obsessed with the sureness of your hands, the strong pout of your lips, and the way everything seems pulled into your gravity.

Maybe he has a crush on you.

Scratch that; Soonyoung definitely has a crush on you.

And everyone knows. His supervisor, Jihoon, knows. It’s why Soonyoung is always the one to come and fix the faulty alarm in the shop. His best friend, Seokmin, knows. It’s why Seokmin and his fiancee constantly batter him with texts about when he’ll ask you on a date. If someone went to space and looked down they could see how much he likes you without even trying.

You hit a lull and Soonyoung takes his chance. “Got any special plans this week?”

“We’re doing themed baked goods on Wednesday.” You call over your shoulder.

It’s not what Soonyoung was asking about but he takes it in stride.

Your employees also know about the fireman’s feelings. It’s why Seungkwan throws a pitying look his way along with a deformed muffin. Subtle rejection tastes like blueberries and brown sugar.

“Will you save me one?” Soonyoung asks.

“Is free coffee not enough?”

“Who said I wouldn’t pay for it?”

You never let Soonyoung pay for anything at the cafe. Despite how much he enjoys free food, it always makes him feel a bit guilty. It’s why you think he only drinks black coffee with a lethal amount of sugar when in reality he’d take some fancy espresso drink any day.

You laugh as you continue to work through the next batch of orders. “We’ll see if there are any left.”

“I’m a civil servant!”

“Serve in silence please!” Seungkwan barks, earning a few chuckles from the other customers sitting at the bar.

The back and forth continues and eventually the line dwindles to nothing as the morning lulls on. Soonyoung downs two more cups and manages to haggle Seungkwan for an overly toasted slice of banana bread with a singed corner he planned to throw out anyway.

The entire time Soonyoung watches you. Even covered in splashes of milk and coffee stains, he’s still enamored with you as you lean over the bar and jot notes in the ever expanding list of repairs and updates the shop needs.

And just when Soonyoung opens his mouth to say something, anything, the shrill beep of his phone cuts him off.

“Damn, I gotta head back.” He curses. “Just call if you need me again, okay?”

“Will do.”

You don’t even look up as he walks towards the door.

“Satan is one the phone for you.”

“Please be less specific.” You beg Seungkwan, grabbing the receiver still on hold.

“Bakery lady.”

Steeling yourself, you unmute the phone and bring it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“I was reviewing orders for Valentine’s. You're only doing the usual? I thought we talked about special items. I already bought the ingredients so if you changed your mind it’s putting me out of money.”

“No, we need at least two dozen of the cupcakes and two dozen of the cookies on top of our usual order.”

“That’s not what the order form says!” The old crone hawks through the line.

You ask her for a moment while pulling out your laptop and settling into a seat far away from the clusters of customers still strung throughout the cafe.

Wiping your face, you stare at the illuminated screen of your computer with the order form pulled up. “I have the form on my screen right now and it clearly says—”

“I don’t care what you’re looking at, it’s not what I have on my end!”

“Are you sure you’re looking at the form for Fika on Second street?”

“I’m telling you I’m—oh.”

The deflation in her tone pulls a smirk across your lips. “Hm?”

“Alright so two dozen red velvet cupcakes and two dozen heart sugar cookies?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, I’ll have it on Wednesday.”

“Thanks.”

Click.

The table shakes with the impact of your forehead. The clatter of your mug draws attention from the few customers around but none pay much attention.

“Everything okay?” A voice asks from above.

“Great. Wonderful.” You say into the wood.

“Good. Because the espresso machine is broken…again.”

You rise from your seat, face indecipherable as you walk past the counter, through the back storage area and into the alley behind the building.

Several seconds pass before you release a guttural scream. It's gritty, ripping apart your throat as all bubbling exhaustion breaches your lips. The noise echos between the brick walls before escaping to the sky above. Several pigeons flee to the rooftops for safety while mice and other vermin scuffle along the walls in terror.

Seungkwan watches from the door, eyes wide as you continue to belt for the trash bags and city rats witnessing your meltdown.

Your voice fizzles as you run out of air. Closing your eyes, you take two deep breaths. Inhaling the scent of stale storm water and whatever else perfumes the back alley until the stretch of your lungs burns from the inside out.

And then you turn and walk back inside as if the entire thing never happened.

The block is only illuminated by streetlights at this hour. Not even the earliest of early birds litter the narrow sidewalk as you push into the empty cafe and begin prepping for the Monday morning rush. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, the whir of the grinder harmonizing with the jazz playlist curling down from the speakers.

The calm before the storm.

Slowly the first shift employees trickle in just before opening; relieving you to commandeer the office slash storage room in the back, intent on knocking out the mountain of paperwork and following up with the repair man about the alarm he said he would be back to fix last week. But first, the phone blinking with unread messages.

“This is Megan. We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warr—”

Message deleted.

The next message is a young man reporting his credit card missing and visiting your shop. You call and let his voicemail know no one has seen anything but you hope he figures it out.

“Hi Y/N. This is Cheryl with Harmony Bakers. Just wanted to let you know I won’t be able to get that special order for Valentine’s Day. Or your regular order for tomorrow. We’ve decided to close up shop. Sorry about the inconvenience.”

The words don’t hit at first. But your brain slowly catches up to what Cheryl is saying. Canceling. She’s canceling two days before Valentine’s.

Your attempts to return her call fall flat. Six tries and all ring once before dropping into an automated message reporting her voicemail is full, no doubt from the other shops she’s also shafted with the impulsive decision.

No holiday treats. No regular food items. No back up. No plan B.

Failure, failure, failu—

The pad of paper littered with notes sails into the not so far wall only to slap against the plaster and slip to the ground.

You can only focus on one problem at a time. Or at least the problem whose solution won’t send you to jail. And that means heading to the front where the day is starting to pick up.

The boys have things under control but the line is lengthening and you’re a great way to relieve the pressure. Immediately an invisible song pulls you into the rhythm of their work; drinks and food hit the end of the bar almost as fast as the orders came in.

Soonyoung comes in and waits at the counter as usual. The alarm seems to be granting mercy given the horrible state of affairs from this morning.

The customers not so much.

“God, how stupid are you that you messed up a simple order? It’s a fucking americano and you made it taste like ass.”

The man standing at the end of the bar, hands flat on the counter in an attempt to physically dominate the space, always complains. His iced drinks are too cold, his hot drinks are too hot, the weather is bad, taxes are too high, the list continues on and on. And somehow it's always your fault.

Usually its little barbs under his breath but today he’s out for blood and you’ve already had enough.

Your teeth grit together so hard it feels like the forced smile plastered on your face might crack them into dusk. “Like I said, I can remake it for you if you’d lik—”

“Why would I want you to remake it? You clearly have no idea what you’re doing. Get someone else.”

“I got it.” Seungcheol steps forward.

The older man gives him an apprehensive look. Seungcheol is harmless but he knows how to be scary when he wants to be.

“I’m gonna go…restock something…” you warble, all but sprinting to the back.

Plastic sleeves of cups and boxes of straws bear witness to your breakdown. The six am tantrum clouds in and your carefully built dam of control explodes. Hot tears streak your cheeks, dripping off the jut of your chin with every gasping breath from the knot in your throat tangling tighter and tighter. All you can hear are ugly gasping breaths as you rock back and forth in the dark.

The sliver of light spilling in from the cracked door doesn’t register given the way your face is buried in your hands. Soonyoung has half a mind to pretend he never entered the cramped space. He’s never seen you so… small.

A shrill squeak of the hinge alert you to the new presence. Bloodshot eyes find his wide ones and you swipe at your face to hide the evidence of your distress. You go to speak but barely manage a croak before the tears come again.

“Shit,” Soonyoung whispers. “It’s okay, it’s alright.”

The warmth of his chest makes you cry harder, tears spilling onto his neck as you hide from the world. He smooths the flat of his palm across your back.

It's anyone’s guess how long you stay there. Soonyoung’s cheek rests on the top of your head, arms firm around your shoulders. The faint smell of smoke tickles your nose. Smoke and pine from his cologne. It tethers your mind, lulling the frantic breakdown and giving you something to focus on other than how horrible the day has become in the span of a few hours.

No baked goods. Horrible customers. And now you’re being held by the handsome fighter from next door with snot dripping from your nose.

Soonyoung hesitates when you shift in his hold, arms tightening for a second in case another bout of tears crops up. But you pull far enough away to send an embarrassed grimace his way before looking anywhere else.

“Sorry.” You say, turning to snatch napkins from the shelf next to you.

His hand continues to rub your shoulders as you dab your eyes and blow your nose.

“It’s okay. That guy was a jerk.”

“I don’t care what he said.”

Soonyoung stares in disbelief, waiting for you to continue.

“My baker canceled on me, and the espresso machine is held together with duct tape, and there's a million other things going wrong, not to mention the fire alarm. And I just…”

Squeezing your eyes tight to prevent the moisture swelling in the corners proves unhelpful. To Soonyoung’s credit he stays silent, allowing you all the time you need to get your thoughts in order. But the hand on your back continuing to trace abstract shapes between your shoulder blades lets you know he’s there when you’re ready.

“It’s just been a rough week.” You say to the floor.

The admission lifts the ten pound weight off your chest. Soonyoung isn’t an employee you need to guarantee everything is okay to or a customer requiring a mask. He’s a…friend? It feels generous but if he was anything less you doubt he’d be where he is now.

“Is there any way I can help?”

You blow your nose into the tissue before laughing wetly. “I don’t suppose you have a magic wand, do you?”

“Just broke mine actually.” He winces sarcastically.

What’s another thing on your never ending to-do list? Along with the desperate need to buy more supplies for tomorrow, how difficult can it be to conjure artisan baked goods out of thin air?

“Actually,” Soonyoung perks. “Jihoon’s girlfriend works at a bakery. Pete’s? No, wait. Penny’s?”

“Petunia’s?”

“That’s the one! Maybe I can ask her if she can help?”

“Good luck.” You snort. “They couldn’t even fit me into their normal rotation.”

“We won’t know until we ask!” He chips, thrilled he can help.

Soonyoung jumps up, a cruel chill invading the space he once occupied. Like the sun moving behind a cloud and leaving you at the mercy of a cool breeze; there and gone before you can delve into what it means.

You hand him the order form you usually give your baker to relay to Jihoon’s girlfriend. While he steps out to ask for a miracle you focus on tallying how many cups, napkins, lids, and other miscellaneous items you need from the supply store across town. A few lone tears appear, falling without much preamble but the worst is out and stained on Soonyoung’s shoulder. You’ll get through it. With Soonyoung’s help you’ll get past everything, even if his efforts fall flat.

Seungcheol and Seungkwan confirm they’ve got things under control as you take your leave. Soonyoung is just visible in the dissipating morning fog hanging in the street. He paces the sidewalk, speaking into his phone animatedly before spotting you trying to sneak past him to your car.

“Thank you! You’re the best!” He cheers before hanging up and pocketing his phone.

“So?”

“They’ll do it! One of the other shops dropped out last minute and they have a lot of extras. Maybe not all the usual stuff but Rita said she can pull together most of the stuff on the form.”

Body frozen, you stare at Soonyoung with an open mouth and eyes wide. There’s no way he solved half your workload with one phone call.

“She also said they can try and work you into their usual orders. If that’s something you’re interested in…” Soonyoung trails off, glancing at you nervously.

In a blink your back in his arms, squeezing him so hard your arms hurt.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” You chant into his chest.

“Of course.”

Stepping back, you blush at your own impulsiveness.

“Um, well…” you fumble, clearing your throat you get back to the task at hand. “I need to run to the store so I’ll see you later.”

“I can come!”

“No! I mean, you’ve already helped so much. I’d feel bad dragging you along.”

“Don’t worry about me, I'm just trying to make sure you don’t start crying again and cause an accident.”

“Okay, rude.”

Soonyoung ignores you, already strutting down the street.

“Your cars this way, right?”

“No.”

“Listen, I wanna come with you. I have nothing else to do today.”

“Cool,” You laugh, continuing the opposite direction Soonyoung headed. “but my car is still this way.”

The drive is pleasant. You learn more about Soonyoung in the thirty minutes it takes to get across town than you’ve learned in the weeks he’s been coming to the cafe. He has an older sister, he likes to volunteer at the youth center down the street in his time off, and he cannot work a computer if his life depends on it. You also learn more about his coworker turned best friend who also happens to be the boyfriend of your new god.

“Yeah Jihoon and I started the same day. He comes off kinda cold but it's all an act.”

“Oh, really?” You laugh, pulling into a cramped parking spot.

“One hundred percent. You should see him with Rita. I never saw him blush that much until they started dating.”

“How’d they meet?”

“Funny story.” Soonyoung shares, climbing out of the passenger seat. “So the bakery she worked at before had a fire. No one was hurt and they put it out before we even got there! But we went to make sure everything was clear. Well, Rita was there and I swear it was love at first sight for him.”

“That’s sweet.”

You both make your way inside the sliding doors; Soonyoung pushing a flat cart behind you through the aisles.

“He’s definitely mellowed out since he met her. Doesn’t work as much, thank god.”

“What about your girlfriend? Do you guys have the same Hallmark meet cute?”

“Oh! I don’t have a girlfriend.” Soonyoung mumbles, ears turning scarlett.

Your face heats as well. Whatever force compelled you to ask such a prying question revels in satisfaction to hear Soonyoung is in fact single. A tidbit of information you’ve never wondered about before.

“Sorry I couldn’t get you anything for today.” Rita says as she helps unpack everything onto the counter.

The cafe is scarce of customers, far past closing time but Rita said they’d be too busy delivering to their other customers in the morning to spare a trip to you. What's another Tuesday at the shop? It isn't like you have time for much of a social life given the million things you need to do.

“Really don’t worry about it. You're saving my life by getting me this stuff for tomorrow.”

“Well Soonyoung made a bargain I couldn’t refuse.”

You pause for a moment. Soonyoung didn't mention anything beyond the payment Rita quoted and later sent via email. Did he promise something from the shop on your behalf?

Swallowing the budding annoyance, you continue to work like nothing is wrong. “Oh?”

“I mean an entire month of covering Jihoon’s shifts? What kind of person passes that up?”

What?

Soonyoung offered to sacrifice all his free time to help you. Soonyoung who you barely know beyond the fact that he pretends to like black coffee. The man chews with his mouth open. Soonyoung who let you ruin his sweater with tears and snot from a horrible day.

“You didn’t know?” Rita asks, face full of mirth.

“Ugh, no,” you cough. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“I was shocked when he offered. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

But he did it for you.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N?”

You find Rita smiling like she knows some big secret. If you had to guess, it's probably the same thing you're realizing now.

“Soonyoung’s a great guy.”

Words fail you because you know Soonyoung is a great guy. He held you when you cried, he comes in everyday without fail to turn off the alarm, and he just sacrificed a month of his life because it would help you.

Once you and Rita unpack the remaining cookies and cakes, she takes her leave but not before dropping another wink when she spots Soonyoung approaching from the direction of the fire house.

“Rita.” he greets at the door, holding it open for her exit.

“Hosh.”

And she’s gone without another word.

“How’s it going?” Soonyoung asks, rounding the counter to join you.

“Great!” You blurt with too much enthusiasm. “Rita ended up making everything we needed.”

A second set of hands assists in packing the glass display case in preparation for tomorrow's chaos. Soonyoung listens well. Patient to a T as you direct him to tweak things just so from the opposite side of the bar.

“Thank you for all your help this week. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here to help.”

He continues to unpack the few remaining goods beneath the counter as he responds. “It’s not a big deal. What are friends for?”

“Hmm and you agree to cover all of Jihoon’s shifts for your friends?”

Leaning back against the opposite counter, you watch Soonyoung’s shoulder tense and his ears erupt into bright red. He’s so still he doesn’t even seem to be breathing at the shock of being caught. Each passing second heightens the smirk curling your lips.

“Oh, you heard about that?” He asks into the counter.

You saddle up beside him, dropping your head until his eyes meet your own. Each inch of space you claim next to him sends him away like an opposing magnet; until your sandwich between him and the hardwood.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Soonyoung backs away nervously but not before you catch the way his eyes cut to your mouth. Who knew all it took is a smile and batting your eyelashes to make chatty Soonyoung clam up? The shyness bubbling on the edge of your conscious fizzles with the new knowledge; instead, curiosity takes its place. How much more can you make him blush? What would he do if you grabbed his hand? Or if you took a chance and kissed him?

“Soonyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a crush on me?” You smile around each word.

He opens his mouth to argue but it's moot with the way you gaze at him, eyes shining with mirth. Like you're laughing at some shared joke. Soonyoung will tell you whatever truths you want to hear if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.

“Yeah.” Soonyoung whispers so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

“Good.”

You step into his space with finality, chests brushing with each breath.

“Good?”

The edge of your teeth pinning your lip down is the only thing preventing a smile from ripping across your face as you answer. “Because I have a crush on you too.”

“Oh…” He nods, head dropping dejectedly and then it hits him and whips back up so fast his eyeballs rattle. “OH. You do?”

He watches you nod, slowly angling himself to connect your lips. When Soonyoung realizes you aren’t going to push him away, evident by the hand fisted in his sweater, he goes for it.

The curve of your lip, the breathy sigh you release into his mouth, the way you seem to go boneless with each pass are all committed to his memory. Soonyoung reminds himself to be good. That this is the first time he’s kissing you and he should be a gentleman; gentle, chaste, respectful.

And he would succeed but you’re acting like you have no interest in any of those things. You whisper another heavenly sigh into his mouth, trailing a hand in the short strands of hair at the base of his skull forcing Soonyoung to focus on batting away the demons at the edge of his mind rather than giving into temptation.

But when you tug to angle his head better the delicious sting drowns Soonyoung so quickly he has you pinned to the counter before he realizes what's happening.

Sometime later, when your lips are swollen and the floor sways beneath you from the flood of giddiness coursing through your veins, you and Soonyoung part. The crisp air of the late night tries in vain to nip at your face but you’re too distracted by the calluses on the side of Soonyoung’s thumb and the way they rasp against your knuckles as he walks you to your car.

The cafe is in full swing by the time Soonyoung comes in Wednesday morning.

All morning he paced across the cramped common room of the fire station. Sure you let him kiss you but what did it all mean? He knows you like him but did you like like him or just like him? Should he have asked you on a date? Would that be too forward? Did he mess things up by not immediately asking you out despite the fact he was so love drunk he ran into a pole after watching you drive off?

He fights the idea of running across the street and demanding answers. You’re definitely too busy to spare a second and tame the butterflies in his stomach. And how pathetic would he look if he asked you to explicitly dictate how you feel so no wires end up cross? And on Valentine’s day no less?

Luckily, he’s saved by the bell. Or rather the fire alarm.

He watches you work like a tornado, pausing only to smile at him the same way you did last night when he did not so safe for work things against the very counter lined with coffee cups and steaming mugs. Flashes of memory heat across his face.

You thank him with his usual coffee and one of the cupcakes you set aside just for him. Except this time his paper cup is scribbled with a heart and something else.

Be my Valentine? _Yes _ Also Yes _ YES BUT LOUD

At some point he should tell you about the sensitivity setting on the alarm and how all you need to do is nudge the tiny lever to the right if you don't want it going off every time the steam builds up. But the way you beam at him when he steals the sharpie from behind your ear and checks all three boxes on the cup makes Soonyoung decide it’s a secret he’ll keep for now.

@cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @tomodachiii @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe

#svthub #svthub.collab #kvanity #kwon soonyoung #hoshi #kwon soonyoung fluff #hoshi fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #svt #svt fluff #seventeen #🫡 highvern

961 notes · View notes

allbark-no-bite · 1 month

Text

call it brotherhood (not love).

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: jake meets his match in a soldier rather than a sailor. you’re a bit more war torn than he expected, but it’s okay because maybe he is too

warnings: 18+ smut, * graphic descriptions of injuries and death ⚠️

* if you are uncomfortable with this, please don’t read

author’s note: spoiler alert, i know this isn’t the Jake fic that you’ve all been wanting but i swear that one is in the works. i’m about to go back to school and wanted to get this out there for y’all :) (ps i apologize for the lazy ending)

————————————————————————

"At ease, gentlemen —And woman," Admiral Simpson adds after a moment, shooting an uncharacteristically apprehensive look in Phoenix's direction. Payback snorts at his hasty correction, and Jake is surprised when the admiral doesn't fix him with a nasty look.

If the man's cursory show of inclusion perturbs the female pilot, she doesn't show it, and instead she takes a seat with all the rest of them. Jake turns back towards the front of the ready room, sinking down into his chair just a bit, toothpick clenched between his teeth as he waits for the admiral to address them.

However routine, this training meeting was a bit out of left field, especially for a Sunday afternoon. The Dagger squad typically had one weekly, but it was usually led by Maverick and much more informal. That wasn't to say that seeing Beau was surprising, but the man usually steered clear of the wayward captain and left him to his own devices when it came to training the Daggers.

Today the captain sits in the ready room beside the rest of the pilots. Jake watches as Bradley sends his godfather an inquisitive brow from across the room, to which the older man just shrugs. Interesting.

Cyclone clears his throat. "Good afternoon. I apologize for keeping you all, but I promise this will only take a minute of your time. As I'm sure you are all aware, the United States Department of Defense takes immense pride in maintaining one of the most well integrated military forces in the world. It's our job to work closely with other service members to ensure their safety and the safety of our nation." He pauses. "As experienced as you all are, your time here at Topgun has not reflected that."

Jake's brow furrows, his tongue worrying at the toothpick clenched between his teeth as he listens to the admiral go on. Javy shoots him a look but Jake stares ahead, waiting for Beau to continue.

"The permanent installment of your squad here at Miramar was to create a tightly knit group of elite fighter pilots who would be available at a moment's notice, and however successful that may have been, I cannot neglect the fact that comfort builds complacency. Later today, a squad of U.S. Army soldiers will be arriving to aide in your training for the next six weeks. The integration of mixed branch training units has been widely effective around the country, and it's about time we do the same here at Miramar."

With that, the screen positioned on the wall behind him lights up, displaying enlarged headshots of about eight soldiers. The first seven are males of varying ages, but none older than probably thirty. Jake quickly skims over their names and credentials, but when he gets to the last profile, his eyes stop.

The last solider is the only female projected on the screen, but even so she stands out as compared to all the other members of her squad. He can't quite put his finger on why though.

She's uncharacteristically pretty. And by that he means that to most, her appearance would be inherently off putting— even without the straight-mouthed scowl on her face. She's got a square, almost masculine like jawline that hardens her features considerably. Her hair is light, worn from spending too much time in the sun regardless of however dark it may have been naturally. The same goes for her skin, which is comparably bronze in contrast to the tan line on her forehead, he would assume from wearing a patrol cap out in the field.

Her eyes are wild.

And that's when it hits him.

She'd been all over the news just a few months ago. Something about a patrol gone wrong out in the Middle East, which ultimately turned into a high stakes rescue mission to extract the surviving soldiers. They went in hoping to bring back nine men and came out with one. Apparently they didn't even get to recover the bodies.

Jake can't imagine what that'll do to a person.

Before he can stare at her profile any longer, Cyclone quickly clicks off the projection and the image disappears. This time he appears almost nervous as he stares back at them. "These soldiers are recently returning from a deployment in the Middle East, so I trust that you all will do your best to make them feel welcome. If none of you have any questions, that is all. You're dismissed."

---

The following morning, the Jake receives word from Maverick that the Admiral wants to see him in his office. It's not a strange request but certainly raises Jake's attention as to why specifically he was needed.

Upon entering the room, Jake finds not only the Admiral but Maverick and another female that he's yet to have seen before. All heads turn towards him when he enters, as if he were interrupting something. Immediately, Jake snaps to attention, his heels clicking together and his fingers brushing his brow with a sharpness that would make the academy proud.

Cyclone nods in his direction, acknowledging Jake's customary greeting and dismissing him with the notion. "Lt. Seresin," he begins, gesturing to the female standing across the room. "This is Lt. (L/n). She's uh—a member of the squad that I briefed you on yesterday."

He hadn't noticed that she was wearing Army OCPs but he connects the dots as soon as the admiral mentions her name. He remembers reading it on the projector during the meeting.

Rather than introducing herself, the soldier stands rigidly across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest with a look on her face that Jake can only describe as fucking pissed. Unsure of what to do but aware from personal experience with Phoenix that he shouldn't try to cross any unknown boundaries, Jake settles for offering her a respectful nod. She glares back at him.

"You're two of our only service members with active combat experience," Cyclone continues, obviously ignoring the girl's crossed disposition. "I'm hoping that you and Lt. (L/n) can find some common ground. Perhaps it would do you both some good to—"

"Respectfully, sir, if I wanted to vent to someone about my feelings, I'd go see a shrink," the woman growls. "I recommend you do the same, Lt. Seresin." Her tone makes Jake's brow raise slightly in surprise. No one talks to an admiral like that, not even Pete Mitchell.

"Lt. (L/n)," Cyclone snaps. "That's quite enough."

This time, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. "You can't just—"

"Get out."

She clamps her jaw shut but doesn't budge from where her feet are planted in the ground.

"I said, Get. Out," Cyclone reiterates.

The eyes that had caught Jake's attention in the first place fix the admiral with a chilling stare. To Jake, there's something familiar in those eyes. Some sort of unmistakably justifiable rage that runs deeper than just being dismissed from the conversation. Jake watches, his breath stalled as she sets her jaw, unwilling to move, when it hits him. Identical jawlines and untwitching scowls mirror each other.

The illegitimate child of Admiral Beau Simpson stands before him.

He doesn't know how he didn't see it before, granted they don't share a last name, but Jake was aware that the Admiral was divorced, had been for a while. Allegedly he wasn't the marrying type. Jake isn't surprised by the statement. Beau Simpson is a hard man to deal with.

Jake watches in silence as the girl ultimately releases an irritated huff and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the loud, petulant stomp of her boots as she retreats down the hall. Evidently her looks weren't the only thing that she got from her dad. She had a temper that rivaled even Bradshaw's.

The clearing of the Admiral's throat removes Jake's eyes from the door. "I hope you can forgive my daughter's behavior. Her return to the states has been...difficult."

"I'm sure difficult is the way she would describe you too sir," Maverick jokes.

Cyclone fixes him with a perturbed glare but decidedly ignores his comment in favor of addressing Jake. "Lt. (L/n)'s squadron was ambushed six months ago. Just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and she was the only survivor. As her father, I wanted her to accept the Purple Heart and retire." He gestures flippantly towards the door. "Obviously that's not what she did."

Jake speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "Respectfully, sir, I don't blame her. I'm taking this career to the grave. I'm sure both your daughter and Captain Mitchell can agree," he adds glancing over at his instructor.

Before Maverick can voice his agreement, the admiral cuts him off.

"As I'm sure Captain Mitchell can attest to, as her father, I'm just trying to look out for her."

With his preexisting connection to Rooster, the godson that he would risk his career to protect, Maverick has no room to disagree with the admiral. For once, the captain, who usually always has something to say, stands with his palms folded behind his back and keeps his mouth shut.

"As I was saying," Cyclone continues, taking a seat behind his desk and kicking back as if to signal that he's won the conversation. "It is my hope that given your own—" the admiral hesitates for just a moment too long for Jake's liking "—personal experience, you'll be able to get through to her."

Jake swallows and hopes that he doesn't look as uneasy as the insinuation makes him feel. He has to take a moment to reassure himself that the psych unit has repeatedly cleared him for duty and that no one's threatening to take his wings away.

The nights that he wakes up, drenched in sweat, with his fingers wrapped around imaginary joysticks hard enough to make his palms bleed are few and far in between these days. And even those he's gotten good enough at faking like they don't bother him because he hasn't failed a psych evaluation in months.

It doesn't mean he likes to talk about it or that he won't hear the fear in Rooster's voice if he does.

But he's more scared of not flying than anything, so all Jake does is nod and offer a dry, "I'll do my best, sir."

———

PTSD or modern day shell-shock is what they like to call it. You call it waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Because there is always another shoe.

The slam of a beer bottle down on the bar top lights your nerves up like nothing else. It sends your heart straight to your stomach and makes your palms sweat like when you miss a step on the stairs and for a split second, you think you're going to die. You never do of course, but your body is hard wired that way to keep you alive.

There's a flaw in your system that hasn't been right since the east.

You knew that a popular naval bar on a Friday night wasn't the best place for you these days but your nerves had been yearning for an ice cold beer and fuck all if you weren't going to get one. The alcohol would soothe your nerves anyhow.

But after thirty minutes of waiting on said beer, you were beginning to lose your patience. Normally you weren't bothered by that kind of thing. The place was obviously busy and the lone woman behind the bar was doing her best to satisfy the flock of servicemen that only seemed to accumulate with every beer that she handed out.

Just when you're about to give up and leave, a large hand covers your lower back, pressing you forwards through the crowd and toward the bar top.

"Two more on me, please, Penny."

The voice belongs to the tall man standing behind you. He's removed his firm, but respectfully placed palm from your back and is now leaning over you to accept the two dripping bottles of beer. It doesn't take you long to recognize the green of his eyes from a few days prior.

"My dad didn't put you up to this did he?" you ask, somewhat reluctantly taking the bottle that he offers you. It's finger numbing cold, just how you like it.

He kind of just slowly smiles and shakes his head.

Immediately you feel like a jerk. You sigh, dropping your shoulders and smile softly back. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, ma'am, he didn't. Just had to find out if you smiled like that all the time."

The part of you that's a little bit of a bitch makes you clench your teeth together, tightening the smile that was once spread across your lips. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing right now," is all you say.

You want to tell him that you used to not be so mean.

At the realization that his words had the exact opposite effect of what he was going for, the guy graciously extends his hand. "Look I don't mean to bother you, I just wanted to say hi."

Despite not being keen on his advances, you aren't going to be rude so you accept his outstretched hand. You're surprised by his gentleness. It's not the rough, over-masculine shake you are expecting.

"Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n)."

"I know your name," he admits with a light, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think everybody in here knows your name."

Your skin prickles. You stare at him stoney faced, bracing yourself for what's going to come out of his mouth. "Why's that?"

The guy—Lt. Seresin—you're remembering, shrugs. "I mean, you're quite the story back here in the states. A bit of a ghost story, I must say."

Ghost story is right. Because who survives that? How the fuck does a twenty-two year old girl survive an outnumbered ambush and not eight men with years of experience? Not someone who deserves to be called a hero, that's for sure.

You're trying your best to keep your cool with him. You know that you're in a public space and he's just being friendly. You used to be so good at this kind of thing, the flirting and small talk.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is what you need. Maybe this will make you feel normal again. You need to feel normal again.

Maybe that is why you let him lean in closer, buy you another drink when yours runs dry, and another one after that. Maybe that is why you make an effort to laugh when he does, and you close your eyes when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out the breath that's been tightening your ribcage and do your best to smile. "Thank you for the beer. You didn't have to do that." You hope the words sound as genuine as they're intended to.

He smiles back like he's supposed to, all polite and inherently forgiving of your original attitude. You catch onto the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You're not sure why but it makes you think maybe he's just a bit sad too.

Maybe that is why he lets you wordlessly take his hand and lead him to the back of the bar. Maybe that is why he lets you sink to your knees on the cold, sticky tiles of the men's bathroom floor, his hands already fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

It smells like beer and piss, and you don't even wait for him to get fully hard before you take him in your mouth, your nose buried into his pelvis, where it smells like sweat. It's all wrong and right at the same time, and he won't ask you to stop. He just curls his fingers into a fistful of your hair, pinpricks stinging at your scalp the same way tears sting at your eyes.

He—Jake—he'd told you a while ago, has a pretty cock. At least as pretty as cocks go. Pink and ruddy at the tip, where it mushroomed beautifully. Almost dauntingly long but not grossly so with a throbbing vein on the underside. You run your tongue along it and he muffles a whimper, his fingers wrapping harder around your hair in an effort not to buck up into your mouth. At least he's a gentleman about it.

He's heavy and twitching in your mouth. You feel heavy. He is standing above you, a harsh line of a man against the buzzing bathroom light. You remind yourself to breathe through your nose and he punches himself further, the head of his cock skimming the back of your throat.

You swallow around him, trying to hold together what little is left of your remaining sense of self. It's been a while since you've been so careless as to place yourself in someone else's hands, rolled over and showed your belly to someone who could easily take advantage of you.

Your jaw aches, uncomfortable and familiar, like something you don't want to remember. Tears well up behind your eyes, the threat of an unwanted but unknown feeling looming just out of reach. Jake's hand in your hair hold your head firmly against his pelvis, hips rocking up into your mouth. He sighs like he can finally breathe.

You can't breathe.

You try to and something rasps inside of you, choking. The feeling that had been looming threateningly sparkles through you. Panic.

You know that he tries to settle you, does his best to wipe the tears leaking from your eyes with his thumbs and murmurs softly to you. "Breathe. It's okay, breathe for me."

You can't. You can't breathe.

Your head is pounding and suddenly you aren't kneeling on the bathroom floor of the bar. You're on the ground, crying, screaming like a wounded animal and no one is coming to help. You can almost feel the dirt under your knees, taste the blood in your mouth.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

Someone's grabbing you, hauling your useless feet across the floor. Your chest hurts like you've been punched with a bowling ball.

"C'mon, let's get some air."

How you end up outside the bathroom is beside you. All you know is one minute you're dying on your knees back in the desert and the next you're being sat down on the back steps of the bar.

The cool air of the San Diego evening brings you back. That and the press of a cup of ice water to your lips, the condensation dripping from the glass and rolling down your throat. You swallow, letting the cool liquid soothe your burning throat.

You're aware of Jake sitting down beside you, close enough to touch if he wanted to but still keeping his distance. You can feel his eyes on you, watching carefully for a moment before he turns to stare out at the not so distance shoreline.

Your stomach feels odd, like you might be sick.

He probably thinks you're insane. You would think the same. But if he's dying to ask what the hell that was, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

How do you tell him that sometimes you think that you should have died, that sometimes the memories almost kill you?

"I hid."

He looks up from peeling off the label around the neck of his bottle. "What?"

You swallow, trying to collect yourself before your words fail you.

"I hid. A—After I was shot, I didn't get back up. I crawled under the humvee and... and I just laid there. I laid there and I closed my eyes and I prayed. I prayed that they wouldn't notice me lying under there or that they if they did, they would think I was already dead."

A mixture of sweat and dust burns your eyes. When you blink, you can feel the sandy grit trapped between them. You squeeze them shut while trying to swallow back the dryness of your throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, but it doesn't do much. An unwarranted tear escapes and runs down the track of your nose.

With your rifle held closely to your chest, you let it slide down and collect on the bow of your lip. It joins the puddle of sweat that has already accumulated there. Out here, the sun cooks you alive. You swear it's a constant one thousand degrees. The twenty pounds of kevlar doesn't help.

Dirt kicks up beside you and gravel showers your helmet as a round of bullets buries themselves into the ground a mere six inches from your face. You hardly flinch.

Somebody is screaming. The sound of machine gun fire is ringing in your ears. Somebody is screaming.

"(L/N), C'MON. LET'S MOVE."

It's Cain. He's grabbing the strap of your kevlar vest and yanking you to your feet. You scramble after him, desperate not to be left behind. Bullets explode at your feet the moment the two of you emerge from the concealment of the dirt mound. Fear makes you run faster.

You spot Manny crouched behind the tire of the SUV to your right. He's firing rounds into the brush. You can tell that he's bleeding from a wound to his arm and you're about to veer off to help him when his head jerks backwards, the scattered remains of his brain plastered onto the white side of the truck.

You stop running, the words caught in your throat.

"RUN," Cain screams. He'd backtracked a few paces and grabs hold of your vest once again to drag you behind a second SUV. You stumble over him, falling haphazardly onto your rear once he lets go of you. He immediately turns to fire over the hood of the truck, and the bullets hitting the truck stop momentarily.

Clawing at the gravel on the ground, you hurry to scramble to your feet. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry and gritty. Huffing, you glance between Cain, who is fumbling to reload his magazine, and the crumpled figure of Manny a few yards away. You can only hope Ronny is still out there somewhere.

Before you can even try to locate him or any other members of the squad, movement to your left springs your muscles into action. You slam your back into the side door of the SUV just as a round of bullets pelt the spot where you were standing just moments before. Automatically, you raise your gun, returning the fire. There are a few more shots fired in retaliation, but they stop a second later.

Once you're sure they're subdued, you lower your gun, breathing hard. There's so much smoke and debris in the air that you can hardly even see Cain ten feet away. He's shuffling towards you in a low crouch.

"Let's move, (L/n). They know where we are. We've got to find different cover."

You nod, your finger still pressed tightly to the trigger of your weapon. You drop into a crouch and follow behind him as he creeps towards the back of the truck. He pauses a moment, scanning the landscape before looking back at you. His blue eyes are a startling contrast to the dirt and sweat covering his tanned face. He lifts his gun in the direction of a flipped humvee about fifty yards away. His mouth moves in a silent command.

One.

Two.

Three.

The gunfire starts up as soon as the two of you spring from behind the vehicle. You can hear the whizzing of bullets as they just barely miss your head. All you can do is pray you don't trip as you struggle to keep up with Cain. Your lungs burn and your boots feel impossibly heavy.

The terrain is barren but the ground loose, and rocks threaten to upend your footing, slipping out from beneath your feet as the two of you flee towards the vehicle.

30 yards from the humvee, Cain tumbles to the ground with a broken cry. The bullet catches him in the thigh, stopping him mid stride. He hits the ground hard.

Without even thinking, you skid to a stop. Bullets spray the ground around you. Somehow you're more afraid of leaving him than being shot.

"Go!" he yells at you, already trying to shove you away. "Go, I'm coming!"

Already, there's a lake of blood beneath him. You step in it and the ground squelches under your boot. Crimson gushes from his left thigh, effectively saturating the fabric of his pants. His face is terrifyingly pale. The bullet must have hit his femoral artery.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Like hell," you snap at him, your pervious fear suddenly boiling into the purest form of anger you've ever felt. Angry for being in this situation in the first place. Angry that of all people, Cain is going to die.

It's terrifying how quickly the realization comes to you, how easily you accept it as the truth. There's already too much blood. Without a tourniquet, he'll bleed out in minutes and there's not quite time for that.

"Leaving him behind wasn't an option. It never even occurred to me that it was," you confess, as if saying it aloud will somehow explain away this title of heroism that everyone wants to pin on you. "Dead or alive, he was coming with me."

You shoulder your rifle and use both hands to grab onto the straps of his vest, hefting him backwards towards the truck.

He must clamp onto his bottom lip to stop the scream that threatens to escape because the noise that comes from his mouth is garbled.

You drag Cain about ten feet before you realize how just heavy he is. There's sweat leaking into your eyes and all you can see is the bloody lake that's left behind as you drag him through the dust. Cain's gone quiet, his head lulled to the side, eyes almost shut.

"C'mon, Cain. We're almost there."

His boot snags on a rock, and when you tug him free, he doesn't utter a word.

Something inside of you knows he's gone, was gone long before you started dragging him. You're still ten yards from the SUV.

POP. POP. POP.

You pause, your eyes fixed ahead of you. "Have you ever been shot before?"

Beside you, Jake shakes his head.

"It feels like someone has shot a bowling ball into your chest. Knocks the breath right out of you."

Pain explodes straight through your ribcage. Your vision clouds and you're vaguely aware of your knees buckling beneath you.

When you come to, all of the wind has been knocked out of you from hitting the ground so hard and your immediate reflex is to suck in a reviving breath. Instead all that comes out is a gurgle, the tell tale sign that your chest cavity is filling with blood.

You swallow, looking off at the dark shoreline of the beach, watching as the waves crash against the sand. "I knew that I wasn't dead yet—I did— I just—" Your throat constricts and when you speak again your voice is quieter. "He was already gone so maybe a part of me had already gone with him."

Jake nods slowly, as if putting together the pieces that you're laying down bit by bit. Somehow his green eyes have remained soft this entire time and maybe that's where you find the courage to continue.

Lifting your head, you crane your neck to see the damage, but the thick layer of kevlar strapped to your chest obstructs your view of the lower half of your body. Grunting in frustration, you reach blindly in the direction that the pain is radiating from. Numbly, your fingers find the gushing hole in your side. The bullet had buried itself in the exposed inch of your stomach between your belt and your vest.

There mustn't be an exit wound because there isn't a ton of blood surrounding you. If the wet cough you emit is anything to go by, it's probably pooling in your abdominal cavity instead.

You're going to die.

"I don't know how long I laid there," you admit. "I knew that the clock was ticking, had been since the moment I hit the ground. It was only a matter of time before I blacked out or bled out... I guess I was just waiting to see which one came first."

The scattered rounds hitting the ground around you become muffled background noise as the lull of unconsciousness begins to sweep over you, dulling the world as you know it. Through the haze of your fading senses, your eyes fall on Cain's motionless figure a few feet beside you.

He's lying face up, his desert tan uniform seeped a muddy crimson. You'd known he was dead a while ago. Still, you carried him. He'd have done the same for you. He was your brother, dead or alive.

Blood bubbles from your nose as you struggle to keep yourself breathing. The fact that you have to remind yourself to do that isn't a promising sign. Your body is shutting down, doing anything it can to keep your heart pumping, even if it means shutting down everything else.

Somewhere through the dullness, you hear Cain's voice. MOVE, (L/N).

You close your eyes, trying to picture his face from what had been just a few minutes ago. You remember the urgency in his blue eyes, the intensity of his fear overridden by adrenaline. How had that been only moments ago?

MOVE, (L/N).

"I—I heard his voice," you state, your tone not open for discussion. "Not the gun fire, not God, not anyone else's. I heard his voice."

So many people had tried to convince you otherwise, tried to tell you that it was because of the shock and your brain was shutting down, that you were hearing things. But you know what you heard.

"He saved my life, Jake."

You can see the gears turning in his head, the question carefully forming on his lips. "Were you two— I mean was he—"

It's the first time you have to suck back tears, your chest rattling with a longing emptiness as you fight the urge to cry. Memories of his wild blue eyes and wide smile that could only ever mean he was misbehaving flash through your mind.

You met Sergeant Anthony Cain not long after you commissioned as a Lieutenant. You were still a green officer when you were charged with your first platoon and given orders to deploy out East. You were scared as hell and Cain was your saving grace. He came in as if he'd always known you needed him and the rest was history.

There was never any question about intentions or commitment to each other. Cain was as honest as they came and you left it at that. You never imagined that's where your story would begin and end.

"I don't know, Jake. We didn't get that far."

Forcing your eyes open, you access the area around you. The sound of enemy fire has slowed but that doesn't mean movement won't trigger a return of bullets your way. Still, you know they'll be looking for survivors once the dust settles, and you don't want to be around when they do.

The humvee is only a little over ten yards away. You might would say it was crawling distance if it weren't for the fact that you were actively bleeding out. Even so, you don't really have any other option.

You take as deep of a breath as you can, your chest rasping as you do so, before lifting your right leg and using the weight of it to swing yourself over onto your stomach. Immediately, searing hot pain radiates through your chest and legs. You cry out, curling in on yourself, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

Sputtering, trying to breathe through the pain long enough so that you can move, you feel hot tears track down your face. They're tears of insurmountable pain and hopeless desperation.

"All I kept thinking was 'how does anyone survive this?' It was unimaginable, the pain. Looking back now, I don't know how I did it. I don't think I could do it again if I had to," you admit.

Softly, as not to scare you, you feel the gentle weight of Jake's palm on your knee. "You won't have to," he promises. "But you did it. You survived."

You stare down at his hand on your knee.

With a trembling, blood stained hand, you reach out in front of you and dig your fingers into the ground. Heaving, you draw yourself forward, your legs dragging limply through the dust. It takes an unimaginable amount of strength to pull yourself even six inches.

Sniffling back tears and out of breath, you curl your fingers into the ground and drag yourself forward again. This time, you probably only move half as far. You have to fight the urge to just lay your cheek against the ground and cry.

You do this again and again, keeping one hand pressed into the gushing wound at your side while the other drags you forward. Your lower half has become increasingly heavier with each passing minute, your legs nothing but dead weight to pull along. You don't think you could move them if you tried.

It takes you forty minutes to drag yourself to the humvee. By the time you get yourself fully under the abandoned vehicle, your fingers are torn and bleeding, the tips ripped open and embedded with bits of gravel.

Your muscles collapse the very second you give them the chance. Your forehead drops down to rest against the ground, and you finally have a moment to shudder out a sob. Your throat is dry and cracked, and dust coats the inside of your mouth. You're dimly aware that your breaths are dangerously shallow. You just know that you're miserably nauseous and each passing moment is more unbearable than the next.

You turn your own palm over, staring at the scars of your ruined finger tips, scars that tell a story of how you survived. They're ugly, and you wish you didn't have to look at the all of the time. At least your torso is mostly hidden. You've moved to a beach town and will never be able to put on a swimsuit.

Jake’s eyes follow yours and after a moment he flips his palm over, his fingers spread and inviting. His hands are large and calloused from years of flying. There are fingernail divots in his palm.

Almost shyly, his green eyes meet yours. You see a bit of that sadness you saw earlier. “I know it’s not my job to be your shrink or whatever,” he adds with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh with him. “But you’re not alone. We’re all a bit fucked up if you haven’t noticed.” He shrugs. “It comes with the job.”

You can’t help yourself. You trace a finger over the scarred palm of his hand. “My dad would disagree.”

Jake is fighting the urge to close his palm around yours, not wanting to overstep, and so he’s pleased when you intertwine your fingers with his.

“Family dinner must be interesting.”

Jake came from a military family himself and so he knows how deep the ties run. His old man was a sailor and so he knew better than to come home sporting anything other than his dress whites.

You laugh out loud because he’s not wrong at all. Jake squeezes your fingers in response. His hand feels good in yours. Safe and heavy in the way a padlock feels. Like he’s not going anywhere.

“It’s not all ‘Go Army, Beat Navy’ believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong, I was raised a Navy brat and I have a hell of a lot of respect for my old man, but at the end of the day, I had to choose myself. I couldn’t do that with him watching over my shoulder. The Army’s been both the greatest and the worst thing that could have happened to me,” you confess.

Jake hums, dare you say almost disbelievingly.

“What?”

“A few weeks here and you’ll change your mind. No one does it like the Navy does.”

It’s your turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“I guess you’ll just have to impress me, Flyboy.”

Jake squeezes your hand again. “Oh I plan to.”

360 notes · View notes

emo-batboy · 2 years

Text

I’m 1000% certain there’s a file of test videos (for research purposes ofc) of Battinson trying all of his fancy gadgets. These include but are not limited to:

Flying right into walls with his grappling hook

Jumping and falling like dead weight in his gliding suit prototypes

Just staring at himself in the mirror with his new contact lens and muttering, “I swear I can still see it”

Bruce watching over Alfred’s shoulder and scribbling frantically as Alfred tests out the bullet-proofness of the suit and cape

Crashing the Batmobile with his various turbo engine prototypes

Tossing differently-shaped batarangs at a target to see how it affects their trajectory

(Getting yelled at by Alfred because he decided to put the target right next to the elevator and almost killed him)

Submerged in a big tub of water for ten minutes to see if the rebreathing apparatus he made works then realizing he forgot to bring down towels then looking like a drowned rat as he waits for Alfred to come down

Raising his eyebrows several times under the cowl before deciding that he needs to make it bigger because it’s still obviously him

Injecting himself with different doses of his adrenaline shot (Alfred rips him a new one for trying it without supervision)

A random video of Bruce spinning in his chair and mumbling along to Mitski while he thinks of his latest case (how did that get in there)

Eating shit every time he makes another attempt at handheld rocket boosters

Eating shit every time he makes another attempt at rocket boots

Cutting off power to the entire building after using an early model of his EMP gun

Pouring over footage on the bat computer, grease paint and all, while a little baby bat just nestles in his hair (how did that get in there)

Smacking himself in the face with a nunchuck while trying out a new technique (he was incredibly sleep-deprived, like 62-hours-without-sleep-deprived, Alfred confiscates the nunchucks)

Coughing up a lung while testing out his new smoke pellets and immediately regretting it because this is literally a sub-level basement, what was he thinking

Dick complaining about how annoying and heavy his first Robin suit is “How can I do cool flips off a building if I can’t even touch my toes?” “You are not flipping off of buildings.”

Testing over 200 prototypes of flexible bulletproof fabric for the new Robin suit. (Dick spends this time practicing flips off of high places. Just for fun.)

Breaking his new night vision lens by turning off the lights, realizing he forgot to turn the lens on first, and immediately walking into a chair

Trying out an audio frequency jammer, but when he turns it on, all of the bats in the cave swarm him and he freaks the fuck out (Dick starts calling it the Bat Beacon, Bruce refuses to acknowledge its existence)

Pouring over footage on the bat computer, grease paint and all, while Dick cuddles himself into the back of Bruce’s sweatshirt, fast asleep (how did that get in there)

Doing donuts with the Batmobile using its new remote controller while Dick cheers him on from a safe distance

Landing on his ass after shooting his net launcher without planting his feet first

Dick doing various flips and other skills in his new Robin suit while Bruce takes notes

Testing different skin-safe adhesives for Dick’s domino mask

Slipping on ice after using their new freeze grenades

Adding a parental lock onto the computer because Dick keeps playing Roblox on it when Bruce is gone

Installing a new entrance to the bat cave because Jason said he totally missed the opportunity to have a secret entrance behind a bookcase and now they’re all in agreement because it is much cooler than a boring service elevator

Cutting through random materials with their new set his collapsible knives and swords, including his table which he did not mean to break

Dick and Jason screaming bloody murder when they walk in on him testing a cloaking device prototype and appearing out of literally nowhere

Jason messing with the taser Bruce gave him and immediately getting it confiscated

Pacing in circles to perfect the tracking devices he installed in Dick and Jason’s utility belts

Pouring over footage on the bat computer, grease paint and all, while Jason is in his lap, rambling about what he did in school today (how did that get in there)

Bruce, Dick, and Jason in a puppy pile on Bruce’s office chair, despite there being two perfectly functional chairs right beside that one. They’re all fast asleep

#battinson #bruce wayne #batman #the batman 2022 #the batman #batman 2022 #dc universe #gotham #soft bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #give battinson a child 2k23 #battinson needs a hug #look at him #being a parent #alfred pennyworth #batmobile #funky little guy

1K notes · View notes

radiofreederry · 1 year

Text

Happy birthday, Smedley Butler! (July 30, 1881)

A career US military officer, Smedley Butler was born to an English-American Quaker family, the grandson of two Pennsylvania politicians. Butler lied about his age to join the Marine Corps during the Spanish-American War in 1898, and spent the next 33 years as a Marine, rising through the ranks to achieve the position of Major General. He served through the Spanish-American War, Philippine-American War, Boxer Rebellion, and the Banana Wars in Latin America, and became intimately aware of the nature of American militarism to serve imperialist and capitalist interests, something which increasingly disgusted him. After his service, Butler became a touring speaker against militarism, writing the pamphlet War is a Racket. He also helped to expose the Business Plot, a scheme to depose President Franklin D. Roosevelt and install in his place a fascist and corporatist dictatorship in the United States. He died in 1940.

"I helped make Mexico and especially Tampico safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefit of Wall Street. I helped purify Nicaragua for the International Banking House of Brown Brothers in 1902-1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for the American sugar interests in 1916. I helped make Honduras right for the American fruit companies in 1903. In China in 1927 I helped see to it that Standard Oil went on its way unmolested. Looking back on it, I might have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents."

#birthdays #smedley butler

520 notes · View notes

happysaddca · 5 months

Text

This is. Incredibly self-indulgent and requires context.

You are a veteran FazCo employee who worked as a janitor (and eventually dates that location's DCA) when the Glitchtrap virus infects the plex. Unlike the game, this virus affects all the mega pizzaplexes, and it leads to you getting mauled by Moon. You nearly die, the DCA is deactivated and replaced after the virus mysteriously vanishes, and eventually you start working at a new plex, with a new DCA and staff.

After a long and bumpy road, you finally have your DCA's chips installed in a functional animatronic. It's time for a reunion.

Parts and Service still creeps you out, even with the changes the tech team here made. At the very least, you’re allowed to wait in the cylinder instead of outside with everyone else.

You take a peek through the glass, catching Gemma and Anika watching you. Your body locks up, and you manage a stiff little wave before focusing on Sun behind them. Sun isn’t watching you (at least, you’re pretty sure he’s not). Sun’s watching the body on the table. Your turn back to it as well.

It’s another Daycare Attendant unit, currently completely off. The color changing material of the animatronic’s pants and paint sits at a muted, muddy brown color, the light not bright enough to bring out Sun’s colors but too bright for Moon’s. When you touch its faceplate, it’s cold, unmoving. It’s an older model, a spare body for the DCA standing outside. And it currently holds the chip that is your

That is your Sun and Moon.

“Everything good in there?” Gemma’s voice is tinny over the speakers. You nod quickly, giving a thumb’s up. “Okay, I need you to back away for a second. Gotta plug in and give the OS one last check before we power them up.”

“Okay.” You give a reluctant half step back, then another at Gemma’s prompting, retreating closer to the wall and the people outside. Overhead, electricity thrums as the diagnostics and repair tools come online, a cable snaking down to plug into the back of the animatronic’s head. “You’ll warn me when they’re about to be turned on, right?” No answer. “Guys?”

The sounds overhead changes, with a chime sequence signaling that no, you were in fact not being warned ahead of time.. Some pseudo-soothing, corporate beeps that remind you of commercials advertising anti-depressants begin, but when you go to approach the body again, the speaker crackles on.

“Stay right there.”

“But I want—” You’re cut off before you can even turn to face the trio waiting outside.

Anika’s frown is made more severe by scarring distorting her forehead.

“We don’t know how they’re going to react to being woken up for the first time in three years. For them, it’s only been a moment since they shut down, and we don’t really know how that… hey. Don’t look like that. I thought you’d already worked past the guilt.”

“No, I have. But. I.” Another chime sequence has you whipping back around, but there’s no change. You shift so you can keep half an eye on what’s happening while you’re talking to everyone on the outside.

“Sunshine.” Sunny speaks over Anika, leaning forward to take the microphone. “Think about what might happen if they come online and hurt you.”

“It’d be—”

“It’d be an accident, but.” Sunny holds up one long finger, indicating that you should wait. You look back at the table again, but there’s still nothing to indicate what’s going on. “Friend, turn your screen around. They’re going to be fretful unless they know what’s going on.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Gemma turns one of the monitors around, showing off a series of progress bars that you don’t know what they mean. She taps the monitor. “Once this hits a hundred percent, they’ll boot up.”

“Thank you.” The lump in your throat eases, just a little. You stare at the little bars slowly working its way up.

“Sunshine.” Sunny catches your attention with his talking-to-children-about-complex-topics voice. “We should stay here until the other attendant wakes up and has a moment to process that they aren’t affected by the virus—and that they’re safe.”

“As safe as they can be in here,” you mumble, and Sunny’s smile widens as he gives a small nod, setting the microphone back on the table. The progress bar fills ever so slowly, and any noise behind you makes you twitch and look back at the animatronic with concern. Your palms itch, suddenly slick, and you wipe at them quickly before shoving them in the pockets of your overalls.

Overalls. You are bringing back your oldest, dearest friend that you’ve not seen in years and you’re wearing the world’s most fucked up, stained overalls. And that does count farmers and mechanics around the world. You take a peek at the progress bar and—how has it jumped up 30% already? It had been dragging just a minute ago! There’s now no way you can slip away into something better, and of course you couldn’t have gone anyway.

The noise from overhead changes, and there’s an error sound, sharp and blunt, followed by the mechanical squeak of the monitor getting jerked back around to Gemma. “Anika, can you grab the thingie?”

“The thingie?”

Gemma gestures vaguely behind her and Sun, who is standing frozen, rays partially retracted as he stares at the table. Anika zips off to find whatever it is Gemma needs, but you’re turning away again, watching as the spare daycare attendant unit twitches.

“Sun?” you ask, stepping closer. The animatronic twitches again, one hand, then a whole leg, spastic and out of control like it’s being electrocuted in bits and pieces. Their rays start to poke out, then snap back into place with an audible click. One gets stuck, tangled up in white and blue fabric. “Moon, Sun, it’s okay,” you say, voice barely audible over their fans starting and immediately going into overdrive. “You’re safe. It’s me.”

“Sunshine!” Sunny’s voice breaks when you are close enough to touch the twitching attendant’s foot.

Your ears pop as the doors open, and you twitch, turning just enough to hold out a hand. “Sunny, it’s okay. I know but… they’re glitching out. I think they’re going to Eclipse.”

“All the more reason to stay away!”

“You stay there if it makes you comfortable, but if they’re Eclipsing…” You turn back in time to catch the rays spring out, a handful caught in the hat, shredding into it. “I’m staying. Sun? Moon?”

There’s no reply from the animatronic, just more twitching and spasming. You want to free the rays from their hat, but this early model has no silicone softening the metal edges. They’re just a bunch of very dull knives and with no consciousness controlling their movements. You settle for touching their shoe instead, feeling the twitching of their actuators. Are they in pain? Can they feel anything at all?

“Hey, be careful in there! I’m unplugging the cords now and sometimes they can be a little whippy.” You grimace, pulling away as far as you could without relinquishing your touch over the moon patch. You give a thumbs up without looking away.

The cords are a little whippy, jerking away from the table and snapping back into the ceiling with such force that it makes them look alive. You hate Parts and Services.

“We’re at ninety percent now. Sunny, if you can step back? We don’t know how they’ll react to another Attendant hovering.”

“Right… right.” Sunny’s voice is closer, and you’re surprised to find he’d crept well inside the cylinder, the distance between the two of you halved. He holds his hands up, retreating back to the door. You stare and he gives a timid little shrug, his faceplate tilted towards the now waking animatronic.

You’ve been around FazCo branded animatronics for ten years now, been in love with one, this one, for almost as long. Even in a new body, even Eclipsed, you know they’re waking from the change in their fans, slowing briefly with a little click clatter click before returning to overdrive. The foot under your hand twitches one last time before stilling and pulling away.

There’s static, climbing up your arm and into your mind as you look up. There’s static there too, a thin, trembling stream from Eclipse’s hidden speakers. They’re staring at you, eyes locked on. You shift, and they shift, ever so slightly, eyes tracking the scars visible on your face.

“Eclipse?” you ask, holding a hand up as they start to answer. “No, it’s okay. I-I am happy to see you. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re both safe, right?”

You have to walk around the table. They still watch you, hands limp at their side until you reach for the nearest one. They flinch away, dragging their hand into their lap, claws catching on the coarse material of their waist ruffle. Once, a long time ago, you’d asked about those claws and Moon had explained they used to play stringed instruments, just like the glamrocks did now.

“You won’t hurt me,” you tell them, taking their hand anyway and squeezing it so hard you can feel a joint in your wrist pop. You toy with one of the claws with your thumb, worrying the little gear that makes it flip back into their fingers, sighing softly. “You didn’t hurt me.”

You look up to see them staring at you, and despite things, you give a little laugh. A wet laugh, something sticking in your throat uncomfortably. “It wasn’t you Moon.”

You don’t know how or when, but a cold hand brushes over the ruined half of your face, stroking the skin just under your eye. It pulls back, metal shiny with tears. You laugh again, hiccuping and holding your free hand up to your face as you force yourself to calm down. “I’m okay. I’m here. You’re here. I missed you so much you big stupid dummy.”

You can’t wait any longer, so you throw yourself at Eclipse, worming your hands under their arms, tucking your face carefully under their faceplate, away from the metal rays. They can’t see you crying like this, but it’s an ugly messy, human thing and their neck ruffle is horrifically itchy. The slow weight of hands on your back make you sob, voice breaking.

There’s a few minutes that are likely very awkward for everyone not currently on or half on the cylinder’s table, but you don’t notice any change until there are claws digging in your back. “Eclipse,” you mumble, lifting your head, but the hands pin you to their torso. “Eclipse, what’s wrong?”

“I-it might be me!” Sunny’s voice trips over itself. “I, we, all of us wanted to make sure you were okay?”

“I’m okay,” you say, a little too softly at first. You feel up for Eclipse’s cheek, stroking it gently. “‘Clips, let me up. Sunny isn’t going to hurt us.”

The hands dig, and you can feel those claws in your skin, but they loosen as you continue to push up. You settle on the table a little awkwardly, perched to avoid hurting Eclipse with your weight. You wipe at your eye, trying to clear your vision, before taking Eclipse’s hand again. “Sorry Sunny. I know things aren’t going as planned but…” You clear your throat, smiling weakly. “Sunny, this is Clips. They Daycare Attendant from my old plex. Eclipse, this is Sunny. He’s the Daycare Attendant here in Sandusky. He uh, he helped convince me it was worth trying to save you.” You hesitate. “He and his Moon went through it too,” you say more softly. Eclipse’s grip tightens on you and Sunny grimaces. “We’ll talk about it later, when everyone’s recovered. Sunny, move.” You gesture and he gives you a confused look before stepping out of the way.

Anika and Gemma are staring through the thick plexi of the cylinder. Gemma’s mouth is hanging open, but Anika looks vaguely smug. You hold up your entwined hands in a wave. “That’s Gemma and Anika. Gemma helped get this body back online and you in it, and Anika helped me save you. We saved you.” Oh, you’re starting to cry again.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Gemma’s voice is clipped, and she turns her monitor back to you. You can just barely see some graphs and charts, but the orangey-red lines, and the continued strain of Eclipse’s fans clue you in before Gemma can.

“Oh, oh, Eclipse, you need to restart with just one of you fronting.” You turn back to them, catching them staring at you once again. You twist around to hold their face, stroking over the edge and the craters, finding the large swirl of an eyebrow before you reach their hat. They flinch as you pull at it. “I know. But I’ll stay right here the entire time. I won’t even let go of your hand.”

“Sunshine, that’s—”

“I’m staying right here Sunny,” you say, a little more sharply than you meant to sound, but the intent remains. You don’t look away from Eclipse, leaning forward to press a kiss over the moon’s eye. “I am staying right here. You can restart. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Eclipse stares, and there’s a long, long minute where you worry they’re going to refuse until they burn out but finally there’s a soft stream of static and a nod. Eclipse leans forward as you pull on their hat, freeing it incrementally from their rays. The light from their eyes dims and goes out, their fans slowing a couple minutes later. You pull the hat free successfully, their hand slipping from yours as you check over the fabric. It’s torn and greasy where it’d gotten caught in the gears, but you can probably fix it, if they want. Or perhaps you’ll be able to get help remaking their old hat, if that’s what they preferred.

“Is everything all right?” Sunny’s voice is quiet, and his hand is soft as it rests on your shoulder. You twitch but don’t pull away, watching your attendant’s faceplate intently for any flicker of light. “They’ll turn on again.”

“I know they will. But will they be able to let go? It’s got to be Moon, I think. It’s always been more willing to take control.” Sunny’s gentle verbal prodding compels you to continue. “Sun’s a softie, even if she does have a spine about the rules, her rules. The ones that are important to her. She tried so hard…” You trail off into a cough, swallowing back the lump wrong and making it worse on yourself. You have to wipe at your eyes again, sniffing hard. “But if Moon is scared or upset, they might Eclipse again.”

The startup is quieter, so you miss it in your talking to Sunny, until you feel more than hear the thrum of the animatronic’s inner workings. Sunny steps back, out of reach, when the rays retract, one at a time, jerkily, like the mechanism controlling them is unfamiliar to the Moon currently in control. Because it’s Moon who is waking up now, and it’s Moon’s gravelly voice that lets out a surprised noise when you immediately push into a hug.

“Starlight?”

The nickname is enough to make you cry again, and you squeeze him so tightly your arms hurt. “I’m here Moony. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.”

#dca au #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendant #constellations au #fnaf dca #dca #dca fandom #moon fnaf #sun fnaf #eclipse fnaf #dca ocs #reader insert #gender neutral reader

73 notes · View notes

madarasgirl · 8 months

Text

A Night for Hunting Ch.16 -Just Another Day in Paradise

T/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, soft yandere, pure sugary fluff, romance, slice-of-life, Valentine’s Day @alastorhazbin On AO3 Words: 4673

Happy Lunar New Year! It’s the Year of the Dragon, aka Dracula’s year.

This was meant to be Ch 17, but I swapped the order between the two chapters because I thought this made more chronologic sense. This chapter also fits the theme of Valentine's Day better! We’re mostly just catching up with what has happened since the Reader moved in before they go on a little date.

There is a lot of narration because I don't have the ability to write that much slice-of-life for Alucard since his in-canon states are usually sulking, violence, anger, emotional breakdown, and cockiness (to hide the emotional turmoil). He's a romantic, but the joys of normal living don't come to him that easily. Same goes for me trying to write it.

A number of months have passed and you were settling into your life at Hellsing, strange as it had become. You continued to work, but were also required to report for training three times a week, where you would proceed to get your butt kicked. Despite the muscle ache and fatigue, it felt good to feel your body getting stronger, even if it sucked to have Alucard see you getting pummelled by the old man Ferguson whenever the vampire happened to drop by and watch. Last week, you finally began firearms training after Captain Ferguson decided your self-defence will suffice for now at your beginner's level.

Alucard was not always at Hellsing. Sometimes he was sent away to other cities for ‘assignments’ for days at a time. When he was not called upon for his services, he would have ample free time, where he mostly stayed in his dungeon staring off into space while sipping his precious wine. It appeared these days, other favourite pastimes were for him to scheme up ways to spook you around the manor and chasing you around the courtyard for sport as you returned from work.

You were quickly learning to check your surroundings for his presence, such as the funny shadows in the corner and misplaced eyes peeking from under tables. You knew to brace for him suddenly coming at you through the walls. But the vampire never terrorized you down in the basement. Whenever you went to see him at night, he never came with the intention of frightening you. It seemed his lair was meant to be a refuge and he reinforced your visits by not scaring you off with negative associations with the place. As if you were Pavlov’s dog in training…

The jerk! He thought he had you in his back pocket already, didn't he?!

Still, you didn't venture into his dungeon nightly, even if wall lamps had been installed. It was just too uncomfortably eerie underground. The creeping darkness did not relinquish its clutches and every time you descended into the deep cold, it was difficult to shake the fear of the unseen despite knowing that Alucard would be at the end.

Absent from the dungeon was the sun, which you were mildly surprised to discover you needed, and experiencing it from your balcony was wonderful on the odd days when it wasn’t raining and the sky wasn’t grey with clouds. When you basked in the early morning rays of late winter, Alucard would wait patiently inside your room for you to leave the warm light behind and return to him. He would frequent your chamber when you didn't reciprocate his visits, so eventually you had blackout curtains installed in your windows such that he wouldn’t have to deal with the light.

Your internal clock now operated on its own timeline. Sometimes you were up during the day for errands or the odd morning shift, where Alucard would come watch you getting ready and then see you off. You could also be training late into the night or spending the witching hours with him. There was so little time to be idle.

With your sleep schedule all over the place, your circadian rhythm was likewise out of whack. When you nodded off in exhaustion in his arms or woke up in one of your beds, Alucard would hum to you occasionally when you were between consciousness and sleep, the enchanting baritone of his voice ushering you off into the safe realm of dreams or guiding you back into the world of wakefulness. He told you it was a lullaby Wallachian mothers used to sing to their babies to lull them to sleep.

Nightmares were a distant memory. In fact, you never even experienced anything resembling an unsettling dream since moving into Hellsing. You suspected it had something to do with Alucard guarding your dreams, though he did not affirm this. You never expected your lover to do this for you and you thought it very sweet of him. Under the watchful eyes and gentle caresses of the vampire king, you slept more soundly than ever whenever you were at last given the opportunity.

Your most cherished moments were when you read together at night, when you’d sit just close enough to touch, but both be occupied with your own material. Too many times in the past, he came to watch you read. As it became too unnerving, you finally offered to lend him the first books of the series you were reading if he was interested. It was a cosmic injustice that the undead cat was capable of devouring literature nonstop night and day until he reached the end of a book. No eating or resting or even moving from his seat, except the times when he'd pause to fold you in half and–

You had precious little free time, but there were perks to living at an estate like Hellsing. Delicious meals were prepared and laundry services were provided when you didn’t want to do these chores yourself. When you wanted to cook your own food for Alucard and yourself, a smaller, fully equipped kitchen was available so you could be his home chef. What a quality of life improvement!

You sighed, smiling to yourself as you stretched out in bed and recalled the whirlwind of the past months. At long last, you had a day off to yourself. Alucard was somewhere and you were excited to leave the premises to venture out into the city. Not only would you temporarily escape the polite small-talk and gossip of the serving staff, you could finally also get some fresh air away from the stringent rules of this military compound.

Alucard shadowing you was now a familiar comfort so you knew you were not alone, but there was a purpose to your trip today and with him absent, it was the perfect chance to go.

There was a bounce to your step as you made your way through one of countless identical hallways with freedom on your mind. One painting after another passed by. You halted, your hair standing on end at once when your eyes skimmed over a detail on the wall by chance. Crimson glowed from the irises in a noble’s portrait. Letting out a breath, you put a hand over your chest and scowled at Alucard.

The eyes curled with laughter. “You are becoming quite adept at seeking out my presence.” The shadows peeled from the painting and the towering vampire stepped out to stare down at you. “You cannot escape from me. I will always find you wherever you go.” He announced with a self-assured expression.

“I wasn’t even running this time,” you replied with an indignant shrug and tugged the straps to your bag higher over your shoulders. “I already have plans today. Find something else to do with yourself that doesn't involve bothering me.” There was a glint in his eyes as that smirk grew wider.

Your brows twitched. “I don’t need an armed escort!”

He was following you down the hall, so you ignored him as you kept walking towards the foyer, now used to the way his smooth gait made him appear as if he was almost floating. When the infuriating vampire remained at your heel several paces later, you spun, bristling as you tried to shoo him off like a pest. “Must you follow me? I’ll be back soon and it’s daytime!” You asked him.

He caught your hands with a light touch and brought his face close to yours, softly rubbing circles on your palms with his thumbs.

“You are my responsibility,” he whispered.

It was Sir Integra’s command. Vermillion pinned you to the spot and you glared back, pressing your lips together until you broke eye contact first and stared at the carpeted floor. You were his.

Alucard had already decided to join his human on the day’s adventures despite your protests. And so you ended up going shopping with an ancient peacock who didn’t know how not to attract attention.

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

Colourful displays lined both sides of the boulevard and people were queuing outside several of the most popular boutiques. The atmosphere was electric with the air buzzing with life and excited chatter. You would have shared in the high spirits of the strangers around you, if it weren’t for your flashy companion souring the mood.

You were an idiot. You spent so much time researching which specialty stores you wanted to visit, you made no alternate plans in case anyone from Hellsing decided to keep tabs on you. Worst of all, it had to be Alucard. There would actually be no issue if it was anyone but him. All you wanted to do was to buy him a gift! How could anyone so old be this clueless?!

The flamboyant vampire towered more than a foot over nearly every person around him and people were giving him space. The bright red of his fedora and trench coat screamed, but who were you trying to fool? Alucard would still stand out wearing anything else in each of his forms. It was in his nature for the curtains to be drawn for him on stage.

The problem was you didn’t appreciate the attention as people gawked at Alucard, even if you couldn’t deny that it was convenient to have the crowd part to make way for the pair of you coming through. You stewed as you tried to think up a way to get him to give you a few minutes alone, but every swoosh of his duster only exacerbated your ire. With his telepathy, he should know what you were up to, so any element of surprise was already ruined.

“I can scent your frustration,” he stated with his signature grin plastered to his face.

“Why yes. Ever since I became incarcerated at Hellsing, it’s been ‘go go go’ all day, everyday. And now on my only full day off in quite a while, I’m stuck with you. Can’t a lady get some privacy?” You railed to air your grievances.

“You are not a prisoner,” he murmured with a frown while gazing down at you. Unreadable golden pools swirled lazily behind tinted lenses.

You rolled your eyes and was about to remind him of all your lost privileges.

“You are not a prisoner,” he repeated with his eyes narrowed, “You are mine.”

You jolted, eyes widening before your mouth clamped shut. The vampire was so casual with throwing the assertion around, especially in public. Of course you knew it already. He told you multiple times before and frequently referred to you as ‘his human,’ ‘his Darling,’ or something to that effect.

Alucard’s gloved hand remained on the small of your back as he guided you through the throngs, feeling strangely comforted by the claim of possession. It was the same way as he would through the manor, particularly on nights you were feeling intensely uncertain about your place at Hellsing, he would proudly let the world know you were with him.

You wanted to melt into the ground at the thought that being Alucard’s was merely a euphemism for being his prisoner.

Lifting your eyes as you noted the cross-section and stalled, the background noise of the crowd disappeared as you became the only two people in the world. The people flowed around you. You fidgeted from foot to foot as you looked back up at your vampire.

“We’re here,” you mumbled.

Alucard’s gaze snapped from you to the storefront. A chocolate store?

“It was meant to be a surprise.” You muttered with a deflated pout. It really wasn’t that big of a deal for Alucard to accompany your outing, but you wanted to keep the small components under wraps until you were ready to present them together.

When you looked back up, your view was obscured by a huge white palm. Alucard’s hand landed on your head and he ruffled your hair. His expression was warm. “I will wait here,” he said.

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

You made relatively quick work of shopping inside, though you had a blast conversing with the owner and choosing the chocolates for your……boyfriend…

Your choices were loaded with coffee and alcohol-infused truffles. Alucard seemed the sort to enjoy the various champagne, whiskey, and espresso flavours.

Making your way through the patterned glass exit with the fancy bag filled with premium confections, waves of irritation washed over you upon seeing several young women making eyes at Alucard from a short distance. Luckily for them, they weren’t daring enough to approach the strange man. You pushed the feeling down and went up to him, whose gaze was already fixed on you before you opened the door.

“Little one, shall we depart to your next destination? The sun is rather fatiguing.” He greeted you with a grin as you took his arm.

“I apologize for keeping you past your bedtime. I told you to stay home,” you scoffed while rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you act more like a vampire and stay out of the sun like Seras?”

The original vampire lifted a brow at you. “The police girl refuses to drink and as such, she has not yet become a true vampire.”

You peered up and let out an exasperated sigh, “Stop calling her that. It’s not nice! She has a name and you’re always too harsh with her.”

“I’m not nice.”

You snorted at the amused vampire as a teen on a hoverboard charged closer at speed until his eyes popped at the sight of the crimson giant ahead, swerving to avoid Alucard and nearly crashing to the side. Expletives were hurled his way by other pedestrians as you and your vampire left the scene without a second glance.

“Little human, you referred to Hellsing as ‘home.’”

“I did…” You tilted your head with puzzlement, not even noticing when the word slipped as you were conversing. When did you start thinking of that place as such when the lifestyle there remained so foreign? You glanced up to study your lover’s face.

Alucard purred softly, the image of satisfaction. Up against him, only you would feel the vibrations of the rumble. "If you were my fledgling, I would not hesitate to feed you. We would have an eternity for me to teach you the ways of our kind."

There was heat in his eyes and you quickly looked away, so flustered your eyes darted everywhere except back at him. You weren’t prepared for ruminating such prospects nor this discussion again. Your companion chuckled at your reaction as he led you through a quieter street.

People meandered leisurely, stopping to point at the latest statement releases of the season. You ambled along awkwardly, caught up in the reveries of your own life for some distance until something in a display caught your eyes. Oh! Your interest had been piqued for months; you even spent hours on researching the specs and other alternatives to this product. You turned your head to stare at it as you passed.

Alucard stopped.

You barely noticed him as your eyes watered at the price until he was slipping away and heading to the entrance.

“Wait! No!” Grabbing onto his wrists, you tried to yank him away from behind. “It’s way too expensive for what it is!”

He took another step forward, dragging you with him, so you raced around to his front to block his approach.

“If you desire this item, I shall purchase it for you.”

“Alucard, stop! I really don’t need it!” Money was no object to the eldritch terror, but you put your hands to his chest and applied pressure to try nudging him away, to no avail. Several couples who were close slowed to observe the spectacle. A young woman tittered at what she undoubtedly thought was a cute exchange between a dark, dashing stranger and his romantic interest.

“Sweet, you should seize the things you desire, but if you are unwilling, I shall, as my offerings to you.”

Seize–

Your eyes bugged and you giggled sheepishly at the Medieval man in front of you. You pushed at his chest to try steering him away again with a big smile. Alucard’s brows furrowed.

“Something is amusing?”

You bursted out laughing, but attempted to maintain some decorum, not wanting to cause any more of a scene than you already were.

You whispered so only he heard you. “Alucard, you’re so silly! Sometimes people browse stuff only because the idea of those material goods bring them some joy, not because we actually want or need them. Have you forgotten what it is like to be human? It seems you have a lot to remember about human emotions.” Still snickering lightly, you tugged the large vampire down to lay a peck to his forehead.

You beamed at Alucard before running ahead to the next store, leaving him behind with a stunned expression.

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

You had the wine and the chocolate. And Alucard suggested a much better destination to enjoy them together than your original idea of having them in his dungeon with just the two of you, though you had to make a detour to pick up plastic wine cups.

The rambling hills of Hampstead Heath rolled in tumbling waves over hundreds of acres that embraced ponds and woodlands. You passed the drive leading to the historic grounds of the Kenwood Estate. As beautiful as the building was, the idea was to escape from British mansions for the day.

Dense reeds swayed in coordination with the wind, thick and with the likeness of a woman batting her lashes at a lover. Waterfowl were returning to the ponds and the occasional nature photographer stopped to capture these winged marvels. Alucard took you through trails down the east end of the enormous park, sticking close to the ponds until you reached a clearing, and suddenly, the tranquil stroll through nature exploded with life.

It had been years since you last sat at this lovely hilltop viewpoint overlooking London’s skyline. Couples abounded in every direction. It seemed romance was in the air this mild, sunny day. Some younger pairs frolicked in a merry gambol while others sat together head on shoulder to enjoy the spectacular view. It was so warm there were even families picnicking.

Yes, this was superior to that dingy basement.

Nostalgia hit you hard as you took in the views of home. You used to live in that neighbourhood roughly over there. Day in and day out, you’d make your commute between work and home. And Alucard used to chase you around that area, though most of it was hidden from this vantagepoint. Turning to your lover, you found him lost in thought as well as he gazed into the distance, recalling a past brimming with events unknown to you.

The midnight essence of his locks billowed gently with the breeze. He was so pale. Despite his conviction about hating the sun, once again, the light casted his arresting features with a divine glow. Like a fallen angel, or something even holier.

From out of the blue, the hilarious image of Alucard as Cupid bubbled up. He was a lanky deity draped in loose robes, wielding a bow and shooting arrows at random pairs of people for his entertainment. That they would fall in love was merely an accidental by-product of his fun. You squashed the ridiculous idea hopefully before Alucard saw it too, but let out a chortle. God of Love? Him? Who were you kidding? Your vampire’s gaze slid sideways to you with a slight fanged smile before he turned his attention back to the cityscape.

The mellow warmth of the unseasonal weather gave you comfort. You came to the realization your previous qualms about the obstacles of being with Alucard were fading. Like leftover winter sludge melting away with the balminess of spring, replaced by your gentle, simmering affection for the vampire. Spring will arrive early, and the barren trees will likely come into bud soon as the season of new beginnings comes into being.

As always, Alucard grounded you too. Watching him stand alone, all of your doubt suddenly went away somehow. You were getting used to the late nights, early mornings, and the smarting bruises from physical training. It wasn’t awful at Hellsing as long as you had him.

You opted to forego Alucard’s old-fashioned way of taking his offered arm and laced your fingers with his instead. Putting your other hand over the back of Alucard’s, you exhaled. “You probably already knew of all my plans since you spoiled the surprise yourself by poking around in my head.”

You chose a grassy spot where the hill swelled higher to sit and your vampire joined you, throwing his spidery legs straight out as he leaned back on his hands.

“I know of the saint.” He glanced over. “Such an inane occasion.” To need the excuse of some saint’s legacy from over a millennium ago in order to celebrate one’s lover was indeed absurd.

The corners of your lips lifted. “Have you never celebrated Valentine’s before, Alucard?”

“Time spent with you is already the greatest gift.”

His stare was intense and your expression softened, your chest tightening at the sincerity of your lover’s statement, no longer feeling like being a brat. Time was indeed your limiting factor. You met halfway and kissed him with an extended, delicate touch to show him you felt the same way and he nuzzled you, as he usually did.

Yours.

“Feed me,” he murmured as you parted with a soft, dreamy look. This again. You rolled your eyes at his demand, but complied.

After letting the vampire open his gift himself, you went with a champagne truffle to start –to commemorate the occasion, but also everything that transpired between you. How far you’d come from where you began.

You sucked in a breath as the cold muscle of Alucard’s tongue slipped around your finger after he took the treat. He licked the melting chocolate off your fingertips with a deep rumble.

“We’re in public!” You gasped and ripped your hand away as he lapped at his lips with a satisfied grin. He sniffed the air.

“Scotch next,” he said.

“Only if you’ll stop being a creep!”

The vampire chuckled as he helped open the red wine. He turned the bottle over to read the label before decanting into the plastic cups. “Ah –an excellent choice.” He eyed the box as you referred to the legend to find his choice of scotch truffle. Not everyone could simply sniff out what was what from several feet away.

You offered the next piece and he bit into it while holding your gaze. Not bothered by his antics this time, you tossed the other half in your own mouth and savoured the flavours melting into your tongue. Swirling your glass, you took a sip of wine when the chocolate passed, pleased to find the flavours went well together.

Beside you, Alucard sampled his own glass and let out a contented moan. You shimmied closer to rest your head on his shoulder in imitation of the other couples around you and peeked up at him again with a tiny smile. It really was pleasant to see him this relaxed and carefree.

He fed you a strawberry truffle, leaving his index finger on your lips while you chewed, only to stroke your bottom lip after you swallowed. You broke physical contact first, sure the two of you were the subjects of greater scrutiny to whoever watched you long enough.

“This is why I can’t be in public with you!”

Your companion’s face broke into a wicked smirk. “Still heeding what others may think?”

“If you’d be normal, I wouldn’t have this issue. Not everyone enjoys being at the centre of attention.”

Alucard’s eyes narrowed into slits, though the smile now split his face in half. He was up to something and you were worried to find out what.

He stood abruptly and extended a hand to you, which you hesitantly took with a suspicious side-eye as he lifted you to your feet and you dusted off imaginary dirt from your bottom.

“Would my lady care for a dance?” The hypnotic timbre to his voice distracted you from the question.

Your mouth fell open when it dawned after a moment. You just told him! Centre of attention!

A busker was playing the cello in the park, the sweet melody carrying far into the distance. You knew all the lyrics to this song’s instrumental version.

The vampire guided your left hand to his outer arm to form a closed hold, a playful glint in his scarlet gaze. “H-here? I can’t–” you protested.

He was already moving. It was as if he pushed you along for the first few steps and you faltered, still reeling from the turn of events, but the vampire held you steady. Stand up straight, support your own weight, maintain muscle tone. Keep your weight at the front of your feet. The ballroom teachings from a lifetime ago whispered from memory.

Alucard was an experienced dancer. He led you expertly with fluid motions, drawing you in and nudging you away with clear signals that made it easy to follow. You felt the connection between your bodies. You twirled when he lifted your arm in an arc, spun into his arm backwards when he willed it. You stepped in time to the same rhythm as the background faded.

One step closer.

The chords sang out harmonious and clear. He was speeding up. Gradually, you danced faster and faster, waltzing to the beat in Alucard’s mind, a whirlwind of feet and swirling trench coats under the afternoon sun. You stepped backwards quickly as he rushed forward boldly, all your attention given to him for you to keep up. As was his attention dedicated to you.

Never once did he step on you, one of his feet was offset precisely between yours whenever he brought you flush with him. Never once did he look away from you or let you lose your balance. Who would have expected this wild beauty to be able to take his battle finesse and flow like water transformed by music?

Only you and him existed in the world, the colours and promises of a future together swelling your chest with joy that was at last blooming from a once dormant seed, one that only began to sprout in recent times. Despite his annoying quirks, you could envision a lifetime with this man. The idyllic routine of late was not so bad.

The song was nearing its end. The vampire picked you off the ground by the legs, the other hand around your back and spun with you cradled in his arms effortlessly. Your shit-eating grin matched your lover’s.

You finished your dance with one last spin and you curtsied to the audience that gathered. Your heart beat fast as you laughed and jumped at Alucard, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss.

Please don’t let this end. You lost your reservations with the exhilaration, pressing your lips harder against the cool flesh and taking the time to breathe him in as the surroundings returned.

Looking around, you heard cheers, whooping, and clapping for your performance as you caught your breath. That was so surreal, but it was actually a lot of fun.

The music of your laughter chimed in Alucard’s ears and mind, clear as a ringing bell and pure and indulgent. It was your jubilation in his chest, the innocent joy at being with him. There was a warm fuzzy feeling that flared as you caught his gaze again. Cupping the back of your head, his gaze grew tender and he leaned over to make doling out your affection on him easier on you. Your excitement wafted off your skin. His bangs formed a veil as he pressed your foreheads together and committed this moment to memory.

You were simply too precious for this world.

~To Be Continued~

Next Chapter- True Bravery

Notes:

The material goods Alucard uses are all luxury when it comes to weaponry, costing millions of pounds and a sizable dent in Integra’s budget. But Alucard can also be a minimalist and existed in less than Spartan conditions in the Hellsing basement before Reader. When it comes to his Reader, I think all Alucard would want is her time, touch, and her attention. He doesn’t need expensive gifts from her and would be displeased if she went out of her way to get something exorbitant for him. I actually wanted her to take Alucard to see a Broadway musical for a date, but writing a chapter following a live show’s plot and their interactions was too large of a task.

Reader is finally understanding Alucard's point whenever he declares that she is his and how it’s not a bad thing. It’s not merely a statement of possession, but also a promise.

Please read: Is anyone interested in reading some Vladcard bondage smut? I was staring at a pic of him and then BOOM! Horny! A potential Interlude 3 is brewing. Let me know either in the comments or on my poll to vote anonymously for a few more days. If this isn’t sexy, I’ll just keep my fantasy to myself, let it run wild, and continue with the storyline.

The above fanart is among my favourite images of Alucard that exists. It was created by the incredibly talented ケースワベ【K-SUWABE】 on Twitter (X). Thought it was perfect for the contents of this chapter.

#alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard hellsing #alucard fanfiction #alucard #hellsing ultimate #my comfort vampire #vampire boyfriend #happy valentines

72 notes · View notes

saltsicklover · 9 months

Text

Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Two

Read Part One

Part Three Coming Soon!

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 4000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Lots of Crying, Parent Trouble and Reconciliation, Insecurity,

We don't get to meet Bobby yet, I'm sorry!

My father's office looks the same. Honesty it has looked the same for as long as I can remember, and it's not just this office either. Every single one of my father's offices has looked just this way. Tan walls, that sort of sad, off beige color that every military installation, from this side of the world to the next, think outfit them so well. There's always a strong oak desk, sometimes it's pine, but either way it's always a sturdy piece of furniture that has no business around the thrown together particle board of the neighboring pieces.

My father has always brought in his own chair. It's faded leather is always well conditioned and it's warn in. Warn in just the way that when you sit in it, you can almost feel the ever lasting presence of the many years my father has sat in that very seat. He has hauled it with him all around the country, always in unaccompanied baggage so it would be sitting in his office and ready for him upon his arrival. He used to joke that if he made it there before his beloved chair, his time stationed there would be hell in a handbasket.

The day he got stationed at Top Gun as the Air Boss, that chair took it's rightful place behind the new desk. The same desk with empty drawers and too many files preemptively stacked atop it. But that's just how it is, right? After all, it's been that way since my father made Commander and things don't look to be changing anytime soon.

The decanter on his book shelf has been wiped clean of dust and fingerprints. No doubt filled with any run of the mill whiskey that may find it's way into my father's hands. It's an office staple, that decanter's about as old as myself, but the crystal still shines after 25 years, especially after a good cleaning. There's a bottle of good whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk, sat beside a bottle of the best vodka he could find. Always ready for the COMPACFLT to drop by on a moment's notice, though the Admiral has never made himself known long enough to break it out.

I sit and stare out the windows, the ones that make up the back wall of his office. There's always windows, but strangely the size seems to correlate with rank. One might think it would depend on the building, on the base, on the climate or area of the world, but what I've come to find out is the higher the number on your Pay Code, the bigger your fucking office widows.

That, and the less time you have for your family. It seems the higher that Pay Code number, the more time I've managed to spend with clerks and assistants. More visitation with office windows and the low reflection that stares back at me as I try to focus on the air field. Aircraft take off and land, the service men and women knocking out their required flight hours as the sun moves its way throughout the sky. But still, there are times I catch my own eyes in that low light reflection, but there are less tears now. Or there had been, until that fucking incident at the airport.

Truth be told, I haven't stopped shaking. In that damn reflection of my father's office window I can see both my tear stained cheeks and the confused looks on Rhett and Jake's faces. The images twist together. It's all hurt, every last piece.

I'm sure the three of us would be a sight if we were all standing in the same place, the boys with those same lost looks, hurt flashing through there eyes, and me, red rimmed irises and damp skin. Skin that is already threatening to chap over from the way it stings. I should have savored the way they so fiercely defended me. The way they folded me into themselves and kept me safe. Isn't that what home is, if only so briefly? A lifted wing to a chick in the same way their kind eyes were to me. It's a shame, the way it all came crashing down with those four little words.

There's not even a part of me that doesn't ache when the memory of only hours ago runs through my head. Their touch still ghosts over my shoulders. Phantom fingerprints left upon my upper arms, still smoldering, smoking as they cool.

Friendship has to be written into the strands of the universe, it just must be. Hidden deep within the stitching, taking a back seat to the drips of ink that are marred into skin, so easy to see. Because if it isn't, my soul shouldn't feel this heavy. It couldn't feel this heavy. So it must be. It must be.

There's mumbling coming from just beyond the fire door of the office, voices that I can't make out by ear but I know those tell tale footsteps that can't help but get closer. My heart pounds in the same way his footsteps all but reverberate through the floor. The voices get closer, and closer, but I can't seem to focus on anything but the air field- the vision of my own red rimmed irises in the glass of the O-9 sized window.

"Sir, I'm trying to tell you that-" The words come through muffled then clear as the door nearly squeaks open. A call to DPW and those hinges wouldn't grind, but I know door hinges aren't exactly on the high priority list for a Vice Admiral.

"Birdie?" That damn nickname's spoken by my father, in that surprised tone that is just a little too irregular completely flattens all my resolve. The floodgates open, or moreover, they break, just as I turn to meet his eye.

"Hi Dad," The words come out too wet and too close to a sob, but we both just stand there looking at one another. In the time we stare at each other, the Earth has rotated almost two hundred eighty miles around it's access. Four hundred fifty kilometers in roughly fifteen seconds. His hand is still curled around the doorknob, the brass of the handle turned down just so. A Lieutenant stands next to my father, an apologetic look hung upon her features. The tightness of her bun pulls her eyebrows up, barely noticeable, but it makes her look a little more surprised, a little bit more of herself that's usually hidden under the mask, just barely breaking through.

It's another two hundred eighty miles before my father makes a move. He enters further into the office while the Lieutenant slips the door shut. I can almost feel how the handle must be warm beneath her slender fingers. The same warmth is rolling off of my hands; all of the nervous energy having nowhere to go but cycle out to my fingertips only to crawl back up my arms once more.

"Hey, kid," My father speaks after another moment passes, another few miles, "I- uh,"

There is so much hanging between us. After spending so many years arguing, instead of words left unsaid between us they all seem to be hanging in the air. Stiff and starched like a uniform collar, textured underneath my fingertips. The way they brush against my skin makes me itch as I inch closer. I wish to choke on them; on the words, longing for a moment that I had something else to say. Some sort of words found stuck somewhere between the tightness of my throat and the stickiness of my gums, lips dry and cracking under the pressure. Instead, they all still hang between us, a rickety old rope bridge while the few feet between us is a canyon's expanse.

The average argument lasts ten minutes, and families tend to have around a hundred arguments a year. That's a thousands hours of disagreements that stand between us over the last year alone. A hundred and twenty five words per minute. That's one hundred twenty five thousand words and I can feel each and every letter that hangs between us in this moment, thick between us like a fog. I can't seem to breathe.

The only thing that seems real is the hot tears falling down my cheeks and the sight of my father's downturned smile. There is so much pity there, or maybe it's remorse in the way one is remorseful for not appreciating a song the first time it's played through. It's the missing of the baseline and the way the bridge carries through to the end of the score. His eyes are gentle, in the way roses are- pricking, piercing from just the right angle.

"It's been a long time, Dad, I've missed you," The words have been hidden in the spaces between my molars, stuck there so long I barely recognized their honesty as they fell from my tongue. My lips catch on their sharp edges and I swallow down the acrid taste of bile and copper. Wiping at the new found streaks of tears, smearing them across the heat of my cheeks, my fingers come back tinged with watery mascara smudges.

"It's been too long, Birdie, sweet pea, too long," There's a slight hesitation in his tone, but it's all too genuine, in a way that makes my stomach turn. The nausea isn't new, not today. "How was-" I know he's going to ask about the last year, about the travel and the time spent in-between our arguments but I can't keep the words from slipping off of my tongue.

"I need to know about your Aviators," He stops, the words hitting him straight in the face leaving mouth hanging open mid sentence. His eyebrows scrunch with the narrowing of his gaze, the confusion evident in the way his head cocks gently to one side before he straightens it right back again. Parts of my father are slipping past the Admiral, like sand through fingertips, but he does everything he can to hold onto his hardened exterior.

"My Aviators?" There is so much hidden in the way the syllables crackle from his throat. He looks as though he has words still stuck to the roof of his mouth, words he keeps tonguing at to keep them hidden behind his teeth.

"I- yes," My brain is spiraling just a little to fast for my mouth to keep up. I can almost feel the way my nervous system is spiking, my neurons firing as my tongue tries to say the words in the forefront of my mind. The deep breath I force into my lungs does nothing to slow my thoughts, but my father's shoulders relax at the sight of my own shoulders dropping slightly. It's a shallow effort but it helps, if only a little.

"I met one of your Aviators today, at the airport," He nods in understanding, "Blond, tall, from Texas. Super nice. Said his name was Jake,"

"Jake?" My father huffs out, scrubbing a hand over his face. "A Texan with one of those shit eating grins?"

"He had a nice smile, if that's what you mean," I reason. The feeling of an impending argument is like static in the air, the hair on my arms standing on end as gooseflesh breaks out over my bare skin. That feeling is acknowledged with a quick glance between us, a look that has him moving closer to his desk. He picks up a framed photograph from it's corner before holding it out to me. I finally move closer, separating some of the distance between us. It's strange, being so close together after spending so long apart. I often wonder if that's how all children's relationships with their parents are after they grow up, or if my father and I are stuck in a unique form of perpetual misunderstanding. I take the photograph from his hand.

"This him?" He points at a man in the back row of the photograph, big smile and kind eyes. It's definitely him, that much I am certain of. There is just something so recognizable about that smile of his, the way the lines on either side of his mouth bend with a dash of mirth, bracketing perfect teeth. It's sick, really, how nice his teeth are.

There are a handful of other people shoved into the photograph together. Jake has his arm thrown around another man who sports a mustache and messy hair. That man looks at Jake like he emits pure light. Eyes squinted slightly with a smile too big to be contained with a closed jaw. That's Rooster. That's Jake's soulmate. There's no other explanation as to why the blond would be holding the other man so incredibly close, with his hands gripping into the material of Rooster's flight suit.

To Jake's other side is a woman. Her smile is smaller, almost practiced, but true joy emits from her eyes. With slicked back hair and sharp brows, she looks all business, like a woman not to be fucked with. But a friend, maybe? Her nametape is too small to read, but as one of the only women in the squad, she won't be too hard to pick out of the crowd. It's the man standing next to her that throws me. Another familiar face stands to her side, Rhett, only with shorter hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My eyebrows scrunch, mimicking my father's expression.

"Yeah, that's him," I confirm, my eyes still tracking over the faces in the photograph.

"Why do you ask, sweet pea?"

"I met a man on accident, really, his name is Rhett, and his friend was with him, this man here, Jake. We actually ended up on the same flight" I watch my father nod in understanding, one of his hands coming up to brush at his nonexistent five o'clock shadow. I huff, averting my eyes for the next part. "I might have had my soulmate sentence encounter earlier this afternoon," The confession is sheepish at best. I don't meet his eyes. There's no point. I know the expression he wears now and I know I can't handle it in this moment. There's already been enough crying.

"Was it with him? With Hangman?" I watch from the corner of my eye as my father's eyebrows knit together impossibly tighter. His voice is pinched at the callsign, lips tight around it.

"Yes, it was him, but that's not really the point, Dad," My eyes trail over him in the photograph again, but I'm pulled back to Rhett, confusion gnawing inside of my skull, just behind my eyes, "How old is this photograph, because this is Rhett right here, and he told me he wasn't military," I want to ask him if he really knows his aviators all that well, considering the lack of acknowledgement on his features.

"That photo was taken after their last mission, wasn't more than a few weeks ago, right after they all graduated their advanced training. It's recent, and there's nobody in that squad named Rhett,"

"There has to be! This is him, right here next to that woman. I swear it's him!" My fingernail, all chipped polish and sparkles, clinks against the glass, my father leaning closer to get a better look before plucking the frame from my gently shaking hands.

"Sweet pea, I think you're mistaken," His tone sounds like his words are treading a minefield somewhere deep in his throat. I can't help but cough at the thought. That tension bristles between us again, electric like a storm. My fingers knit through my hair to keep from chipping more of my nail polish from my already scraped up nails.

"That," My father taps the glass with his finger, "Is Lieutenant Floyd"

"Lieutenant Floyd?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Floyd," There's a faux confidence in his tone, the same one he used to use when he would call home to say he'd only be gone a little while longer.

"Dad," I raise my eyebrows as I finally swing my eyeline back up to meet his, "What is Lieutenant Floyd's first name?"

He sputters a bit, a hand rubbing at the lack of stubble on his chin. There's a sort of furrow to his brow, one I recognize, even if the rest of his features are laid out in a way I have never come to know. My father has always been a sure man, steadfast in his actions, information spread out in his brain easy to access. This grappling for an answer is unlike him, but it makes him seem impossibly more human.

"Oh, Dad," The words are spoken with slight exasperation laced in the low chuckle that springs forth from deep within my chest. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I'll just ask the very nice Lieutenant who let me in earlier, she seemed... knowledgeable,"

I am met with the deep roll of my father's eyes, his hands no longer scrubbing over his face, instead he rubs carefully at his temples. His reaction makes me grip a little harder at my hair. It's stupid, this battle between us. Something left over from the strife of my youth; what we clung to with white knuckles and bloody nail beds just to keep a semblance of a relationship. It's all adolescent animosity stripped to adulthood anonymity, achingly arduous.

"Honestly, Birdie," The words travel on an exhale, "I don't know his first name. Hell, I don't know most of them, especially if they don't give me trouble. I've always called him Lieutenant, barely ever needed Floyd tacked on the end,"

My father shrugs his shoulders unceremoniously, plopping the photograph back down onto the corner of his desk. He leans back into the long line of his desk, his usually pristine tan uniform wrinkling with the way he almost folds in on himself. My tongue flicks over my teeth as I fight the grimace I can feel rising over my features. I try and school my face back into pleasant nonchalance, much like my father usually does, however I think it's a skill better mastered with each star pinned to his collar.

"Can I say something?" There's too much honesty in the way the words crackle out. I nod; it's easier that way. My hands find home near my hips, my thumbs tucked into my belt loops in a shallow attempt to keep from continuing the pull on my roots.

"For what feels like forever now, it's just been you, your brother and I against the world. Just the three of us, and I know not having your mother has been one of the most challenging things, for all of us. I know there has always been this bond that Arrow and I have had, and maybe it's because he is my son, or because he decided that the Navy was his calling too. Either way, I know that there's a foundation there, one that you and I just don't have," I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I do my best to blink them back. The more he speaks, the more the sight of him swims.

"But, I want you to know that even though you and I have struggled," There's a little trace of humor there, but neither of us comment on it, "I love you so fucking much, kid. So much that my chest aches. And I knew this day was coming- your soulmate encounter. God, kid, I am so excited for you, but so fucking scared because you're my baby bird and I don't want anything bad to happen to you, I love you too much,"

There are tears steaking down his cheeks, a sight I haven't seen since my mother passed away. It makes my own chest ache in turn, seeing the strongest man I have ever known begin to crumble. With two quick steps, I am in my father's embrace. His arms are warm, cradling me into his chest, my face into the sandalwood scent of his collar. The stars pinned there less of an obstacle between us, now. He lets a land run over my spine, palm flat to my back, the warmth pooling through my top.

"I'll love you no matter what, kid, even if your soulmate is some military rat like me," He laughs, low and rumbling, into my hair.

"I love you, too, Dad, so much," I mumble into his collarbone, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. I can feel my tears sinking into the cotton of his shirt, the tan darkening with moisture. He doesn't seem to mind, or if he does, he doesn't say a thing. We stand there like that for a while, embracing. It's my father who breaks the silence.

"So, kid," He clears his throat in an attempt to hide the mangled bit to tears that still sits on the back of his tongue, "Tell me, how did it all happen? What did Hangman say?" The distaste in my father's tone is evident. I pull away from the embrace with a rueful laugh, one that stirs around that anxious feeling that's been ever present since the airport.

"Well," The word is all sigh, "Jake, Hangman or whatever you call him, was on the phone listening to his voicemail and Rhett had asked him who the message was from, you know? It was a pretty long message," I babble out the last sentence, trying to get to the point, but the words are stuck somewhere under my tongue.

My father just nods at me, allowing me the space to continue. Instead, I plop down into one of the chairs that sits in front of his desk, ones that are meant for official meetings rather than anxiety soaked realizations. I scrub a hand over my face before winding my fingers through my hair again, gentler this time. He stares at me, patient eyes and expression neutral. It's practiced, but genuine. I stare at he ground in front of my shoes when I can no longer meet his gaze.

"Rhett asked who it was," I begin again, back tracking a bit, "And Jake looked at him and said Oh, it's just Bob and that was it. I've had these words on my skin for so long that I thought hearing them would be so easy, but Dad, I panicked,"

"Oh Birdie, it's okay," My father hums, giving me a small grin on the side of reassurance, "It's not always like the stories, the fairytales are just to give us hope, but that's not how life is supposed to play out. It's alright,"

"It gets worse," My words are wet, "I ran, Dad, I ran. I heard him say that and I ran out of the airport and into the first cab I could find. I came straight here, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't even stick around to figure out exactly who Bob is to Jake. God, this whole situation gives me as much anxiety as a baby on board a pond jumper, look at me, I'm shaking like a fucking leaf."

"What did you just say?"

"I said I'm shaking like a leaf, look at me!" I laugh, but it catches in my throat and comes out all gargled. I hold my hands out, watching the way they tremor at the thought of it all.

"No, not that," My father shakes his head, "The thing about the pond jumper,"

"I dunno, Dad, it was an analogy," I reply, it's all furrowed brows and tired voice. as if it could be anything else at this point. I watch my father's expression turn quizzical, his eyes tracking though the air as if he's watching a hop. His nose twitches for a second before he schools his expression back. His hands tighten a bit around the edge of his desk, then he's clicking his tongue to punctuate a sort of silent eureka moment.

"Come with me, kid, I think there's someone we need to go talk to," Then he's pushing himself form the desk and heading towards the door with the same conviction the Admiral meets everything with.

"What?" I push myself from my seat but can't keep my shoulders from sagging. He's stopped at the door, turning back to offer just a hint more.

"I think you and I need to go see Captain Mitchell," There's distain in his voice at the name. I bite at my lower lip, tucking my hands back through my belt loops.

"Why do we need to see Captain Michell? Isn't he the man you can't stand?" I ask, following after him. The whole thing seems futile but a curiosity thrums between my ribs. We pass the nice Lieutenant's desk, her seat vacant, before turning down the hall. It's not long before we are out on the air field and heading towards one of the large carriers.

#ftrftf #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #soulmate bob floyd #bob floyd soulmate au #icemav #father figure iceman #top gun maverick fanfiction #saltsicklover #requested prompt #saltsickrequests #father beau cyclone simpson #father cyclone

89 notes · View notes

bigfrozenfan · 7 months

Text

10-year-old mystery finally solved

One of the biggest riddles of Disney Frozen is how the choir gets up to the gallery. Nowhere in the movie is an entrance to the gallery or an access of any kind to be seen. All we see during Elsa's coronation scene is a completely open construction of the chapel, but there are twelve singers above the altar. How do they get there? Many fans have wondered how this is possible for ten years of Frozen's existence and everyone has puzzled over it. Even in books and comics, not a single clue is given and, stupidly, nowhere can you see the back of the chapel, i.e. from the west. Not even in Mindcraft designs is this side more clearly visible, which proves that the fans have no idea. However, there is Disney concept art and two, almost identical books about Arendelle Castle. The latter is clearly intended for children, but even there you can see the beginnings of a solution to the problem.

I myself was at a loss until yesterday, when I suddenly realised something while downloading screenshots and concept art. And tada!, suddenly everything was completely simple and logical. I could hardly believe it. You're probably asking yourselves now, "So how does that work? I don't believe anything without proof!" No problem. Let's go!

But first I'd like to show you my initial approach - until it turned out to be rubbish and couldn't work at all because of the open construction, no matter how you twist and turn it. Maybe you've already got there yourself.

Then I looked at the concept art of the chapel from the outside and the floor plan. Suddenly everything was clear to me and it made perfect sense. The only thing that didn't quite fit is the illustration in the book "All Around Arendelle" and the almost identical book "A Frozen World". There, the lower windows of the chapel are not shown, which can be seen in the concept art and round off the picture - also to the original model, St Olaf Church! But hey, it's a children's book and, in my opinion, the only incorrect depiction of the actual situation.

Here is the final proof:

Some side thoughts:

it makes no sense whatsoever to see a ladder or stairs in the church. It also makes no sense for something like this to be brought in from outside before every service.

a permanently installed staircase, but invisible to churchgoers, makes much more sense. But it must be easily accessible for the choir singers who a) want to rehearse independently of church services and b) do not enter the chapel at the same time as churchgoers. They arrive in their everyday clothes perhaps half an hour early and only need to put on their robes, which are c) always ready for them in a locked room behind the altar.

The entrance is well hidden behind the altar screen, and it is very likely that this door is even wallpapered in the style of the immediate surroundings, so it can withstand a casual glance from a curious person. In the room behind it, there is either a ladder to the gallery or - more likely - a permanently installed, narrow staircase leading to a hatch in the gallery. The singers' robes are always hanging ready for changing and the hatch at the top is there so that none of the singers accidentally tumble down the steps when closed. The stained glass windows around the small room also let in enough light for the singers to get changed in daylight without being seen, to talk face to face before the service and to get into the right mood with the coloured light from this type of window. There is another good reason for having a room separate from the church. The pastor or bishop can prepare there in peace, store things for the sermon and talk to the choristers undisturbed. I'm sure there are other reasons for such a room that I just can't think of right now, but you can certainly think of them yourselves.

This is how it would look like if the tapestry wall wouldn't be there:

PS: the only thing I haven't been able to solve yet is how to get up into the bell tower. There is a staircase that leads nowhere and no rope to ring the bell. Very strange… But on the real model, St Olaf's Church in Norway, you can see a ladder leading up to the bell tower.

Credits to: Art of Animation for the concept art images, and to GETTY images, David Nikel (for Forbes), Visitnorway.com for the images of St. Olaf Church in Balestrand, Norway.

Here are a few more pictures of St Olaf's Church in Balestrand, Norway, for those of you who are interested:

UPDATE 04/2024:

I stumbled upon a screencap from Frozen Fever where you can clearly see the rear left side of the chapel. And there are windows to be seen! I would say: because it's not only a part of the concept art but is seen in the Frozen Fever short too, my theory is confirmed now.

#frozen #analysis #choir mystery in the royal chapel #finally solved #my idea and edits

60 notes · View notes

missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway · 5 months

Text

Madness my dear is lovely in the right hands... Part I (Sinners Prayer)

Mafia!Stucky x POC Escort!Reader “Sin”

Wordcount: 3405

Summary:

Purgatory (pur·ga·to·rt /ˈpərɡəˌtôrē/): noun. (in Roman Catholic doctrine) a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven. One month. 4 long weeks. 30 drawn out days of Steve atoning for his misdoings to his beloved partners.

Warnings:

Light Angst, Smut, Teasing, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe, Escort Service, Sexting, Texting, Punishment, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sex Positive, Multiple Sex Positions, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Sex Tapes, Mafia AU, Threesome - F/F/M, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Polyamory, Open Relationships

Notes:

I had to split this installment up into two parts because the ending was getting too long. (And it's still not finished yet 😑) But have no fear. This part is still a very dirty ride! Happy Reading!

Banner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

Week 1:

The room is filled with the sweet sounds of labored breath, moans, groans, whines, loving words tossed in between pleads and words drenched in filth. A perfume of sweat and arousal permeates the humid air as the two bodies writhe, connecting flesh to flesh over and over again on the mattress.

An act of devotion Steve is currently not invited to partake in. Instead he finds himself sitting in an armchair placed directly in front of the bed; only allowed to observe his partners make passionate love to each other.

"Fuck, Bucky. Right there. Oh God right there!" You cry out.

"I got you, babygirl. Don't worry. I can feel your greedy little pussy gripping me so tight. Fuck . Love it when your pussy refuses to let me go. Come on. Cum for me, doll. I know how close you are. I'm right behind you baby." He speeds up his thrusts. Taking on an almost feral speed.

You scream out as he hits a particular spot deep inside you and sets your climax in motion. You grip the back of his head, weave your fingers through his silky brown locks and pull as you begin to ride the wave, thighs locked tight around his hips.

"That's it. Fuck. Cum all over my cock babygirl. Show Stevie exactly what he's missing out on and has to earn back." You move your hips to match his pace. "Ah, fuck. I'm gonna cum baby. Want me to fill you up or paint that pretty face so the Captain can see?"

"In. Me. Please.” You pant. “Wanna make Stevie watch you drip out of me and he can't have a drop."

"Naughty fucking girl. Your wish is my command." His strokes become deeper as his hips begin to lose their steady rhythm, his orgasm imminent.

You lose all sense of time and space as you lose yourself in the feel of your bodies making such beautiful music together. Waiting for the crescendo and inevitable crash as you fall over into pure ecstasy.

With a deep thrust and a direct shot to that spongy spot covered in nerves, you fall over the edge. Walls clenching and pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat, setting off the brunette buried inside you.

With a long groan and a rumble of a growl emitting from his chest, Bucky paints your womb white with his spend. Your channel milking him for every drop. He stills and kisses the life out of you until his dick stops twitching.

You look over to Steve as you catch your breath. His abs and fingers are covered in a mess of milky white, as he grips tightly to the base of his girth. Clearly watching the two of you together affected him.

Before you can linger too long on your disheveled Captain, Bucky scoops you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and heads into the en suite. He holds you close as he runs a bath. Content with the temperature, he lowers you both into the water.

You’re still keyed up and greedy for more of your Sarge. The love making on the bed was heaven, but you are a creature of sin after all and aren’t above using your lover to satisfy your appetite.

You sit up and swivel your body around so that you're straddling his thighs. He does that cute little head tilt confused puppies do as he arches a brow. “Need something, Doll?”

You nod your head. “Mmhmm. I wanna ride you Sarge. Need more.”

“Yeah? Wanna ride my thick cock til your legs give out baby?” He teases, pulling you forward so you can grind down on his freshly revived hardon.

Instead of offering an answer, you just inch your hips up until his tip just touches your entrance and impale yourself on his girth. “Fuuuuck it feels good to be so full.” You waste no time bouncing on his cock, water sloshing all around you.

This is how Steve, recently cleaned of his mess, finds you. You’re too lost in the rhythm of your ride that you don't realize he is even there until Bucky speaks up. “She feels so good wrapped around me Stevie. Fuck. I wish you could feel this.”

“Shut up Buck. He’ll be reacquainted with this pussy soon enough. Now either help me get off or sit there so I can get mine on my own.” You groan out.

“So feisty when you're being a greedy little bitch.” He grabs your waist and slams into you with vigor, pulling you roughly down on his cock as you increase your speed.

“Oh god! I’m coming.” You throw your head back and just let go. Riding out your high as you feel Bucky lose himself inside you once more.

You give him a soft kiss as you catch your breath. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure as always, doll.” He smiles up at you.

As the week goes on Steve is inundated with texts and video clips of his lovers teasing him reminding him that his punishment is far from over.

Did you know she played guitar?! Found her naked, smoking a joint & playing in bed.

This is his 5th cup today! What on earth have you had him doing Captain?!

We’re at the Diner. Where the fuck are you Stevie? You have to eat sometime.

Come get your man. I have a client to get ready for and he won't leave.

That’s because she just put on this! You can’t blame me for wanting a piece.

As much as he may want to complain, Steve is content to be included at all. Plus he secretly loves the teasing banter. He'll gladly be your punching bag for now.

Week 2:

The boys have an important meeting at their club tonight. So Nat has been tasked to keep an eye on you while they conduct business. Their office looks out over the club and VIP area with two way glass, so although Nat is keeping you company, they can still see your whereabouts for themselves.

About an hour passes before your boredom takes over. Not to mention that your horny and Nat is over there looking like a damn snack in her black pantsuit. They know you’ve always had a thing for her and because of that she is an approved play partner. Deciding she deserves a bit of fun on her babysitting duty, you proceed to stalk over to the lone stripper pole in the back of the VIP that you know has a direct line of sight to the office window where the boys are.

You start to do a tried and true routine, showing off your skills on the pole. You can’t help yourself and begin to tease Nat, pulling her close, kissing her neck and shoulders, whispering dirty things in her ear. You’re having the time of your life.

It’s when you're hanging upside down, thighs wrapped around the pole that you cop a feel. Grabbing her ass with your tiny hands and pulling her close so you can run your nose up the seam of her slacks. Noticing the dampness you smirk, you stick out your tongue and sneak a little taste. You pull yourself up with a satisfied grin and slink back down the pole. “One taste just wasn't enough for me.”

Boldly you guide your hand under the waistband of her panties and glide your fingers along her wet folds. You pull the glistening digits out and lick them clean. “Mmm you taste magnificent. But I bet we’d taste even better together.” You grab her hand and guide it up your thigh to your soaked thong where she shifts the damp fabric to the side and sinks a finger into your dripping hole.

You gasp when she curves it for a sec before pulling out and placing it on your waiting tongue to clean. “I was definitely right. We taste like the sweetest ambrosia together.” You pull her by her lapels and place a devastating kiss on her.

It’s all tongues and moans as you share the taste of your essences mixed as one. She has you pushed back up against the pole with your thigh hiked up and two fingers deep inside you on the brink of climax. Just as she hits that sweet little spongy spot that has you seeing stars you look up to the office window and come, riding out your high on Nat’s skilled fingers.

In the office, having watched your little show, Steve gives Bucky a knowing look. Acknowledging the silent command, he removes himself from beside Steve’s chair. “If you’ll excuse me, gentleman. You’ll have to continue on without me. I have some business that needs tending to.” He winks and slaps Steve on the shoulder, knowing he wont be getting up from his chair anytime soon as his desk is hiding his very evident hardon.

As you're coming down from your high, Nat removes her fingers from inside you. As she’s about to place them along her tongue Bucky swoops in and sucks them into his mouth. “Mmm mmm mmm. One of my favorite tastes with Steve coming in a close second.” She just rolls her eyes.

“Get your fill, babygirl? Or am I dragging Nat back home with us too?” He has a look of mischief on his face.

You look between them. “I’m too keyed up to appreciate her correctly tonight. I wanna take my time with you Red. You know where to find me when you have the proper time off.” You wink at her and softly kiss her lips as Bucky grabs your hand and guides you out of the club to his Audi.

Your thong is soaked, so you decide it's best if you take them off in the car and hang them around the gear shift. Now able to air dry but still in the mood for debaucherous activities, you lean over and unzip Bucky's pants.

“What do you think you're doing, Doll?” He grits out as he keeps his eyes on the road.

“Satisfying a craving.” You then proceed to remove his thick cock from the confines of his slacks. You lower your head into his lap, licking up the lone drop of precome, before you engulf his length down to the root.

The act of servicing him while he drives is such a turn on that you can’t help but slide two of your fingers deep inside you. You know you need to make this quick if you want to make it to the penthouse in one piece.

You continue to play with yourself until he’s coming down your throat. Triggering your own orgasm, making you soak the leather seat below you. Having reached your destination prior to him ejaculating, Bucky decides to film you removing yourself from his cock, mouth filled with his spend and swallowing every last drop.

He sends it to Steve with the caption:

Nat was the appetizer. Babygirl wanted the full meal.

You quickly make it up to the penthouse where Bucky pulls you into the study. Placing his phone on a shelf and setting a photo timer. Before you know it you're pinned to the table and he’s wrenching your dress up. You hear the click of the camera going off and Bucky removes himself from behind you to grab his phone and shoot off another text to Steve.

Now it's time for dessert.

Week 3:

Steve can’t seem to catch a break lately, spending late nights in the office along with catching the two of you several times in various states of undress and activity. Hell, even now his workout has turned into a dry humping session when you proceed to sit on his lap while he has Bucky spotting him as he lifts.

Your slowly grinding your hips on his hardening length while casually talking to Bucky about some client you have coming up that is wanting to fuck a couple and asking if he’s up to be your plus one.

“I’ll split the pay with you of course. If you can’t or aren’t willing, I can just call Arlo to do it with me. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to team up.” You place your hands on Steve’s abdomen as you settle into your sensual pace. “Oh and she wants it filmed for her home collection as well.”

“I’m up for it if Stevie here is good with it. How ‘bout it Cap?” Bucky asks as you swivel your hips a little more causing the blonde adonis to let out a groan, placing the weights back on the rack.

He sits up and grips your hips, stopping the movement, turning his head towards Bucky. “I’m good with it.” He nods his head to emphasize his agreement. “Too bad I can’t be in attendance. I’d love to see you two tag team a woman. Though I’m sure if we ask Nat or Wanda nicely we can have our own little playtime.”

You nibble on his neck and start grinding down on him a little faster. “Oh Stevie. My client is an exhibitionist. Hence the taping. You’ll get a chance to see our playtime. Of that I’m sure.” Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as you continue to undulate against him, bringing yourself closer to the brink of orgasm.

He grips your hips firmly again, so very close to coming in his basketball shorts from the lack of play he’s been getting from the two of you. It’s just been him and his hand lately. “Doll, you’re killing me here. You know how pent up I am. If you don’t stop we're both going to need to change clothes and this bench will need to be sanitized.”

Bucky grips on to his shoulders and leans in to kiss along his neck with you. “Is that so?”

Steve just groans and grips your hips tighter as you increase the pressure and speed til you both moan out. Before you know it Steve is biting your shoulder as he goes still and you feel his cum soaking through to your yoga pants.

You pull away and stand up, looking down at the large wet patch on the front of his basketball shorts. You bite your finger and shrug your shoulders. “Oops.”

You lean over his large frame and give Bucky a kiss before turning on your heels and walking to the elevators.

“You’ll be paying for that when my time in purgatory is over!” he shouts to your retreating back as Bucky just shakes his head and laughs.

“Better go get cleaned up before the guys come in to do their morning sets.” He imparts. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean up.”

Week 4:

You had negotiated with your client to allow you to live stream the session to a private server while it records. After getting in touch with Tony and setting everything up you're able to send a link to Steve in your group chat before your client arrives at the designated hotel room, you and Bucky are waiting in.

Receiving the text, he clicks on the link as his meeting is winding down. Upon opening he watches your client enter the room.

Before things get any further, he quickly backs out and finishes up his meeting. Hurrying everyone out he tells his secretary Maria to hold all of his calls and that he is not to be interrupted. He locks the door and proceeds to his desk, bringing up the link on his computer.

The scene he comes back to has you making out with your client as Bucky undresses the both of you. Once bare, you both take your time undressing him in return.

You proceed to suck his cock together. Taking turns swallowing him down as far as your throats will allow, while the other caters to his balls. Sharing sloppy kisses along his length for added fun.

Ready to really get this party started you tangle your fingers in your client's long locks. Pulling her away from his cock and guiding her to lay down on the bed. You crawl up the mattress, spreading her legs wide and begin to feast on her soaked pussy.

With your ass up in the air Bucky decides he's hungry too. He's eating you out from behind while your three fingers deep into your client, sucking her clit and doing that little trick with your tongue that drives her crazy.

She's a panting mess laid across the comforter. "I need you to fuck her." She begs. "Have to know what the two of you taste like mixed together on your cock."

Reminding himself that this is your job and wanting to make sure she gets her money's worth, he wastes no time slamming inside of you. You cry out at the rush of being filled so fast on something so large as his girth.

You get lost in the sensation of your lover putting on a show. Making sure to hit all the spots he knows makes you see stars. It isn't long before you're coming hard, soaking his cock.

He pulls out and within seconds the client has her mouth wrapped around him, licking him clean of your essence and his precum. “Why don't you give Sin a taste. Sharing is caring afterall.”

She rolls you over, sits on your hips and kisses you, grinding her clit against yours. You help guide her to where it feels like pure ecstasy for the both of you and within minutes you're covered in your mixed slick and panting as you come down from another high.

“I need you to ride my face while he fucks me Sin." She demands."Then I want to watch you ride his cock til he spills inside you and I get to clean up the mess.”

You pull her down for a kiss before turning her over and laying her back down on the mattress. You angle her so that that camera can pick up all three of you in frame.

You straddle her head as Bucky teases her clit with the head of his dick. You catch each other's eyes as you lower your dripping slit to her waiting mouth and he slowly sinks into the hilt.

She quickly gets to work, attacking your clit and moaning out around it as Bucky sets a strong pace.

You have no idea how long you stay locked in this position before she mumbles into your folds, fingers deep inside you, that she's coming, setting you off to join her as she rubs against your g-spot.

Once he can tell that you're coming down from you high he pulls out and lifts you off her face. He quickly sits himself against the headboard and pulls you down onto his angry length.

"Fuck. Always so good. Come on, Sin. Get to riding." He smacks your ass to get you moving.

You do not disappoint. You toss your head back and give him the ride of his life. Putting on quite the show for not only your client, but Steve as well.

You're bouncing up and down on his cock. Working him the way you know he likes, when you decide it's time to bring out the big guns. You lift up and tilt your hips back until just the tip is left inside.

"Get ready to clean up." With a devilish smirk you bounce your ass and start twerking on his hypertensive dick. In no time, Bucky is halting your movements and slamming deep inside you as he shoots ropes of cum into your greedy little pussy.

He pulls out before he's finished and makes a mess of your lips as well. Sliding his hands under your thighs and turning you towards your eagerly waiting client, she promptly gets to work cleaning you up. She does such a thorough job in fact that you come undone once more.

“Worth every penny.” She tells you as she licks her fingers and lips clean of every drop.

Steve exits out the link and looks down at the mess he’s made on his desk. He takes out some wet wipes and gets rid of the evidence. Satisfied that his desk is presentable again he proceeds to call your agency.

“Hello. Yes. It's Steve Rogers. I would like to buy out Sin’s time for next week. Money is no object.”

#poc reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #mafia au #stucky x reader #stucky smut

43 notes · View notes

makmore · 6 months

Text

Get Wall Light Installation Service In Bangalore And Make Your Space More Bright. Have A Gorgeous Aesthetic With Lights On Your House Wall.

#Wall Light Installation Service in Bangalore #Wall Light Installation Service #Wall Light Installation Service near me #Top Wall Light Installation Service in Bangalore #Top Wall Light Installation Service #Top Wall Light Installation Service near me

0 notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 7 months

Note

hey hey hey I have had a hell of a day (Actually Hell) because I did too many fun things (a problem apparently) and then also we put up the christmas tree leading to the inevitable christmas tree installation arguments (they pop up every year like clockwork!)

anyway i have been overstimulated and stressed (just want to emphasize that there is NO pressure here whatsoever! id like to avoid any semblance of that actually and I know you're already working on 12 days so take your time) and it would be very cathartic to see chris dealing with similar issues (the Wonderful guy. we are pretty similar.) thanks a lot for reading this, even if you don't write anything !

Sorry this took so long, Anon! I swear I've been trying to get this written for literally almost two months now

CW: Some references to Chris's past, overstimulation, anxiety

"Hey, where did Chris go?" Laken blinks and looks around, but the living room of the house they rent - filled with laughing, happy people - shows no sign of Chris's telltale lavender hair with its new-penny copper roots.

One of Brit's friends just shrugs at them and gestures, vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. He wandered off a while ago, maybe that way?"

"Oh, okay. Huh." Laken steps back, the circle of laughing people closing up tight as soon as they do. Their dark eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of him.

He'd been doing great - all but holding court, one of the most popular people at the party. He's sort of famous, since the Olympics, and people had been peppering him with questions and compliments, crowding around wanting nothing more than to be friends with the ex-pet who stood up to the bad guys on live TV. They'd seen him dancing, too, the music loud enough to nearly make the walls shake. The easy, unselfconscious dancing they loved in him the most.

He'd seemed to be enjoying himself, at the time, but...

Where has he gone?

They weave around people, stopping to pick up an ornament that has fallen off the tree. The scent of pine is subtle and ever-present, and they carefully work the ornament's little loop back over a branch, ruefully watching a couple of pine needles come loose and drift down. The damn thing is already starting to turn a little brown around its edges, thanks to Laken's roommate having insisted on buying it literally the day before Thanksgiving.

Laken doesn't even celebrate Christmas, not since they stopped going to Mass on Christmas Eve years and years ago. Still, in a house they rent with three others, they're the only one who doesn't at least pay lip service to the holiday.

And even if they don't give a fuck about Christmas, they do like having an excuse to throw a party.

The tinsel wrapped in spirals around, over, and below the ornaments glitters in the light, and the look makes them think of Chris, and how his eyes have always looked just the same, to them, when they're out at night and the moon hits the green of his irises just right.

Their search leads them to Ben, contentedly sitting on the couch, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, quietly reading something there while the party is in full swing around him. He glances up and then instinctively, immediately, uses a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Laken. What's up?"

"Is Akio not coming tonight?"

"Oh... no." Ben blushes - it's adorable, and Laken can't help the smile playing around their lips. "He's got some kind of meeting with the gymnastics team, or his coaches? Or... something like that. He said sorry, though."

"Nah, no problem. But, hey, so. Uh, have you seen Chris, like within the last ten minutes or so??"

Someone puts Christmas music on and Laken shudders as they hear that damn 80s pop song start up again. If they have to hear that fucking song one more time...

"Nope. Not in a while." Ben shrugs, taking a drink. Whatever he has in that cup is pinkish-red and probably far more alcoholic than it tastes. Laken's roommate had insisted on a signature cocktail. "You could check outside? Sometimes when there's a lot of people, to Chris it's... too much."

Laken nods, still scanning the crowd, but their stomach knots a little with the first hit of real anxiety. Ben is right, Chris can get overwhelmed by too much noise and movement, but also he's been drinking tonight - they saw the same red punch in a cup in his hands earlier - and he has a tendency to get... hazy, when he drinks. Flirty in ways that aren't natural to him. Willing to let people hug him that he doesn't like, unable to bring himself to stop them. Sometimes his stammer smooths out, which makes people who don't know him feel more comfortable and people who do know him nervous. He starts tipping his head to the side in a way that makes the sweep of his growing-out hair hide the scar on his forehead, biting his lower lip when he smiles. It makes Laken feel a little sick to see it happen and realize Chris doesn't even notice when he's doing it.

The last thing they need is to have to come up with an explanation for Chris losing track of himself again, or why he's eating olives off the charcuterie board Brit brought knowing damn well he'll just go to the bathroom and get sick all over the place again, or... fuck, what if somebody hits on him and he's too drunk to stop it?

That hasn't happened since college, but...

They pull their phone out, uneasily checking for a text, but there's nothing. If he went outside, he'd text, right? He does, he always does. Texts can be easier and Chris is always a little nervous about being outside alone.

He insisted on coming tonight, said he was feeling good lately, but-... what if-...

They flinch when fingers touch their arm, only to see Ben must have stood up when they weren't looking. He slips his own phone into his jacket pocket and looks Laken over more closely. "Hey. It's okay, he's probably fine. You know he gets weird when parties are really going. It's like a light switch, enough to too much, I totally get it. It's why I'm on the couch fucking around on Kindle instead of, you know... talking to people." Ben says it like talking to people is literal hell, and... okay, Laken can see how that might be the case. "He probably just needed to get away from it and wandered off."

"Uh, yeah. I know." Laken rubs at the back of their neck, fingers moving through the soft, shorn undercut beneath their longer black waves. "I'm sure that's it. Just... you know, sometimes he... when he gets nervous..."

"I got you." They adore Ben, sometimes, for how often they don't have to finish the sentences they don't want to say. He knows what words haven't yet spilled, unwilling. Sometimes he acts like he belongs to us, not like he loves us. Sometimes I can't trust him to find his way back on his own. Sometimes I feel like Jake, and I hate feeling like Jake.

Words die in their throat.

Ben squeezes their arm, gently. "Let's split up and search around. I'll go outside, you go around the house, okay? We verify how he is, then whichever one finds him tells the other. Sound good?" Ben smiles, and Laken relaxes a little, finding a smile for him in return.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Ben."

"No problem." Ben has always understood Chris, thanks to his little brother being similar in some ways. He understands Laken's worry, too, because better than anyone else here - he knows how Chris sometimes gets lost in his past, especially if he's drinking, worse the maybe twice Laken's ever seen him try an edible or a pill.

What if he got drunk and someone offered him something and he took it? Drunk Chris sometimes isn't a Chris who can easily turn down anything he's offered.

This party was a stupid idea.

Laken takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

Chris is not a child.

He is a goddamn grown man and Laken is not his keeper. They're not his parent and they're not a babysitter. They're definitely not his fucking... owner or whatever the bastards that hurt him would have called it. They're his partner. He can handle himself, better than they could if they'd lived his life, and they need to trust him to either know his limits and to get away if he can't say no, or to come to them if he wants to ask for help. Otherwise, they're not any better than the bullshit he's been buried in for longer than he's known them.

Ben goes to check outside, slipping silently out the sliding door onto the back porch where a small crowd has congregated in a cloud of skunky smoke, while Laken heads upstairs, peeking their head in to room after room with no sign of him anywhere. They see some movement under a pile of coats, but that's... definitely not Chris, based on the very female voices who yell at them to give them some fucking privacy, please.

"Sorry, Brit," Laken calls, closing the door tightly. "And, um, Leigh. Just looking for Chris-"

"Well, he isn't in here or we'd have kicked him out already," Brit says, cranky but without any real anger in her voice. Laken doesn't recognize the redhead whose eyes pop up from beneath the pile of coats next to her. "Check a different room."

"Yeah, I will. Uh... keep having fun, I guess-"

"That's the plan! Now leave, please!"

The door latches as they close it, and they exhale. There's one room left, at the end of the hall, and they can hear a familiar murmuring from behind the door when they press their ear up against it.

Laken knocks, rapping gently with their knuckles, and turns the knob when they hear no answer - but no demand to stay out either. The murmuring goes silent. They sigh, and the door swings open, light cutting across the carpet until it reveals their wayward boyfriend.

No one has claimed this bedroom yet, so it's bare and empty except for a couple unpacked cardboard boxes, Brit's exercise bike by the window, a couple of her yoga mats, a laundry basket with a few folded towels, and a bare mattress the last housemate had left behind on the floor when they moved out.

Laken's lips press together, eyes scanning the room. Chris's phone is on the mattress, along with an empty beer bottle, but Chris isn't. "Chris? Cariño?"

A muffled rustling makes them jump, heart in their throat, and then they realize the sound came from the closet, where the folding doors are closed. Laken pulls them open to reveal Chris curled up, knees nearly to his chin, an open bottle clutched in one hand, his chewy necklace in the other. He'd chosen the bat one tonight, and his hand is closed around it in such a tight fist Laken can tell his knuckles are white even in the dark.

Chris doesn't look at them. He's swaying, rocking forward and back, his eyes focused on something far, far away from them. There's red lines on his left wrist, where he's dug his nails in, scratching not quite deep enough to draw blood, but close. Laken takes a deep breath, shifting into a crouch.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"No." The answer is flat, and they watch his thumb rub over the little nub of the silicone bat's nose, the points of its tiny ears. "No, no, no. No."

At least he's saying it out loud.

That alone makes the knot of anxiety in their chest start to loosen. If he can say no, he isn't gone, maybe just... standing a little farther back, inside his own head, than the surface.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. No talking, that's fine. Are you okay, baby?" Laken keeps their voice just above a whisper and lays their hand on the wood trim that frames this shitty excuse for a closet, the floor creaking under them. "You... kind of vanished on me, there."

Chris's eyes flick to them and then away again. "Loud," He manages, and he sounds like he's forcing the word out between gritted teeth. Maybe he is. "Too, too, too... too loud. Too much, too... many."

"I guess Ben called it." Laken sighs, pulling out their phone and sending Ben a quick text that they found Chris and everything's fine. they get a thumbs-up in reply almost immediately. Ben must have been as anxious as they are, if he was just watching for their text to come in. "Do you want me to call Jake to come get you, or..."

"No!" He snaps it, and Laken tries not to wince. He's just struggling with the noise of the party, they tell themself, he's not actually angry. Chris almost never gets angry, and even then it's only at himself. Which... is worse, somehow. "No. Just... Quiet, it's... it's it's quiet."

"Right. Do you want me to stay with you? Be quiet with you?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. His mouth moves, but no further sounds come out.

"Chris, did..." They want to ask, did someone say something to you? Sometimes people said things, referenced pets or something in a way that set him off. But even if someone had... he probably wouldn't tell them, at least not now, not when every word seemed to have to filter through layer after layer of self-protection in his mind. "Never mind. Is there anything I can do for you? Water, or..."

He shakes his head. "No. Just. Um. Quiet... quiet, now. Please?"

"Yeah." Laken leans over and presses a kiss to his hair. He tips his head against their lips and they exhale in relief. "I love you, Chris. Come back if you can, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Just don't hurt yourself, okay? Things should start winding down in a couple hours." They take the little plastic bat and push it against the hand that's still scratching at his shoulder, until he takes hold of it again, pressing it against his mouth and running it back and forth, back and forth.

Chris is quiet, but as they open the door to head back into the hallway, they hear a quiet, "Love, love you," from Chris, barely audible.

They smile as they close the door. Down the hall, the sounds of the party hit them like a brick, beckoning them back to the noise and the cheer and the awful fucking Christmas music still blaring at top volume. Someone yells something out and the whole damn crowd cheers, making Laken wince at it feels nearly deafening.

Maybe Chris has the right idea.

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #chris the strawberry blond romantic #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #overstimulation tw #autistic whumpee #referenced alcohol use #laken mamani #referenced dubcon #angst #fluff #comf #I guess this is the one that wins out first of the drafts?#we'll see if kauri or vince wins out next

45 notes · View notes

wannab-urs · 1 year

Text

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 17

Hello darlings!

It was another big week - 24 fics! I should really start sleeping at night instead of reading until 3 am.... oh well. Enjoy the fruits of my sleep disorder!

You can find the Spreadsheet in all it's organizational glory here and all of my previous recommendations here.

Recommendations below the pedro meme (created by @gasolinerainbowpuddles)

Ravish -a Joel series by @psychedelic-ink

I've read a few like... cam girl/chat service/sex work type AUs and I have to say this is one of my favorites. I really really love the little Dieter cameos. And a little birdie (the literal author) told me he may be making an appearance in a future installment??? I am so excited ugh. Joel is like... stunningly hot in this despite being the kind of guy that falls in love with a cam girl. Yummy yummy

Seven minutes in heaven (the bathroom) -a Frankie one shot by @tieronecrush

A fun twist on the bathroom quickie trope. Frankie is so filthy in this fic and it is fantastic. I really like the ending also. Made me giggle

A Savage Place - a Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

SUB JOEL MY BELOVED!!! This is one of those more realistic sub joels where he's confused as fuck about liking it, but he really clearly needs someone to take control for a little while. I really fucking love this so much. (there's pegging in part 2 @ my pegging enthusiasts <3 ) Reader is hot as hell, also. GOD I love this.

Whistle in the Dark - a Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Romantic cucking <3 No but okay the like basic plot is that your husband is a piece of shit who cheats on you so you like forcibly cuck him with Joel and Joel has feelings and it's sooooo hot and so good and like... affirming? and sweet? And your husband deserves to have his dick cut off bc he does something real fucked up, but having to watch Joel Miller dick his wife down GOOD is a start.

He hurt me but it felt like true love - a Joel one shot by @iamasaddie

Mean sexy Joel is pissy cause he found your dildo and he's gonna make that your problem. It's so hot. Vaginal DP????? GOD DAMN. Someone said DP isn't depraved a while back (eyeroll). They should read this. This is beautifully depraved

Feral Woman - a Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

This series has me feeling so many emotions. Watching FW/reader/Julia/Bug heal over time and learn to trust again is so fucking good. Susan is the light of my motherfuckin life I love that woman with all my heart. This series is GORGEOUS

Endless Night - a Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

yes i basically worked my way through Puddles' masterlist can you fucking blame me look at this shit. Anyway. EnNi reader/OC is, on the surface, the sunshine to Joel's grump. But the thing I love about her is that she's got this underlying darkness that adds so much depth to the grumpy x sunshine trope. I'm also eating up the borderline enemies to lovers dynamic going on here. Joel is such a dick lmao. I'm so excited for the rest of this fic.

All the good girls go to hell - an Ezra one shot by @psychedelic-ink

DUBCON with PRIEST EZRA yesssssss. The Haunted Hoedown is the gift that keeps on giving. This fic is so fucking HOT. Ezra as a priest seems so wrong and so right at the same time. This is excellent. I'd gladly go to hell for this man UNF.

Three's a crowd - a Marcus P/Javi P one shot by @agentmarcuspike

Marcus motherfuckin cute ass baby Pike watches Javier Peña fuck you. Yeah. Cucking Marcus Pike. That's what this is. Marcus is also characterized perfectly. Like this is so fucking cute actually. And it's really hot. obviously.

Begging for you to take my hand - a Joel series by @jupiter-soups

This fic is driving me up the wall in the best way. Joel is a big dumb idiot man who is like... not emotionally intelligent enough to realize he's in the wrong while trying to do what he perceives to be the "right thing." Here's what I commented verbatim on part 2 "Joel 'You Deserve Better Than Me' Miller back on his bullshit. I love this so much. Joel is so sad and so stupid i kinda wanna hit him." So if you're like me and you like to watch Joel be a sad little idiot who is also super hot.... this is the one

Refuge - a Joel series by @cool-iguana

GAH THIS IS SO GOOD!!! This fic really situates you in reader's head. Like you feel disoriented and frustrated and scared when she does and you feel like a powerful badass when she does and it's SO good. Basically in this one your husband joel shows up with some kid who is def not your kid in Jackson after you've been there for a hot minute and it's a big wtf moment. There's some other shit going on that I don't wanna spoil but like... this is so good. I know I keep saying that but GOT DAMN

Exposed - a Javi P one shot by @atticrissfinch

big fat dub con warning on this one. I so rarely see Javi written as a creep and I really fucking enjoyed it. I would like to humbly request more creep!professor!javi p

The Apprentice - a Dave York one shot by @pedropascalsx

This has like mafia!au vibes while not really being that, but what I mean by that is that the big bad murder daddy who you thought you'd be scared of saves you from murder father (ur dad). I really liked the characterization of Dave in this and the smut was HOT

Stockings - a Joel one shot by @atticrissfinch

Daddy kink daddy kink daddy kink. This is inspired by a photo that literally looks like denim shirt joel is helping you put your stockings on. This fic manages to be adorable and aggressively hot at the same time. I am in love.

Slumber - a Joel one shot by @cool-iguana

I love a good somno fic. also this is literally their 2nd fic they ever wrote and it's so good?! TALENT. There was a thing in this that caught me off guard bc I fully did not read the warnings, but I was not at all mad about it... HOT

Yearling - a Joel series by @justagalwhowrites

Holy motherfuckin shit balls dude. I'm noticing that I'm reading a lot of Reader-Who-Is-Extremely-Traumatized fics this week and I refuse to examine why that is but also they all have handled the heavy content very very well. Anyway. Reader is super duper good with horses and Joel is so soft and Ellie is so Ellie and I love all of this. I really love the way Kit builds the world in her fics. Like the opening chapter and then the way Bambi's back story is built up and the spaces that she exists in, they're all so vivid and good and real to me. I'm so fucking in love with the way Kit includes these details like reader singing and playing music, joel's coat, the light on in the house when Bambi is gone. It feels like nothing is there just to be there, like it's all important and it has a significant impact on the story and man... (also if you're worried about starting a longfic that's not finished, it updates like twice a fuckin week. Fast writer lol).

The Cabin in the Woods- a Dave York one shot by @xdaddysprincessxx

Getting kidnapped by Dave York and held in his cabin in the woods. Dark dark dark fic and so fucking well written. Love this <3

Isn't She a Doll? - a Dave York one shot by @proxima-writes

You are Dave's perfect little housewife and that is definitely the only thing going on here. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. (just read it)

Who do you call? - a Joel one shot by @chloeangelic

Your hot neighbor Joel helps you get rid of a spider! How sweet of him. Oh and then he rails you on the couch. I really love the way they have a whole conversation while they're fucking about how long it's been since they've fucked anyone. Chloe just has this wonderful way of infusing humor into really really hot fics that I adore

Does your mother know? - a Joel one shot by @cupofjoel

Another bathroom quickie for the rec list and god DAMN this one is hot. Close Family Friend!Joel (god I love putting this man in situations). There's something about being forced to stay quiet that just makes everything hotter.

Cellmate's Nephew!Joel - a Joel series by @toxicanonymity

JoJo is actually the love of my life. His tattoos, his voice, his dick print.... sigh. Can't wait to get out prison so this man can rail me on every available surface between the prison and Mabel's house.

The Man That I Love - a Joel series by @lumoverheaven

Joel is an idiot who doesn't know what he has until he almost loses it. The first part is heartwrenching and sad and I love it. The second part is wonderful and makes me tear up a lil

I said I didn't feel nothing, baby, but I lied - a Veracruz one shot by @iamasaddie

Veracruz is so hot. I swear that man could punch me in the face and I'd suck his dick for it (that is not healthy oops). This lovely little drabble is literally just you getting your ass spanked so raw you won't be able to sit for a week and it's HOT AS HELL

Creep - a Joel one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

Joel Miller is your super hot creepy neighbor and he manages to get you to fuck him and that is definitely the only thing going on here. nothing fishy at all. nope. totally normal reader fucks her creepy neighbor fic. (just fucking trust me and read it ok?)

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

Happy Reading!

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

89 notes · View notes

hapan-in-exile · 9 months

Text

Volume 3 - Post #8: About Damn Time [M]

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 4K (of 45K total in Volume 3)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, 18+ MINORS DNI *NSFW*

__________________________________________

VIII. “Listen, Mando,” Talsala scoffs, straightening up and drawing away from you. “I don’t know what you got going on with this girl…but is it really worth burning your bridges with Black Sun? You wanna be on Ingtar’s shit list all for some fucking puss—”

Crack!

The sound of Mando’s gauntlet hitting Talsala’s teeth when he backhands the Togruta across the face is like a thunderclap.

With his hand gripped around Talsala’s throat, he pulls the man’s face within an inch of the Beskar helmet and growls through his clenched jaw, “Come near her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Valine steps up to intervene as her partner struggles to twist out of Mando’s rigid hold. But when Bril shuffles through the crowd to cut off her path, she sizes up the Twi’lek with an exasperated groan.

“Enough dick swinging,” she says, reaching into her shoulder holster to pull out a blaster. She fires a series of bolts—not at Mando or Bril—but at the lighting rigs overhead. They explode in a shower of sparks and sporadic pops.

Within seconds, partygoers begin surging past, screaming and pushing each other, trying to escape the VIP section. Guards have their blasters out, and you can hear random shots being fired as people stampede for the exit.

You’re in danger of being trampled, which is a terrible way to go. Instincts kick in, and you leap with each step, letting the crush of bodies carry you onward to avoid getting dragged down to the floor.

“Sorry in advance for this.”

“Wha–”

Mando thrusts an arm between your legs, “Hey!” and heaves you over his shoulders. He plants each stride against the streaming crowd, making his way back to the bar while carrying you above the press of tangled limbs. Atop his shoulders, you get a full view of the chaos unfolding, a rippling wave of panic as clubgoers are either caught up in the crush or climb the furniture to press themselves against the walls.

Advancing in the opposite direction, you can only guess where the Mandalorian is headed. With both hands around your waist, he heaves you onto the bartop before launching himself over. There’s an access door built into the floor that drops to a basement below.

“Come on,” he barks at a group of people huddled behind the bar. They look up at him in terror but soon realize he’s offering them an escape route.

Once they’ve cleared your path, he lowers you down, dangling from his powerful arms until you're a safe distance from the floor.

The basement is littered, floor to ceiling, with a maze of liquor boxes.

Fortunately, the other patrons were able to locate an exit door. It lay open, busted on its hinges. You peer out to see a long underground service tunnel punctuated by metal grates that opened out onto a busy concourse. The sound of loud voices and footsteps echo against the concrete along with the perpetually flashing lights of Daiyu City.

While you crouch behind the door frame, Mando marches on ahead in pronounced silence, pausing long enough to ask, “He hurt you?” before abruptly walking off as soon as you assure him that you’re fine.

Not exactly fine. The Spice liquor made everything fuzzy and difficult to keep up. Plus, his legs are so damn long.

“Mando—”

“Did I hear you say you're familiar with the word inconspicuous?”

The bounty hunter’s voice is barbed with a sharp edge, and he doesn’t bother to curb his relentless pace or turn back to look at you.

“W-what—?” you stammer in confusion. “Wait, Mando. Can you slow down, please?”

Inconspicuous? What had you done that was so terrible apart from enjoy yourself at a nightclub along with the hundreds of other people packed into that warehouse?

“You told me to dance if I wanted…,” you protest, trying to tame your sweat soaked hair into a compact knot.

“Dance,” he snaps, still looking resolutely forward.

“What you actually said was, knock yourself out.”

“It wasn’t an invitation to go wild.”

“Wild?!” You choke on a huff of laughter. Okay, Mandalorians really are conservative. “First of all, there were naked people wearing paint dancing in cages suspended from the ceiling—so I didn’t cause some kind of scene. Secondly…I didn’t do it for the attention.”

You can hear the heavy exhalation from his nostrils while he silently shakes his head.

“The most beautiful creature in the galaxy asked me to dance with her. I’m not made of stone, Mando. Or Beskar, as the case may be.”

Hot damn, wasn’t there supposed to be an apology somewhere in there?

“I hope you know when Talsala comes looking for you, she’s going sell whatever information you shared.” This time, he feels compelled to at least speak over his shoulder.

Erenada, is it that difficult for him to refrain from treating you like a child? “For your information, she didn’t ask anything about me. So don’t worry. There wasn’t a lot of talking.”

Okay, that might have been a bit backhanded. Except why should the Mandalorian care who you fool around with?

He snorts in disgust, shaking his head again.

“Huff and puff all you like, Mando. I’m impervious to your slut-shaming,” you jeer with barely concealed fury. The upswell of anger has you increasing your pace to catch up with him. “Why are we even having this conversation?”

“Because before, you were satisfied torturing me with your…morning stretches and too-small towels. Now you're going to do something reckless just to spite me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mandalorian. I had terrible impulse control long before I met you.” Ugh, he really is such an arrogant jerk sometimes. “Besides, I’ve had my hand three inches from your dick, and I don’t know what your name is either.”

You immediately freeze on the spot. Both of your hands actually slap over your open mouth as though you could stuff the words back in. You’re finally realizing just how drunk you got by the force with which you immediately sober up.

Mando stops in his tracks to turn and face you.

“I’m so—I am sorry!” you blanch. “That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said that. We're—we don't have that kind of a relationship.”

He walks towards you with a menacing stride that causes you to retreat a few steps until you feel the bite of the concrete wall press against your back.

Fuck he’s taller than you remember. Looming over you, all you can do is stare up into that impenetrable black view plate like some terrified quarry. The same face you’ve seen frozen in carbonite.

“And what exactly is the nature of our relationship?”

His voice is the same even keel as always, but there’s an…undertone?

You’re not sure if it’s a rhetorical question.

Your breathing becomes shallow, and you can feel your heartbeat quickening. He’s so close now you can see your reflection in his helmet despite standing in deep shadow.

“You told Gwellis I was a friend.”

“Hmmm...” it comes out of the modulator as a low rumble that vibrates through the air between you. Then he takes you completely by surprise, resting the length of his forearm against the wall next to you—so close you can smell the metallic tang of Beskar filling your nostrils. He nods slowly, “But you want to be more than friends?”

Time dilates, slowing down under his fixed attention. You’re too nervous to say something clever, so you should know better than to open your mouth.

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.

Paralyzed, you have to remind yourself to draw breath. Your body roils with tension, thrilled at this sudden shift in dynamic. Wasn’t he about to yell at you?

You nod again emphatically because you have no air left to speak.

His other hand slips behind you, loosely palming the small of your back. The fabric of your bodysuit is so thin you can feel the pinch of pressure under each of his fingertips. It’s like he’s about to kiss you, but…

“Does this—ahem,” your mouth is so fucking dry.

You timidly lick your lips and try to swallow the lump in your throat. As your tongue traces around your mouth, Mando breathes out hard, like he's just been punched in the gut, "Hmmph!"

Your belly clenches at the sound. Then, a rush of nervous laughter bubbles up. You giggle, and there’s the faintest note of anxious hysteria. Still a little tipsy, then.

“Is this because I made out with a girl?”

He laughs, “Maybe. I don’t know how long Bril and I stood there watching the two of you. I just…I can’t pretend not to see it anymore.”

“See what?” you ask as though you’re holding onto the edge of a cliff.

“The way your face lights up when someone makes you happy,” he says. “All I could think was…when’s it my turn to be the one who makes you happy?”

That’s not something you ever expected to hear from the Mandalorian. This gruff, stoic warrior who never spoke about himself or his feelings.

“That may have been the sweetest line anyone’s ever tried on me. Where have you been hiding all this charm?”

“I don’t usually need a line,” he says wryly.

And you laugh, glad to see that being vulnerable didn’t do anything to dampen his ego.

“That’s right,” your lips quirk into a grin. “You’ve got beautiful women throwing themselves at you.”

Without shifting his position from the wall, his hand pulls the visor from your face.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, and you can feel his eyes searching yours behind the helmet.

“You really didn’t do all that to make me jealous?”

“I mean, you weren’t the intended audience. She knows one of the bouncers…Honestly, she probably would have stripped down naked and asked me to spank her if it got her into that VIP section.”

“Well, that might have caused a scene.”

“But, it was nice…feeling wanted.”

You don’t know how long you stand there in silence before his gloved hand reaches for you. Gently taking your face in his grasp, you feel his leather fingers trace behind your ear and along your throat, his thumb stroking your jaw.

“How have you been living on my ship all this time, and you don’t know how much I want you?”

When you fantasized about this moment, you imagined coming together in a desperate, heady rush. Not like this, with giddy apprehension, excitement, and nervous laughter.

“Hmmm, Bril said you have a thing for bad girls. What would you want with a nice girl like me?”

“Are you so sure about that?” he asks, letting his hand rest on the back of your neck. “It sounds like you have a gambling problem.”

At that, you let out a burst of laughter. “You’re getting a little too good at these sassy retorts.”

“I learned it from you,” he says in a low voice that makes your stomach flutter. You want him to touch you so badly it's making your knees weak.

His grip on your lower back slides up between your shoulder blades, pulling you against him. Your nose is about an inch from the jaw of his helmet. Your hands feel too passive, so you lift them up to press against his firm stomach, below the chest plate.

You ask in a breathy whisper, “What about a good girl…who does bad things to you?”

He pauses as though thinking about it in earnest. “Sounds like you’re going to get me into some deep trouble.”

“Deep trouble?” You smirk, arching an eyebrow. “Just how deep?”

Your hand slides down his stomach to cup the bulge that’s building between his thighs.

“Maybe deeper than you can handle,” he replies in a tight voice, pressing your palm over the erection straining against his pants. His flesh is hot even through the thick canvas.

Gods, he’s so big. You remember that from when he shoved himself between your thighs—how could you forget it? Still, you marvel at his length.

Wetness wells between your thighs. His cock jumps slightly at your touch, and you begin moving your hand back and forth, rubbing it up and down his shaft. The Mandalorian's hips roll upward, thrusting into your palm.

“I might surprise you, Mando.”

You tighten your grip and squeeze.

"Nnngh," a long guttural moan escapes his lips. Immediately, he takes your hips in both hands and pushes you against the wall. You gasp, stunned by the speed and the sensation of his body pressed against you.

“But I thought—you said we couldn’t—?”

His hands, which had been making their way up your ribcage toward the swell of your breasts, pull away from your body. In an attempt to respect the seriousness of the conversation, you also remove your hand from his cock. Why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut?

“I thought you couldn’t be with anyone like this?”

“Yeah, I realized that after seeing your reaction to Xi’an.”

“Did you have sex with her? With…Morrigan?”

“Yes,” he says coldly. “Because they wanted to fuck a Mandalorian in his armor and leave after.”

This might be the first time you’ve heard him swear. It’s kind of shocking. Especially in this context. A harsh word for something that should be a celebration. Instead, he sounded bitter and ashamed.

“That’s not what you want, Thuli.”

“Ok, I’ll set aside for a minute how incredibly rude it is to tell a woman what she wants…Mando, are you saying you’ve never had sex with someone you cared about?”

He turns his head to look away from you, straightening his shoulders. “I’m not great at trusting people.”

“But…you trust me?”

“I do,” he nods.

“Then why—”

“Because there are things you’ll want from me, things you deserve that I can’t give you,” his voice is so tired and defeated. “And I don’t know how long we’ll have before you realize that…”

“Hmm,” your hand leaps up to stifle a laugh. Shit, that’s going to piss him off.

“What’s so funny?” Mando asks defensively.

“I’ve seen you leap into the mouth of a giant flying birdcatlizard–on impulse–in the heat of battle. But this is what terrifies you?”

You place a hand on his arm and try to convey the tenderness of your feelings. “Of course, I want to kiss your lips and feel your tongue inside of me, but…” you laugh softly. “Shit, Mando, no one’s ever made me beg for it before.”

Some of his earlier temper rises up again. “Has it occurred to you that’s what this is really about? Chasing after something you can’t have. What happens when it turns out this isn't what you wanted?”

But he doesn’t sound all that angry. He sounds afraid. “Do you honestly think that, Mando? That I’d be so careless with your feelings?”

“No,” he says. “You have the kindest heart…even after everything you've seen. It’s what I admire most about you.”

He takes your hand from his arm and holds it between his leather palms. “Which is why you should run from me. With that new ID, you could get a good job on some Mid-Rim planet, or I can take you back to Ingtar myself. But you should take your chance at a decent life while you can.”

Without realizing it, your eyes have filled with tears, and his thumb traces across your cheek to wipe them away.

“See? I’ll just make you cry.”

“These tears are...There is no decent life Mando. Just this life. I’m sad because, for whatever reason, you don’t think you deserve to be loved,” you assert. “This whole time, you’ve been coming up with all these reasons to harden your heart...because you aren't decent?”

Something between a sigh and a laugh crosses your lips as you brush away the remaining tears. “Was the plan to just stifle your emotions and masturbate in the fresher?”

“How do you—right," he nods. "No helmet in the fresher.”

“I didn’t see anything! But your thoughts are very loud.”

“I’m not the only one locking myself in the shower,” he says teasingly. “You aren’t as quiet as you think.”

You blush spectacularly. “I was thinking of you, if you must know.”

“I’m not surprised,” he says, catching your fist in his hand before you can land a punch to his stomach. “I like to think about that stretch you do with your hands on the floor, and you lift your leg up to the ceiling.”

“I knew that one would get your attention,” you wink before returning to the conversation at hand. “Were we supposed to dance around this forever? Whatever this is?”

“At first, I just thought about how much the kids need you and how selfish it would be to sabotage that for them…because of what? Because I couldn’t keep it in my pants?” And that sound of shame and regret tinged his words again. “But now it feels like this dam is bursting in my chest and…and I don’t know what to do.”

“Because you’re afraid of falling for me?”

He sighs, “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

“Mando,” you say, taking him by both arms this time and looking up into his view plate. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow—and neither do you. I wish I could say we’ll never hurt each other, but I can’t know that either. What I do know is that my pulse skips a beat whenever I see you. I get butterflies in my stomach just standing next to you. My whole body is full of these deep feelings for you. Feelings I want to explore with my heart and my hands. And you’re right. We don’t know how much time we have, which is why I don’t want to waste any more of it.”

His hands cup your chin, lifting your face to look up at him.

“How deep are these feelings inside you?”

“See!” you roll your eyes. “That’s the sexy voice. Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

He laughs. And you think back to those days when it was like pulling teeth just to get him to talk to you. His laughter came so easily now. Surely, that was proof enough that he loves you, too. Even if he hadn’t said the word, you hear it in every smile and laugh you win from him.

“I know you won’t take off your helmet to kiss me, so what happens next?”

“I will,” he says seriously.

“What?”

“I’m going to kiss you. Not right now in this dingy tunnel. But I’m going to figure out some way to make this work. I just need you to give me a little more time.”

“I don’t want you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or compromised,” you say honestly. “So take whatever time you need. Just know that I’ll be waiting for you. Eagerly waiting.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve been thinking about this non-stop since you climbed on top of me.”

Your mouth breaks into a wide smile. “If I recall correctly…none of that involved taking off your helmet.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“For what? Throwing me over your shoulder like a sack of grain?”

"For before..." Suddenly, his hands return to your hips, and his knee nudges your thighs apart. "For not finishing what I started.”

You don’t remember placing your hands on his chest, and the sudden shock of cold from the Beskar makes you shiver. Heart racing, you spread your fingers under his cloak, feeling the tension in the firm muscles of his shoulders, and wrap your arms around his neck.

Pressed against him, the heat rising from his body surrounds you despite the layers of fabric and metal.

His hands are so strong. You gasp when he grips your hips tighter. He crests the curve of your lower back, his palms sliding downward to gather the swell of your ass in his hands. The tips of his fingers dig into your skin, and you hear a choked groan when his pelvis rocks upward, glancing your hips.

“Is this ok?”

“I let a complete stranger grab my tits in the middle of the dancefloor. What do you think I’ll let you do to me in this deserted service tunnel?”

“Hmm, I bet you’ve been dripping wet since you put your hand on my cock,” he says in a low growl.

“Mmm-hmm,” you nod enthusiastically.

He continues to trail up your back and over your shoulder blades, hands sliding across your underarms and finally over your breasts. Your breath hitches audibly as he rolls and squeezes them, your nipples budding under his wide palms.

Gathering and kneading your breasts, he takes in a deep breath, and a rough sigh spills from the modulator, sending a clenching wave of desire shuddering through you. Arousal spirals through your body, down to your core, as he squeezes, teases your nipples, and presses your breasts together tightly.

The pulse of your heartbeat is now located between your legs, your clit swelling with every throb. You were already wet, but now you can feel the flood of warmth spreading across the seam of your bodysuit as Mando traces his hands down your stomach, lower, and lower...

His hand is so warm between your thighs. Your belly clenches when he draws the heel of his thumb along the length of you, both easing and building the tight ache inside you. Using the tip of his finger to stroke up and down the soft folds of flesh that dip into your cunt, the pressure spreads you beneath his fingers.

Your back arches against the surge of pleasure, rocking against his hand for more. He circles your clit, teasing, then begins to rub in slow, endless spirals. Every stroke sends new pleasure pulsing through you, and you can’t help whimpering.

“Mmm-haah! Aaah!”

His touch is blunted by the fabric and leather. But you’re so wet he must feel it. Gods, you can even smell it.

“What was that?” he asks.

And you fully melt hearing how much enjoyment he’s taking in pleasing you. His fingers resume their massage. Slow, firm circles that surge upward inside you until you're dizzy.

“Mmm-more.” You smile genuinely up at him, lacing your fingers at the base of his neck, your forearms meeting where you brace your elbows against his chest plate. “Please, don’t stop.”

His hands slip down your back to grasp your ass, lifting you up and splaying you across the top of his right thigh, his knee wedged against the wall behind you. “Because you said please.”

There’s a raised ridge that runs the length of his Beskar plate, and he positions you on top of it so that it runs between the cleft of your cunt. With both hands still gripping your ass, he rolls your hips forward to grind your clit against it.

The balls of your feet just reach the floor, but with the strength of his arms steadying you, you manage to rock yourself back and forth in rhythm, arching your back and tucking your pelvis like the sway of a pendulum.

This is a public place, but you’ve always needed breathwork to get yourself there, so you don’t bother trying to keep quiet. "Haa—aaah!"

From the corner of your eye, you see the feet of passersby slow, perhaps searching for the sources of the obscene mewling and hitched sighs pouring forth from your lips.

"Aaangh!"

At some point, his arm wraps around your lower back to keep you upright as you ride his thigh. His other hand braces your chest, squeezing your breast. Thumb and fingers caress your nipple over the fabric of your bodysuit.

The tempo of your hips alternates between slow, heavy circles and shallow rapid thrusts—your clit so swollen, the rigid metal pinches with each pass. This wet, you glide through every motion, your taut calves and hamstrings trembling. Then, the rising tension peaks into a hot, cresting wave that spreads across every surface of your body.

"Aaangh!" Your fingers dig into the back of his neck, your scalp tingles, the tightness in your chest releases, and your cunt throbs numbly.

Your panting, plus the cry you let loose, have surely clued the Mandalorian that you’ve already come, but he continues to hold you in place, one arm around your back, the other gripping your ribs.

You rest your head on his shoulder and pull your arms down from around his neck to grasp his hips under the flak vest, where there’s only one layer of fabric. The closest you can get to him.

For now.

“Come on,” he says, finally pulling his leg out from between your thighs, setting you back down. “You’ve got fifty thousand credits burning a hole in your pocket.”

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

Keep reading - Volume 3 - Post #9: Drugstore Cowgirl

Back to Volume 3 - all posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #sexymando #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian smut #din dijarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #mandalorian smut #din djarin #star wars smut #din djarin smut

41 notes · View notes

stevenbasic · 4 months

Text

Growing into the Job, Post 397: Cat n Mouse, p8 (Interlude: Monkey Business)

Randi Mongillo had let herself into the side door of the building which housed what was, still, for now, Far Horizons Medical Associates. The building was dark but it was not empty; below ground, men stirred. The lights flickered on as she strode the hallways of the old practice and made her way through it, to the main elevator in the new atrium. Once inside she punched in the code into the newly installed keypad before hitting the button for Sub-Basement 3 where all their little monkeys lived.

Randi did not want to be here, and anyone could read that off her face. In general she wasn't a big fan of being told what to do, and hated the idea of being anyone's lackey. If anyone else had asked her to leave home, drive to work at night just so they could have their own personal cleanup service she would have told them to shove it. Missy though…Missy was different. She’s dumb as a brick, don't get me wrong, Randi would tell you, but she’s also…kinda the heart of everything. Randi owed her a lot - for this job, for a lot of her own personal ‘improvements’, for her position in what looked to be shaping up into a new society - which made it pretty hard to say no to her, even when she really wanted to. Like tonight.

I could really go for another bliss right now. Missy blowing that little fucker could really take the edge off, Randi thought just as the elevator reached its destination and the doors began to open. She’d grown used to her evenings being peppered with bliss. It would come on in waves, crashing into her and making her more, more, more every night. The echoes of that twerp making their world just a little bit better would ripple through her body as she felt him give in to his urges, give in to Melissa. It was honestly the best, and - if she had to admit it - kind of addictive.

Randi walked out into Sub-Basement 3 and through a few metal detectors before holding up her Evolution Pharmaceuticals supplied keycard and entering the door into the administrative area of ‘the Barracks.’ Randi looked out from behind bulletproof reinforced glass on to the ‘residents’ of this little ‘community’ of males (at least that was what they were calling it officially. To Randi and most of the girls, Sub-Basement 3 was “The Fap Dungeon”).

The large communal room in front of her was filled with them, men of various ages, some in their old clothes, some in the brown coveralls that had been purchased for them as a kind of simple uniform for manual laborers. They were largely the construction workers who had been working on the expansion, with a handful of homeless and the odd pathetic loner thrown in. They were all aimlessly milling about, huddling in small groups, or watching the tv's on the walls. The teaser interview for Channel 5 had obviously been put on loop, and it was playing over and over and over again. Many couldn't keep their eyes off it. The pathetic, braindead little zombies, Randi sniggered. If she were to listen closely she might be able to hear some of them quietly moaning or whining. Some others were repeating little mantras as they watched, over and over…

Randi walked up to the microphone at the front of the security booth. Looking out into the crowd of them, she noticed that many had shaved their heads. She also knew the place was empty of any female staff. There was security that was going to be assigned here, part of the group of girls that was supposed to start next week. In the meantime, Randi figured it might be smart not to cause a riot.

But, fuck it right? I mean…where's the fun in that? If I have to be here dealing with these apes I might as well have a bit of fun with it. Give them something to really live for.

Randi hit the button to activate the intercom with an unnaturally wide and unnerving smile spread across her face.

“Hey shit stains!” Randi yelled into the intercom causing an awful howling sound as the intercom crackled to life with the power of her voice. “Yeah, I'm talking to you douchebags. I need some of you to come with me and clean up a mess outside. Any volunteers?”

Her eyes shone in amusement as she watched the group en masse, all these ‘big strong men’ shrink away from her and avert their gazes. These simps, breathing in all these artificial pheromones of Melissa’s pumped directly onto the floor were just too predictable, so easy to manipulate.

“Aww, are you guys too tired? Is going outside just too difficult? Too scary?” she asked snidely. She had used up the last drop of her patience much earlier today. Otherwise she might have at least a dollop of pity for these saps. “That’s fine. I guess I can find someone else to clean Melissa’s house.”

That got their attention.

Randi watched as all their eyes shot up. Melissa, these days, was the person they thought about the most. In fact, Randi knew she was almost all they thought about. Any man here would give his left nut just for the chance to get closer to Melissa, to be helpful to her, to be noticed. The other nut they’d save for a touch, or just a smile, but they’d give themselves willingly for this woman that was beginning to become something more than human in their eyes.

They, in fact, would do anything.

“I thought one of you would give a shit about her. Oh well, guess I'll be going now-”

“Wait!” The panicked voices of one of the men cried out as he ran forward, towards Randi’s glass enclosure. He was raising his hand. “I’ll go!”

“M-me too!”

“Me too!”

“What are you talking about?” one of them argued with the other, “Everyone knows you can't do shit! I should go.”

“Fuck you! I should go!”

Randi watched as the room erupted in an all-out brawl, each fighting for the opportunity to clean up Melissa’s little fuck session at her mom’s house while she put her boyfriend to bed. It was honestly hilarious.

Blood was spilled and teeth were lost as they fought amongst themselves for a few minutes. Soon enough, though, Randi became bored. Watching them kick the shit out of each other was fun and all, but honestly, she just wanted to get the fuck out of here and maybe get the chance to go home and sleep.

Randi opened the reinforced door that separated the security chamber from the common area and walked into the room. She grabbed three of the men from the grand melee and pulled them out into the hallway before anyone else could notice. Then she went back in and picked off several more until she was satisfied.

“Alright you clods are it, ‘the chosen ones’,” she said, sarcasm probably lost on the doltish males in their excitement, “You, beardy - you can drive? You’ll take one of the construction vans. They’ve got tools, right? I’ll drive in my car, you follow me. We’ll get in there, you’ll clean stuff up, and you’ll fix whatever you can.”

“Ummm…” one of them began, looking suddenly embarrassed to speak, “we’re driving by ourselves?”

Oh yeah, oh crap. Pheromones. They know they’ll need me with them. “Fine. I’ll drive the fucking van.” Means I’ll need to leave my car here.

The men nodded appreciatively, as if excited for the opportunity.

“And, when we’re there, don't you dare make a fucking sound you hear me? She’ll be upstairs resting. If any of you does anything to draw attention to yourselves, or disturb her, I’ll bite your fucking head off, kick you out onto the streets myself. Got it?”

“Y-yes Ms. Mongillo,” one of them spoke up while the others silently nodded. “t-thank you for recognizing us, and giving us the chance to-”

“Pfft- You aren’t special, you're just the closest ones I could grab. Plus, you’re men. You’re all basically the same anyway, weak, shit for brains. Now shut up and let’s get going so maybe at some point I can go to bed.”

==========================================

sorry for the delay, tumblr. been away.

thanks to ResistanceIsFutile for writing this one; it’s really his baby.

#growing into the job

18 notes · View notes