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everlasting-rainfall · 9 months

Note

Hi just wanted to say ignore the haters there acting like d.cks, I find your ocs really interesting. What inspired you to create them ? I like Arabella sounds she sounds really cute I wonder how does her devil fruit work ?

Oakleigh already deserves a hug for having to deal with Judge ( aww Sora x Zeff~) , I wonder what made him love her ? If there do have kids would there like Sanji sibling ?

I already like Lyra already XD I wonder has Lyric ever tried to convince the Blackbeard pirates to show mercy or has she failed ? How do Lyra and Lyric react each other situation with one being pregnant and the other got a lot of husbands ?

I feel like Harmony and Apoo music playlist has some songs from the book of life film (Heaven knows your name , I’ve been praying🎶 For an example)

Aww hope we get more moments with Mabelle acting like a mother figure to Luffy and Uta 🥺

I really like all your ocs , I wonder will we see more of them in the future or maybe see new ocs ~

Hey there, friend! Thanks for sending in this ask about my OC’s as it makes me really happy to talk about them like it always puts a smile on my face! Unless it’s an angst scenario of course in which case I usually just cry…

But hey! Nothing wrong with crying especially if it makes you feel better afterwards! It’s always just good to have a good cry sometimes!

Anyways…

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT FOR ANY REASON-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

OC x Canon, Image of a Syringe, Images of a Hospital, X-Ray Imagery, Horror Images, Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Death of a Loved One

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT FOR ANY REASON-!

So what inspires me to make these characters is personally private information that I will only disclose to friends as I don’t feel comfortable telling people what inspires me to create these characters but I can tell you the process of how I make them

So the idea for the character hits me in one of two ways and it’s through getting lost in my thoughts or thinking about random topics while I’m in the shower

I do some working, run it by another friend of mine whose more knowledgeable about One Piece then I am to see if it makes sense in terms of the OP world, design them in Gacha Club once I have an idea of what I want the character to look like, make jokes that give way to new character traits and development, read through a long list of names to pick one out, and boom! There’s a new character!

All in all though, I have about 20+ OC’s who are meant for being shipped with canon characters with the most recent one being an unnamed one that I have named Goth Bunny who is the S/O of Penguin and Shachi while one that I still need to design is one named Ember who doesn’t have anything going for her other than that she’s Ace and Sabo’s S/O and I wanna make her be related to water in some way

Anywho, I actually do have some Aesthetic Boards for these characters too which I will include after I have finished answering your questions!

Arabella was actually my first OC x Canon and believe it or not, she didn’t actually start off as a writer or even a One Piece character as she was just a woman that I designed one day and after I didn’t like how the Admirals original wife turned out, Arabella stepped up to the plate after a dumb scenario that I had a long time ago where her Devil Fruit went out of control and she started Godzilla Rampaging only for the Admirals to be dispatched to deal with her and them seeing that she’s just a normal lady when they knock her unconscious and she reverts back to normal

As for how her Devil Fruit works, Arabella’s Devil Fruit causes her to constantly have horns on the sides of her head, eyes that resemble that of a goats, and the tendency to grow wool around her neck like a scarf. Other than that, it acts like a typical Zoan Devil Fruit would.

Not too much special about it in all honesty besides the fact that she can have those parts even as a fully fledged human and the fact that she has a much stronger skull that’s meant for ramming into things

Oh! And she actually does have a Dad whose a canon character as well and if you’re familiar with One Piece Film Z then it’s actually Z himself, he had her with his wife when he was younger so the age difference between her and the Admirals isn’t too egregious

They actually didn’t know that her Dad was Z too until much later in life as they always assumed that she was another trainee until they married her and got her pregnant only for Z to come crashing through the entirety of Marineford by himself to fuck up the people that dared to knock up his daughter

Also if you’re wondering why Arabella didn’t invite him to her wedding, it was because she had lost contact with him a year after he had formed the Neo-Marines to the point where neither had any clue on how to contact the other

They had only just figured out how to talk to each other again when Z found out that she was pregnant and went on a Godzilla Style Rampage through Marineford sending Marines flying everywhere that he went

Z did eventually calm down and talked with Arabella for a long time before the two of them exchanged contact information and parted ways with Z promising to teach her Haki after she gives birth so she can properly get revenge on Kizaru if he starts being very, very annoying

I also did give Arabella a body type shape so if she did have a body type shape then it would actually be a Strawberry and Arabella prefers to walk with her hands clasped in front of her

—————————————

Yeah, I’m not gonna lie when I say that sometimes I feel sorry for Oakleigh as well especially considering that she’s married to Judge

What caused Judge to love Oakleigh wasn’t anything on her part as she wasn’t trying to make him fall in love with her, she was just trying to make sure that the King didn’t die from sadness by giving him the best therapy that she could about every week

It was all just talking about how Sora leaving him for a cook out in the East Blue was making him feel and things that he could potentially do in order to feel better that wasn’t stalking her or attempting to make plans to get her back

Things were going quite well but way back when Judge initially woke up after losing consciousness, he did mistake Oakleigh for Sora because he had never met her before and she looked somewhat close to her but turns out that it was just Oakleigh

During the therapy sessions, he started thinking about things more and more until he finally decided on something that could really truly help him which was to get down on one knee in front of her and propose to her, she did try to refuse at first but it’s Judge so he forced her to marry him

She was a bit of a replacement for Sora but don’t get Judge wrong as he does know that Oakleigh is not Sora to an extent but he’s lonely and misses his ex and Oakleigh looks like his ex so… That’s kind of how he wound up falling for her, it’s the fact that she looks like Sora and she was so kind to him…

There are scenarios actually where Zeff and Sora meet Oakleigh like a while after they get married because Sora and Judge agreed to visitation with the kids like one week with Sora then one week with Judge but Sanji never goes to Judge’s

Anyways I’m getting off topic but when they meet Oakleigh, sometimes they decide that they like her too and want to be able to marry her as well because she’s cute, she’s great with the kids especially Sanji, she’s caring, and she’s a fairly good cook on top of that

Oakleigh really can’t catch a break especially as I have a small headcanon that Sora is rather possessive like not to the level of a full blown Yandere but close so imagine walking in on your forced husband and his ex discussing how they want to split time with you

To answer your question about the children, it’s likely that if Oakleigh ever fell pregnant then I think that Judge might try to see if the kids belong to him or Zeff as if they’re Zeff’s then he’s going to let them be Zeff’s problem but if they belong to him then those babies will definitely turn out like Sanji’s brothers

However I can also see Judge being an incredibly overprotective partner when Oakleigh is pregnant as although he did let the same thing that Sora went through happen to Oakleigh, he’s overprotective in other ways

To give you an example, Oakleigh will be walking calmly along then turn around. There’s a soldier following her. She continues on her walk and turns around again. Now there’s two and this continues until she has like ten soldiers following her all trying to be inconspicuous but failing really badly

Also just like Arabella, she actually did have a previous concept that I’ve completely dropped for her in favor of her current one. Her original one that she was actually a creature that liked to make people fall in love with her so she could eat their love then leave them heartbroken but couldn’t leave because Judge wouldn’t let her and she could never get close enough or be alone long enough to eat his love but I dropped that in favor of her current self

——————————-

Lyra was actually a character that I completely pulled out of my ass when I first made her up as I had no inspiration for her and came up with it while I was designing her as she was an investigative reporter seeking out the truth behind recent disappearances only to be led to Thriller Bark. She eventually did evolve into a Mortician after I watched the Mortuary Assistant

Lyric also was different too as Lyra and her weren’t even related at first and originally Lyric was based off of the game Changed where she had this bag of bottled liquid that when poured on her would turn her into an animal/human hybrid that could help out with things but she could also only be turned back by sea water as it would wash off the liquid that turned her but I dropped that as it didn’t feel like it quite made sense with the One Piece world and eventually she became an Acrobat

To answer your question about if Lyric has ever been able to stop them from doing bad things, she can if it’s something small but these people burnt her circus to the ground leaving her as seemingly the only survivor just because she didn’t want to go with them so there’s not much that she can convince them to not do

Lyric is very strong and somewhat intimidating for a lot of them but at the end of the day, they’re much stronger than her and if she puts up too much of a fight then they can’t easily just lock her up until it’s over

To give you an example of things that she has been able to talk them out of versus things that she hasn’t. She has been able to talk them out of just killing one random person who insulted them, she can’t talk them out of pillaging an island

As for the showing mercy part, she might be able to depending on the situation but no matter what it is. If they’ve already started doing it then it’s very unlikely that she’ll be able to convince them and if she does then Teach usually makes her give them something in return like pleasing them in some way

And although Lyric does hate doing it, she tries not to care too much as long as they keep their end of the deal on showing mercy and she doesn’t wind up pregnant as although she loves kids, she doesn’t want to have any with them as at the end of the day, she is a prisoner

If Lyra and Lyric were to meet after Shiryu takes Absalom’s Devil Fruit then the two of them would talk for a bit, they’d be happy to see each other at first but then Lyra would reveal that she’s a single parent now

Lyric would feel so sorry for her and eventually when she gets details about Lyra’s ex-husband, she’s pissed as she’d excuse herself. Go straight to the Blackbeard Pirates with her head hung low, they’d try to ask what’s wrong with her but proceed to her calling everyone to one room and going on such a long rant about what they did that they’re all sitting on their knees in front of her

Don't try to stop her either as Teach tried to and she’s now holding him tightly by his ear basically turning him into her bitch for as long as she’s on this rant

Eventually though she’ll chill and it’s after Lyra came to find her when Lyric was gone too long, Lyra followed the shouting and found her chewing out the Blackbeard Pirates

They all expected Lyra to get it too but plot twist when Lyric let’s go and gets down onto her hands and knees in front of Lyra to beg for the woman’s forgiveness in what happened to Absalom

Lyra would be pissed and would show that rage strength isn’t just something that Lyric has as Lyra goes right up to Shiryu and beats him so bad that he’s in the hospital for like two days, she just didn’t kill him because she isn’t a murderer

Lyric would do her best to comfort Lyra after that but as for how Lyra would react to Lyric’s new life as the crew wife of the Blackbeard Pirates, she would actually feel sorry for Lyric like she knows that she can’t do anything for the Acrobat though because it’s the Blackbeard Pirates

She does try to give advice to Lyric though on things that she thinks would be useful for Lyric to escape though and even tries to help her figure out what would be the best island to run away to if Lyric ever did manage to escape

————————————

I have to say that I’ve actually never heard that song but it sounds like it will be good, I own the movie The Book of Life though so I’ll watch it the next time that I have time to kill

Here’s something about Harmony though, she actually isn’t biologically related to Lyric and Lyra as she was basically adopted by the two of them as their cousin and stuck with that story and where Harmony came from is incredibly chaotic but that’s a story for another day

As for music that I could see fitting Harmony and Apoo, I gotta say that I’m not entirely sure as I’ve never been too good at assigning songs to people but I do know that Harmony would dedicate some soft and quiet love songs to Apoo while he probably dedicates some more loud and funky sounding love songs to her that probably consist of rapping

Thing is about their music tastes as well is that if they were to ever have a child together then the child would inherit both of of their parents music styles meaning imagine either really soft and calm sounding rap that you can fall asleep to or a singer whose really loud with lyrics that would belong more in calmer style of music

————————————

You’ll find out more about Mabelle later as there was an ask about her and I intend to speak more about her there

As for my other OC’s then I can list them all off right now with their partners!

Sleepyhead Estelle and Caesar Clown

The Snow Woman Talvi and Dalton

Infiltrator Thalassa and Magellan, Sadi-Chan, Domino

Investigative Reporter Honey and Big News Morgans

Time Traveller Paislee and Joyboy

IRL Girl Vanessa and Baccarat, Whitey Bay, Wanda, Hina

Clothing Designer Morticia and Law, X-Drake, Hawkins, Sanji

NSFW Star Nova and Oven

Travelling Selkie Lorna and Laskey

Community Leader Esther and Garling (DON’T LOOK HIM UP IF YOU DONT WANT MANGA SPOILERS)

Glass Artist Soleil and Cobra, Pell, Chaka

IRL Artist Ariel and Kalgara, Herb, Noland, Acorn (Noland’s Wife)

Something Something Water Ember and Sabo, Ace

Morticia’s Model Unnamed Goth Bunny and Penguin, Shachi

#the rain talks back #minors dni #yandere #one piece oc #🌺#read the trigger warnings #original character #one piece #yandere one piece #oc x canon #akainu sakazuki #kizaru borsalino #fujitora issho #aokiji kuzan #blackbeard pirates #thriller bark #scratchman apoo

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fruitcoops · 3 years

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Hi, Eve

Rose here from yesterday, thank you very much for the Birthday message, I wasn't expecting you to read it let alone reply but I was looking for Coops kids Birthday fluff specifically. It doesn't matter if you don't have time however as I don't want to be a bother.

Hello Rose, and happy (belated) 20th birthday! Sorry for the wait--I really wanted to get this one right to celebrate such an important number. I hope your day was absolutely fantastic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Stella is an OC

Combined with asks for Sirius lightly making fun of Remus' accent and Remus yelling at a game show (@nazar4114)

“Medusa!” Stella shouted with all the force in her thirteen-year-old lungs. Remus leaned forward on the couch. “Medusa!”

The front door opened with a creak. “I’m h—”

“Yes!” they cheered in unison as Nicole answered correctly. Remus turned and gave Stella a double high-five, feeling his heart squeeze at the vivid joy on her round face. “Good guess.”

“I knew she was gonna get it,” Stella said with a pump of her fist as she turned back to the show and folded her legs underneath her.

“Gonna,” a familiar deep voice mimicked from the doorway. Paper bags rustled before footsteps stopped behind the couch; Remus tilted his chin up without sparing a glance, and Sirius pressed a laugh-laced kiss to his cheek before dropping one on Stella’s head as well. “You sound too much like your dad.”

“Love you, too,” Remus said wryly.

“I’ll take ‘Myths and Moths’ for 400, please.” Nicole’s voice snapped his attention back to the screen, and Stella narrowed her eyes.

“Daily Double!” the automated voice announced. Stella gasped; Remus bit his lower lip. “This mythical shield was wielded by Athena, and is sometimes said to be made of goat skin.”

“Aegis,” Stella whispered, then raised her voice. “It’s the Aegis, Nicole. You know this.”

“We know you do,” Remus said, scooting forward. “You just guessed whose head is on it.”

Nicole’s buzzer went off with two seconds to spare. “What is the Aegis?”

“Hell yeah!” Stella whooped.

Remus turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you two going to do this the whole afternoon?” Sirius asked from the kitchen, obviously amused. “We might need to get the neighbors some noise-cancelling headphones.”

Stella blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes as she flopped her head back. “It’s almost final Jeopardy, papa. We have, like, ten minutes.”

Sirius blinked at her, then shook his head. “I swear you two share genes.”

“Ope, you caught me,” Remus said over the noise of the commercial break. “When I was 20 and had literally never left Wisconsin, I went and had a secret kid in Maine who looks terribly like you just so that someone would watch Jeopardy reruns with me thirteen years later. Oops.”

“It’s the truth,” Stella said with great gravity. “I remember.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile down. He had never been able to hide around Stella, not once in the three years since they had adopted her. It was one of the things Remus loved most about him. “By the way, nobody under the age of fourteen is allowed in the kitchen for the next…hour. Ish.”

Stella squirmed around until she could rest her arms on the back of the couch. “What if I get thirsty?”

“I’m sure you can invoke birthday privileges and ask your dad to get something for you.”

“Birthday privileges?” Remus scoffed. “Nobody in this house has a birthday today. Yours was last month, and mine’s in March.”

“It’s my birthday,” Stella said.

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Your birthday is in June.”

“It’s today.”

“Or maybe July?”

“It’s today, in December, when there’s snow,” she insisted, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Come on, dad, that’s not funny anymore.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Is somebody too old to find their poor old dad amusing now? Can you go back to being twelve so somebody will laugh at my jokes again? I know, I know, we're super lame compared to all your friends’ parents—”

“So lame,” Sirius agreed from the kitchen.

“—but I like to think we get one more year of pre-teen cuteness before the teen angst takes over.”

Stella sat up again with a groan. Looking at her, Remus saw a mix of himself and Sirius that had always baffled him, considering they had adopted her comparatively late in her life; beneath it was something uniquely Stella. Maybe it was her double-jointed elbows, or the board-straightness of her hair next to their curls, but there was no mistaking that she was her own person through and through. He loved that about her. “I’m not going to be a terrible teenager.”

Sirius poked his head around the edge of the kitchen—his nose was adorned with a smudge of flour. “Can I record that for future use?”

“Non.”

“Ooo, using the French,” Remus hissed. “That transformation is already beginning.”

“It’s not like you were bad teenagers, right?” She settled upside-down on the couch with her flamingo-patterned socks high in the air.

“I almost convinced Grandma to let me dye my hair blue, but otherwise I was pretty good.”

“I was terrible,” Sirius laughed. “I didn’t talk to anybody for a solid three years.”

Stella frowned. “How? I think I’d die if I did that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Remus stage-whispered.

“I heard that.”

Stella suppressed her laughter as best she could, but she was about as good at hiding her emotions around them as Sirius was. She didn’t really giggle—the amount her voice had deepened over the past three years always gave Remus whiplash—but her laugh had the same cadence as it did the first day they heard it. While Stella had been quiet at first, it only took love and time to bring her out of her shell. Within a year she settled into their lives like she was always meant to be there.

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “This is my last year before high school.”

“Does it feel different?”

“Not really.” She paused, then shrugged. “And a little. I don’t feel older. It just feels like there’s stuff I won’t get to do anymore.”

“And a lot more you will get to do.” Sirius left his dishtowel on the counter before joining them on Stella’s other side. “You can drive soon, you’ll get a longer curfew, you get more freedom…”

“I guess.”

“What are you going to miss?” Remus asked as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. It was a basic Lions FAN jersey; he was fairly sure she bought it to be ironic. That, and she only wore one of theirs if she was upset with the other, or if one needed a boost at a game.

“I dunno.” A few beats of silence passed. “My classmates. My team. It feels like everything’s going to turn upside down.”

“You can still keep in touch with your friends, and I bet your team won’t be too different,” Sirius said quietly. “Even if it does, that doesn’t mean you have to give all of them up. People change in different ways. They come and go on their own time.”

“There’s going to be a lot of upside-downs over the next couple years, kid.” Remus offered her a smile. “But you’re going to be just fine.”

“You two sound like such dads right now.”

“This might shock you, but that’s because we are.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up and she lolled her head to the side to look at Sirius. “Is the cake done?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Will you watch final Jeopardy with us?”

“What’s the category?”

“US Presidents.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, but nodded. She grinned and turned herself upright to snuggle against his arm. “You just enjoy watching me lose.”

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

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Sirius called from the kitchen.

“On three,” Remus said, raising his phone camera. “One, two, three!”

“Happy birthday to you,” over a dozen voices sang. They were off-tempo and so out of key the composer was probably spinning in his grave, but Stella’s clear joy didn’t waver for a millisecond even as her cheeks reddened. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Stella, happy birthday to you!”

Finn, of course, dragged out the last note. So did Leo, Logan, Kasey, James, Lily, and Talker in varying degrees of awful harmony attempts. It was terrible, and beautiful. “Make a wish,” Sirius said softly as he set the cake down and stepped back. His eyes were the brightest quicksilver Remus had seen in many moons.

Stella closed her eyes, took a breath, and blew as hard as she could—the entire room erupted into cheers when all the candles went out. She was laughing and blushing at the same time when Remus turned the lights back on, though the humor won out in the end and she helped pass plates of cake to her many aunts and uncles. Like every year prior, Regulus managed to smear a bit of frosting on her chin, only to immediately deny it with great offense when she noticed. It was becoming a bit of a tradition—one that Remus never grew tired of.

I know what I would wish for, Remus thought as he looked around the table at their patchwork family. Celeste, Dumo, and his own parents had no doubt spoiled their first grandchild with ‘cusp of adulthood’ gifts, and Natalie and Lily would certainly steal her away after cake for some girl time. Finn and Logan would remain the fun uncles while Leo and Regulus kept their thrones as the cool uncles; Stella would interrogate Jules on the intricacies of high school for at least an hour before they destroyed everyone in a snowball fight. The world they built together had a place for everyone.

I would wish for this. This, for us, forever. It wasn’t a bad eternity to imagine.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #coops kid #stella #lions #regulus black #my fic #fanfic #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #birthday party

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wordynerdygurl · 3 years

Text

A Wonderful Christmastime

Author’s Note: Well Hello All! I hope that you’re all taking care of yourselves and staying well! My tag-list is open and you know I love the validation of reblogs, shares, tags and adds!! I have been working on a larger OC story which has kept my from my Loki writings, but I entered a challenge posted by @toomanystoriessolittletime for the Christmas holiday. If you aren’t following, please do as she’s got a great little Advent Calendar of seasonal stories for you! One a day through the month of December!

I chose a prompt based off of my least favorite Christmas song. Ever. Like in the history of humanity. Like, my family torture me with it because of how much I dislike it. This story is a chance to take a little lighthearted revenge on Sir Paul McCartney and also, hopefully, help you all enjoy a Wonderful Christmastime! Also, isn’t this gif the cutest thing in the world? My thanks to the OP and creator for it... it’s amazing and I love Christmas Loki!! Pairing: Female Reader x Loki

Summary: Everyone has a favorite holiday song... when Loki learns which one you dislike, he uses it to his advantage. Warnings: Christmas holiday mentions, SMUT, Oral (F receiving) and MF Sex, also, the over use of a certain song that makes me, personally, crazy!

This was it. That perfect moment when all of the holiday hustle was behind you. Nothing to buy, nothing to ship, nothing to wrap, nothing to bake. It was all over. You had made it through another Christmas Eve.

Your well decorated tree sat in the corner, presents tucked below for you and Loki in the morning. The frittata was resting in the fridge along with the two bottles of Prosecco you planned to have with brunch. Hell, it was the holidays, after all.

But that was for tomorrow.

Tonight you were relaxing after an afternoon of family Christmas fun. Nieces and nephews, piles of shredded paper, stacks of snacks and so much laughter your belly muscles were sore. And through it all Loki had been a champ! Holding your hand, rubbing the small of your back, pulling out your chair; Loki had put the other partners to shame. Whether he was telling bawdy but tasteful jokes to the men who drank cheap beer around the TV, sharing hair care tips with your sister’s oldest girl or whispering with your mom in the kitchen, he was always where he needed to be. For the first time in ages, you had been able to enjoy the day fully, and you knew Loki was the reason why. After getting home, trading your dress and boots for comfy shorts and a sweatshirt, you padded into the living room. Loki was there, sitting cross legged, digging through your bag of swag. He had put seasonal music on in the background while munching through a plate of Auntie’s sugar cookies, two well poured goblets of red wine waiting to be had at his side. God, he was good. “Is one of those for me?” You couldn’t help smiling. Loki, looking like a little kid, over excited and surrounded by all the trapping of Christmas just felt so precious. It took him a moment to reply as he was solely focused on the handmade puzzle box your mother had crafted for all the guys this year, “Hmm? Yes… one’s for you…” Kissing the top of his head, careful not to dislodge his Rudolf blinking antler headband, a gift to Loki from your youngest nephew, you moved towards the couch. Sipping from your glass of wine, snuggled under the softest chenille blanket your sister-in-law could find, you sighed contentedly. Victory over the holiday season felt amazing. Now all that was left on your to-do list was eating, drinking, and enjoying alone time with Loki until New Year’s. Suddenly exhausted, you felt the lovely warm drag of drowsiness and snuggled deeper into the sofa. Shuttering your tired eyes, you listened as Loki stood up, off to hunt up some more food, no doubt. Visions of sugarplums danced in your head as you started to succumb to a sweet slumber. That’s when you heard it.

“The moon is right, The spirit’s up, We’re here tonight and that’s enough…” Groaning, wide awake now, you sat up with a shout, “Loki?!” Like magic his raven head popped around the doorframe, his reindeer antlers askew, a candy cane hanging out of his mouth, “Yes?”

“Um… question: What are we listening to?” Stepping back into the living room, his new holiday flannel shirt open at the neck, Loki leaned over you, husking playfully, “Music. At least, that’s what I believe you Midgardians call it.” “Ha ha. Yes, I know it’s music, but this particular song?” You couldn’t keep the tartness from your tone as you pressed your nose into the handsome one on Loki’s face. Pausing, listening intently, Loki cocked his head to the side. Singing along, his bells jingling, “Simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!” “Ugh. That’s what I was afraid of!” Flinging a hand over your eyes, you grumbled, burrowing back into the cozy couch as a means of blocking out the obnoxious noise of the worst holiday song in the history of humanity. Making himself comfortable at your feet, pouring himself another glass of vino, “I like it. It’s simple. Direct. What are you doing? Me? I’m simply having a wonderful Christmastime!” From deep in the cushions, muffled but forceful, you pleaded, “Make it stop! Please!” “What for? It is still Christmastime, is it not? And we are enjoying a wonderful time, aren’t we?” Turning back to face him, a Scrooge-like scowl on your suddenly serious face, “I’ll do anything to get you to turn that off.” That got his attention, “Anything?” Sitting up quickly, you reached for your blanket only to feel Loki snatching it out of your grasp, “You said anything, darling.” Tugging on the plush fabric, practically pouting, “You’re not going to take my new fluffy blankie, are you?” “Oh no. That’s not nearly enough to stop me from playing my favorite Christmas carol.”

“It’s your favorite, now? Loki, you just heard it.” Waving your gripes away, pinning you under his arms and under your blanket, “I love it. It’s my favorite. You can’t mess with perfection.”

You wiggled, trying to free an arm or a hand, anything to help defend yourself from Loki’s soft, but effective attack, "Perfection? Loki, it's awful."

"I disagree. But…” Brushing a gentle kiss to your captive lips, making you melt into his warm touch, Loki made sure to keep you immobile. Unraveling under his ardent attention, you gave up fighting, focusing on Loki’s roving hands through the protective layer of your new throw.

Lost in his lips, you ignored the wretched recording still spinning, until sitting back with a sly smile Loki continued, “Regardless of my newly acquired antlers, I am a reasonable man. I'm willing to hear your side of things. Convince me, dove."

Looking up at him through your lashes, licking over your bottom lip that tasted of Loki's peppermint, it took you a moment to refocus on your argument. Sighing doggedly, “It’s just garbage. Too sweet, too synth-pop. It’s plastic. There’s no substance to it.”

At least Loki did you the service of considering your answer. He paused, listening to the offending tune, starting to hum along once more. “I don’t know. It sounds like church bells ringing. And I like when the kids start singing!”

“You couldn't. Those are two of the worst things about it! There’s not a single redeemable factor in it’s trite, super saccharine, four minute run time.” Agitated now and edging into anger, your voice kept rising, spurned on by the inability to get away from Loki’s plush prison, “Also, get off me!” “Can’t do it. But-” nuzzling into your neck, tasting along the tendon there, “-I can replay this song.” “That’s it!” Fury tinted your words as you tried harder than ever to break free of your fleece prison but Loki was brick heavy, unmovable, and impossibly giddy at your predicament. All things which only added fuel to your fire. Wriggling like mad, struggling to kick a foot free, you squirmed desperately for leverage. His response? A deep chuckle, “Is that all you’ve got, darling?” Laying those long, lanky bones on top of you, holding down the throw’s corners in a way that made fighting futile, Loki smirked at your distress, “I still don’t see why you hate it so much. It is a simple song because we’re simply having a wonderful Christmastime! It’s in the title after all.” With cheeks hot from exertion, fully frustrated and forced to listen to Paul McCartney’s bland holiday ballad start a second time, you nearly shrieked, "I hate it, Loki! Loathe it, really! The lyrics are basic, the keyboard is tinny, and Sir Paul is better than that!” “Is that all?” “No! It's even worse when someone else sings it, like those kids from Glee or an up and coming Country artist making their first holiday record!"

Beneath the blanket your chest rose and fell with bothered breaths. From rubbing against the couch your hair stuck up in odd angles and you could feel heat rising off your neck. How had you gone from almost asleep to a blanket related battle royale? Loki, taking advantage of your confinement, kissed your forehead sweetly, and the change in tactic caught you off guard. His lips grazed the tip of your nose as you huffed out a pout, eager to see where his mischief making would lead. Pressing his forehead to yours, that deep sonorous voice whispering lowly for your ears alone, "Not a compelling enough argument for me to turn it off, I'm afraid." And to your holiday horror the song in question started again. Grousing, "Don’t play it again! Please! I’m begging you!” “Already begging darling?” Thick with mocking, Loki slotted himself between your thighs, keeping you from fighting back with any power. Whining full out now, poking out your bottom lip, “Come on! Please, let me up and turn this off!” “Why, of course, my pearl.” With no effort on his part, Loki scooped you up, blankie and all, pulling you tightly to his chest. Gripping your bottom, his fingers firm through the cotton of your pj pants, he squeezed hard enough for you to yelp. “Hey!” But that’s all you managed before his talented tongue invaded your mouth. Now the only thing you could hear was the shaky exhale of your shared sighs and your own needy mewls when Loki started to withdraw.

Godly hands drew your thick and comfy sweatshirt over your head, leaving you bare against the cuddly softness of your new blanket, a perfect dichotomy to the heated hardness of Loki’s chest. With your arms finally free you tangled your hands in the long tresses of your lover, distracted from the awful music by his groan, “Easy darling.” But now that the tables were tipped in your favor, you had no intention of going easy on Loki. Not after his antics tonight, not a chance. Tugging hard enough for him to wince, you ground against his lap with a nip to his neck, “Turn it off then.”

“Now, why would I do that? Aren’t we still enjoying a Wonderful Christmastime?” Bouncing in his lap, purposefully teasing your mischief maker with a smirk, “We were until you let this terrible song play!” Laughing heartily, Loki stroked over your bare shoulder, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek. “If I wanted to, my darling, I could change your mind. I could make you adore this song.” “Is that so, Odinson? I doubt it.”

“Doubt me? On this, Christmas Eve! When you know the feelin’s here that only comes once a year?” A confident nod was all he got for an answer. In a flash you were laying on the soft rug, your legs wrapped over Loki’s and your new blanket tossed to the side. Fiery kisses to your chest and neck led him to the shell of your ear where he hummed hungrily, “The moon is right, the spirits up…” Enjoying his mouth but not his music, you shoved against his shoulders, panting, “Don’t sing, just kiss me.” Licking into your mouth, Loki’s tongue obliged your need as his hands skated over the curve of your hip, breaking your kiss to croon, “We’re here tonight, dove… and that’s enough.”

“Loki… please stop…” You fisted his shirt, pulling at the buttons until his muscular torso was under your fingers, strong and solid. Pushing the plaid cotton off his shoulders, you let your nails drag over Loki’s naked back as you shifted your hips, subtlety be damned. He took the hint. Nipping a trail over your tummy, Loki kept his eyes on yours as he shucked your shorts, snorting, “No panties? Naughty!” “If that’s naughty, Loki, then what you’re doing to me is positively evil.” That made your lover grin, his eyebrows lifting in a wickedly Grinchy smile before caressing the inner skin of your thigh with his clever mouth. Slithering closer to your center, sweeping his tongue in swirls, you couldn’t help the excited shiver he created. It was enough to block out the terrible song now that you had something more arousing to hold your attention. Using those long, deft fingers, Loki parted your folds with a murmured moan, “You’re so wet, darling. Maybe you like this song more than you let on?” A curse for him and his rotten taste in Christmas music died in your throat as Loki connected to your sacred skin through a carnal kiss. Those strong forearms ensured that your knees stayed open wide as his tongue tasted, teasing your clenching cleft, humming with appreciation at your body’s response. Circling your clit, sucking gently before changing direction and licking your lower lips once more, Loki had you teetering on the cliff of climax in minutes.

Your stomach tensed, ready for release. Delicious waves of orgasmic bliss were pulsing through you, needing just a touch more friction, a little more pressure in order to crash over you. Gasping out incoherent whimpers, fingers ruffling Loki’s dark hair, you can’t fight the neediness that he’s created in you. It just feels so incredible, something Loki knows you’re enjoying, “Like that, darling?” Passion clouds your vision as your desire crests, unfulfilled, “You know I do, Loki…” Fingers slide sensually through your slit, his bright eyes on you, “How much? How much do you like it?” Shaking your head, still foggy with needs unmet, “So much, baby. I love making love to you so much.” Bumping against your swollen bud, pressing down firmly, Loki begins using his hands to entice you towards ecstasy. Two fingers enter you easily, delightful, sure, but not as filling as Loki’s hard member. Reaching for him, you want to lose yourself in loving and being loved by your space god, “Sing for me, dove.” Beseeching you breathlessly, Loki’s hand stills, keeping you at the fringe of falling apart. Waiting for your reply impatiently he asks again, “Sing, please.” “A song?” His reply is a shake of his dark head. Slowly, smoothly, Loki withdraws his fingers, only to press them into your yielding flesh once more, “Yes, my darling. Sing my favorite song!”

Sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh, those fingers of his spreading your walls, the exquisite pressure on your straining clitoris. Any one of these distractions would have been hard to concentrate through. Experiencing them all together? Overwhelming.

And that’s the excuse you would use to explain what happened next. “The party’s on… The feeling’s here…” As soon as the words left your lips, Loki’s attention resumed in earnest, “That’s it, dove! Keep going!” “That only comes, this time of year… Ah! Loki!” Loki watched you lustily. Your eyes half closed, legs splayed lewdly, a nervous grin on your face. He never wanted you more. Slipping out of his jeans, wasting no time, Loki guided his hardened cock into you with a satisfying sigh. Your response to his abundance? “Oh shit, Loki! Yes!” Snapping his hips against your pelvis, iron banded arms clinging to you, Loki stuttered, “I don’t hear you singing!” “We’re simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!” How many times did you repeat the chorus? Hard to say. It became a mantra. A thing to chant in time with everyone of Loki’s deliberate and deep thrusts. This time, when you felt the familiar stirring of your satisfaction, Loki didn’t stop you. Encouraging you with a soulful kiss, his stroke surging in time with Paul McCartney’s crooning, you came apart in each other’s arms with a smile. The song started again and you couldn’t stop the giggles from bursting out of you, “What’s so funny, dove?” “You said you could make me like this terrible, horrible, awful song.” Sitting up and taking you with him, Loki chuckled as he kissed your hand, “Hey, don’t make fun of the best holiday song I have ever heard.” Pulling your new blanket around the both of you, “I still hate it, but-”

“But?”, his eyebrow arched in surprise, waiting for you to continue.

“But I don’t hate it as much.” Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, playfully ribbing you, “Do I have to force you into having another Wonderful Christmastime?” Biting your bottom lip, you returned the favor by sweeping a stray lock of Loki’s black hair over his shoulder, “Babe, you could make crazy, insane love to me each day and every night… and-” “And?” Kissing Loki lightly on the nose, you stood up on shaky legs and started towards the hallway. At the entry way you turned back letting the blanket fall to the floor, “-And Wonderful Christmastime would still suck.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To My Many Minxes: @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith

#stephschristmaswritingchallenge #loki x you #loki x reader #loki smut #loki holiday #loki christmas #loki christmas smut #marvel smut #marvel holiday #marvel holiday smut

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shortythescreen · 4 years

Text

come over chapter 3: the party.

Warning(s): Dysfunctional family dynamics, Octavio’s parents being assholes, misuse of stim, kind of abrupt ending, fem reader, NSFT/18+.

Relationship(s): Octane/ Female Reader.

Author’s Notes: Last chapter you guys! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this. I’ve had so much fun writing come over and hope to write for Octane again soon <3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.

The rest of your ride to Psamathe is smooth. You and Octavio sip at that Aguardiente but about a half an hour before you two are due to arrive, you make him put it away. He protests, trying to tell you that in order to deal with his parents, you were going to need to be at least kind of buzzed. You two stash the drink anyway, drinking water all the way over, and Octavio eyes you up in the silence that follows.

Octavio probably could’ve given you head right after you finished with him but you were insistent about not looking sex ruffled – which would be a lot harder to hide with your hair fucked up, and that dress you’re wearing.

This is technically a job for you. He bats the thought away, trying to tell himself you came out as a friend. As your ship lands, though, and you lug your giant camera tote he told you that you didn’t need to bring out of the ship…

It’s not discouraging. There’s nothing to be discouraged about.

Which is what Octavio tells himself as you two approach his childhood home.

You react like most people do to the sight of where he grew up: your jaw drops, your eyes widen, and you take the time to look the manor up and down. Ma always complained she’d wanted a bigger mansion. Considering she and Pa had only had him, that had never made a lot of sense to Octavio. Their room was empty most of the time, let alone all the other ones that he or the housekeepers didn’t occupy.

“Holy shit,” you mumble to him and he offers you the crook of his elbow. You turn your head to look at him and blanch. Octavio stares at you, foot beginning to tap impatiently. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you my arm. You’re my plus one. This is what rich people do, amiga,” he tells you. He distinctly leaves out the fact that he had etiquette training from the time he could walk until he was thirteen and purposefully jumped off the top of the stairs mid-lesson. His arm was broken, and he was in a sling which meant he didn’t have to go through which spoon was the right one again.

“I forget you’re a rich person,” you say.

“Makes one of us. Take the arm, mami, c’mon, let’s get this over with.”

You raise an eyebrow at him but slide your hand into the crook of his elbow anyway. You two stroll up to the way too big, double doors of the mansion and a large man Octavio doesn’t recognize opens one of them.

Inside the foyer, there’s a line of men in black suits, clearly some kind of security detail. Your heels click across the porcelain floors and when he chances a sideways glance at you, he sees that you’re unable to flush your face of the awe written across it – the vaulted ceilings and the crystal chandelier glittering in your eyes. You turn your head, looking up at the portrait of him, and ma, and pa, and he tugs your arm a little closer, trying to take your attention off of the grim looking little boy he didn’t see himself in.

He turns his gaze ahead and instantly his arms tense. Mami stands in the threshold of the ballroom, eyes stabbing through his.

Last he’d seen her, she’d had the beginnings of grays at her temples. Predictably, she’s dyed it back to its original brown, and stands with her back poised straight, hands folded in front of her. When you two are close enough, her pinkened lips pull upwards, into a smile that shows her teeth but doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mijito,” she says, opening her arms. She wraps them around him, and they press their cheeks together in a brief kiss. “This is your photographer?”

“Si mami,” he murmurs, using the hand you don’t have captive to gesture your way. He tells Mami your name and how every piece of media that’s come out of Apex’s headquarters has been yours. “She’s incredible at what she does.”

“I should hope so. We expect nothing but the best,” says Mami.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Silva,” you say, offering your hand out. Mami’s smile doesn’t fade but if it didn’t reach her eyes before, it definitely doesn’t now, anger flaring in them.

“Ms. Silva, cariña,” croons Mami, and Octavio cringes away from the way her voices oozes, thickened by sweetness she doesn’t truly have. “I divorced from Octavio’s father a long time ago.”

“Oh, I-” you begin, probably going to apologize for information he hadn’t given you. Octavio doesn’t want you to do that. As a matter of fact, he kind of wants his mom to apologize for looking at you so coldly when she hadn’t publicized her and Pa’s divorce to begin with. Octavio jumps in, cutting you off.

“She didn’t know, ma, back off,” he bites. Ma’s blazing eyes turn on him and he glares back. Before she can say more, Octavio is hauling you into the ballroom.

“She can set up in the corner, near the bay windows!” Ma calls after him in Spanish and Octavio’s nostrils flare. He doesn’t feel like playing translator for someone who speaks English just fine tonight, but he has a feeling she’s going to rope him back in, make him play the dutiful son just for talking back. The bar’s already set up and kitchen staff are putting out a long buffet table of food. In the corner that Ma said you could set up in, there’s a long drape rolled out with Silva Pharms logo all over it – in bright, stim green.

“Oc,” you say, catching his attention as you two pull up to where you’ll be stationed for a majority of the evening. The hand on the inside of his elbow squeezes and he turns his head to look at you, at the little furrow between your brows, at your other hand moving around to squeeze his. “Hey, it’s okay. Some people don’t like to even think about being married to someone they divorced. I get that.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” mutters Octavio. “She was a lot meaner than she seemed.”

“Well, I didn’t notice. So, it’s fine,” you say. Your hand encompasses his and he watches your tote fall to the crook of your elbow instead of your shoulder. You don’t try to adjust it though, focused on him, and that makes his shoulder relax as much as it makes his pulse rapid. “It’s okay, Oc, seriously. We just got here. No one’s here yet. Help me set up and then we’ll grab some food before your parents’ guests arrive, okay?”

That… Sounds like a good plan. Octavio tries to shake the nervous energy from his limbs, remind himself that at least you’re here, but he can’t quite get rid of it. He feels like a dog backed into a corner by handlers with sticks but instead of beating him, none of them are moving.

To take his mind off it, he rapidly puts together your camera. You scold him several times, reminding him to be careful with your equipment.

“Octavio, you have to screw that in, not push it-”

“I knew that!”

“You did not!”

Octavio only cackles when you tell him the right way to set up your camera, but he does do it the way you tell him to. Once your camera is put together and placed on its little trifold, you and Octavio meander over to the buffet.

Whoever Ma hired to cater (because Ma always does all the organizing for these things; Pa just shows up) likes colorful dishes, bright blue and reds staring up at you two. There’s some leviathan meat in the corner that Octavio will definitely getting his hands on before the night is over, cooked medium rare with some kind of garlic and herb butter spread over it, the juice pooling in the plate beneath. More important than that though is finding the chicharron that Octavio knows is here.

It only takes him a minute to pull up the rind, with large, square knots of pork along it. He grins at you, coming closer, the meat recklessly flopping with every step.

“You gotta try this,” he says as you bend over the other edge, eyeballing what he’s pretty sure is some kind of cheesecake, placed just beneath the chocolate fountain. You twist around with an empty plate, hovering it just beneath the chicharron before it can drip onto the floor.

“You need a plate,” you reply and Octavio snickers. Despite your words, you lean in, biting the edge of one of the protruding cubes of pork. You sigh at the taste and Octavio grins, showing all his teeth. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, baby!”

You and Octavio eat before the guests arrive and as people begin to filter into the ballroom, you take your place at the corner where you’ll be taking pictures. Octavio isn’t too far away, pacing the big, empty space just beside the tarp with all the Silva Pharm logos. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until someone he doesn’t recognize comes up to him, laughing about how Octane can never sit still, huh?

Octavio smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he agrees. That’s one of the things he’s always hated about these stupid fundraisers or events or whatever the hell this thing is. He usually doesn’t know half the people there, or even a quarter, and they all walk up to him like they know him. Even more so now that he’s made Octane.

“Octavio,” someone says, and he glances up to see his Ma fast approaching. She doesn’t look angry, though. Maybe a little annoyed but Octavio has learned that she always looks like that, one side of her mouth pulled up a little further than the other, brows low on her face. At least, she always looks that way around him. “Come and say hello, the photographer isn’t going anywhere.”

Octavio sputters, though Ma places her hand on the inside of his elbow and without thinking, Octavio bends his arm to meet her. Octavio doesn’t think a lot anyway, but it feels like a low blow to use you to make his brain work a little less. He glances back at you, standing with your back straight, waiting for someone to come get their photo op. You smile at him. He smirks back.

It makes sense that mostly old people invest in a pharmaceutical company but that doesn’t mean Octavio doesn’t find them totally, completely boring. They talk about things like their most recent vacations, or something silly their butlers did, and Ma laughs along, placing a hand over her chest as though these stories are the funniest things she’s ever heard.

Maybe they are. Octavio wouldn’t know. He stopped finding the staff’s misfortune funny around the time Señora Luz told Pa she was pregnant, and she suddenly didn’t have a job anymore. He wasn’t allowed to open the door for her either.

Ajay’s parents approach and Mami greets them warmly, pulling them into big hugs and giving them kisses on each cheek. On principle alone, Octavio is a little less familiar, waving their way, and they all laugh about how they’d never known him to be shy.

They didn’t know the first thing about him anyway.

“Oh, but where is his blazer?” Ajay’s mom asks and Octavio grunts. Ma turns her cold eyes back to him, calculatingly sizing him up. She must not have noticed when he walked in that he wasn’t wearing one. He’d almost gotten away with it, too.

“It’s so hot in here, don’t you think?” Ma smoothly covers and Octavio taps his fingers soundlessly against his thigh. He’ll hear about it later.

Octavio finds himself getting restless. His fingers itch and his toes curl in his overpriced shoes. He wants to run. Maybe even turn and jump out the bay window. Or go out back and see if Ma still has horses on this property or if she finally got sick of the memories of Pa in these halls.

He glances your way, finding you hunched over your camera. The couple at the other end of it smiles and you snap three shots, back to back. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them, but you’d know if the angles were different, or if one had flash and another didn’t. When they walk off, you stand upright and catch his eye.

Your wink sends a powerful burst of something through his chest. It makes his blood pump faster but also makes his shoulders relax and fuck. He’s so, totally fucked. You’re the one thing keeping him from doing something stupid. Which means he’s fucked.

“Mijo,” he hears, though this time it isn’t Ma, and Octavio curses to himself. Yeah. He’s fucked.

He turns, not bothering to paste on a smile. If nothing else, amongst themselves, the Silva’s aren’t fake. Ma is busy with the Ches and a group of people that like to laugh at other people’s expense. Octavio hasn’t seen his Pa in awhile but he looks just like Octavio remembers – his thick eyebrows are trimmed, arched like he’d spent way too much time having someone do them, his dark hair graying at the edges. Unlike Ma, he doesn’t dye it though, claiming the silver makes him look more refined, that his most recent wife likes him gray. He’s surprised she’s not clinging to his arm, in something way too tight and tiny that would piss Ma off if she saw it.

“Where’s Gloria?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Gloria’s young, grossly so, closer to Octavio in age than Pa. She’s nice, though, and last Octavio heard, she and Pa’s marriage was going swimmingly.

“Who knows?” Pa asks back and Octavio subtly rolls his eyes. Leave it to Pa not to know where his wife is. He doesn’t outright berate her though, which means they must still be together, so she’s somewhere around here. Octavio should say hi. He’d be happier to see her than Pa, or Ma. “You look nice tonight, hijo. Thank you for bringing a photographer – you know your Mama won’t let anyone I hire work.”

Octavio does not know that and doesn’t really care to, but he nods along anyway. His eyes keep flickering over to you, eager to go make stupid faces in the background of your pictures or tickle your sides so that you lose focus.

“Ah, I see,” Papa says. Irritated, Octavio turns his gaze back to him.

“You see what?” He asks.

“You’re fucking her?” Papa asks and Octavio feels his shoulders jump up to his ears. His whole body braces, like he’s about to jam stim into his thigh, like he’s about to take off in the middle of a firefight.

“What the fuck, papa?” He hisses back, not even realizing they’ve switched to Spanish until a second after he’s speaking it. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“C’mon, son, you wouldn’t be the first one to fuck the help,” sniffs Papa, and the way he says help makes Octavio bristle all over. “It’s okay. She’s cute!”

“That’s none of your business,” seethes Octavio, practically baring his teeth. “Don’t compare her to Luz. This is different.”

“Luz? I wasn’t talking about Luz,” says Papa. Then, his eyes narrow, and he looks a little bit more hostile, stepping into Octavio’s space. “What do you mean different? Octavio, did you get her pregnant? You know we can’t afford that kind of a scandal-”

“Oc!” You suddenly chime from his right and he and Papa both jump. He spins to face you and you look at him, bug eyed, hands risen like you’re trying to declare a cease fire. “-Tane. Octane. Buddy. Some people are asking you for a photo-op… Am I, uh, interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all, sweetheart,” Papa says, moving forward to introduce himself. Somehow, it’s worse than Mami not doing it at all, especially with the sweet smile you give him as you shake hands. “Go, Octane. The people want you. Here, take a vial with you, get into character.”

Pa hands him a vial of stim and Octavio’s fingers close tightly around it, knuckles white with frustration. You jam your hand into the crook of Octavio’s arm and drag him away. He’s still fuming, hot all over with his rage, and you move a little closer to him as you guys stroll across the ballroom.

“You okay? That looked kind of heated,” you say, and Octavio looks down at you, doing his best not to fixate all that fury on you.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s-it’s fine- did someone really want a photo-op or did you just sneak me out?” He asks, realizing that you must’ve seen that something was going on between he and his papa. The sheepish smile that tugs your lips confirms it. Octavio laughs, trying not to bend at the waist so he can keep walking. “Bad girl.”

“Sorry,” you say, but Octavio kind of wants to kiss you for it, “but I can keep you for a little while with that photo-op thing. These people won’t turn it down.”

Okay, yeah, Octavio really wants to kiss you. Not only did you save him from an exchange with pa (about you, but he pushes that part to the back of his mind), you’re now offering to keep him from him indefinitely.

“You’re the best,” murmurs Octavio. His lips barely brush your ear and he doesn’t miss the little stutter of your breath. Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to repay you for earlier on the ride back to the Apex City.

Octavio lines up and that really seems to get people wanting to come over for pictures. Two old men he doesn’t recognize give him a cigar and he wedges it and the stim vial between his teeth, pointing at the camera with two of them. When a woman walks up, he dips her low, cackling while she swoons. More people come and Octavio makes stupid faces at the camera, even getting one old timer to throw up horns with him. You make the shoot fun and for once, he thinks he might have to pat Ajay on the back. Or apologize for lying. Maybe both.

“Mijito,” Octavio hears in the middle of another picture with two women. One has her hands on his chest, her leg swept up, and the other presses against his back while he holds up his arms in some silly superman pose. He peers over the head of the one in front of him, seeing not only Mami, but Pa standing at the very edge of the tarp. Fuck.

The picture’s taken and you lift yourself from behind the camera, glancing between him and his parents. He shoos away the two women, who thank him for the time and then swarm you to get a look at the picture. You fumble with your camera, clearly preoccupied with making sure his mami doesn’t bite his head off. With no other option, your gaze turns to the photos, and Octavio tries his best to keep his chin held high as he walks over to his parents.

“Your papa has told me something interesting,” says Mami first. Octavio’s jaw clenches and whatever tension he’d been accumulating earlier returns full force. The urge to run or fight hits him hard but he stands his ground. “Is that photographer pregnant?”

“No,” groans Octavio, reaching up to scrub at his face. “God, what is wrong with you two? Why is it if I look at someone you have to tell me to not get them pregnant? Or assume I will?”

“You haven’t been responsible with anything else. Why would we expect you to be responsible with sex?” Mami demands. If he weren’t already seething, Octavio might be embarrassed at this conversation. He is, though.

“I was responsible with Navi. And with every other pet you got me. And with my stim. I’m here, aren’t I?” He growls out and Mami holds up a finger instantly, drawing a little closer to try and hide the look she’s giving him.

“Don’t speak to your mother that way.” Pa says and Octavio whips his head to look at him, instead of his mother’s icy glare.

“What way? I’m just telling her the truth. I’m here when I didn’t want to be. I brought you guys a photographer,” growls Octavio.

“For no one else’s benefit but your own,” hisses Mami, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t do something like this without an ulterior motive. Does she have something on you Octavio? Is that why you brought her here?”

“No! She’s a good photographer and I needed someone other than you two here!” Octavio snaps, the words rolling off like venom and Mami’s chin tilts down, eyes flashing.

“Oh, of course, bringing a chew toy to a PR event must make you feel so much better,” Mami scoffs. He reaches up, pushing a hand through his brightly colored mohawk, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t talk about her like that,”

“I’ll talk about whoever I want however I want, and-”

“Not her!”

“God, you are just like your father, Octavio. We cannot afford to have you in trouble with the Games, and certainly not for some-”

“Ma, I’m not doing this with you. I’m here, I’m promoting Silva, and unless you want me to leave, you will not speak about her the way I know you were just about to. You will not.” Octavio outright barks and this seems to draw the attention of those strolling by them. Mami’s face slackens, her eyes flashing. In them, in the clench of her jaw, the curl of her fist, he sees something. Something like recognition.

He doesn’t care, too busy fuming about the fact they’re even having this stupid fucking argument. Octavio barely notices Pa, standing off to the side, looking as useless as he always does when he and Mami argue, or the short, porky man that hurries up to Mami’s left.

“Excuse me, Señora Silva,” the butler says, cutting their staring contest short. “There’s something requiring your attention in the kitchen. A wine shipment hasn’t arrived?”

“Hijo de gran puta,” snarls Mami, throwing her hands up. She turns away from his glower and it feels good to have won one of those standoffs. Even if it was technically a foul. Mami stomps into the distance and that leaves Octavio and Pa.

“Son, you know it’s not a good idea to-” begins Pa, but Octavio doesn’t let him finish. He hates when he does things that remind him of Mami but he turns away from him anyway, looking out at the rest of the ballroom as though he’d just gotten into an argument with everyone in it. He wants to run. He wants to jam the stim into his thigh and carry himself all the way back to the ship port, maybe roll in some mud to get this stupid crisp button up dirty. He wants to-

“Hey,” your voice chimes gently. He feels your fingers on his cheek and you turn his head, making him look at you. Your face is soft, and vulnerable, and open, and he’s so fucked. “C’mon. Show me to the bathroom.”

Octavio snorts. He offers you his elbow, but you don’t take it, instead interlocking your fingers and pulling him towards the exit. He notices your camera is still set up on the way out, but you’ve draped something over it to signify your booth is closed for a little while. Realizing he’s supposed to be taking you somewhere, Octavio pulls you up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the many rooms of his childhood.

Being the son of preoccupied billionaires with too much on their plates to bother handling a rambunctious little boy, Octavio had a lot of rooms growing up. He had a game room, and a homework room (which was supposed to function as an office, when he got old enough to take over some of Silva Pharms mountains of paperwork). This room was always his favorite though. He slept in it most nights and even when he moved out, he hadn’t changed anything about it.

The full-sized mattress in the corner has racecar sheets. Octavio can’t drive for shit, but he always liked to watch old movies when it was common for everyone to use cars. The noises of engines rumbling with motor oil, of rubber on pavement… When he was a little boy, he told Luz he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. She laughed but on every holiday from then on out, she bought him a model race car.

All of them are lined up on the very top of a shelf, which has a bright red racing strip painted down the side. He’s got posters of old Nascar drivers on the wall, people who have been dead for centuries but who got to do super cool, fun things. Who sometimes even wrecked their cars.

“Hope you didn’t actually need the bathroom,” mutters Octavio, locking the bedroom door.

“What if I did?” You ask. He looks over his shoulder at you, checking to see if you’re serious, only to see you lounging on the edge of his mattress, peering around the room.

“Your room’s really cute,” you say, and Octavio snorts as he joins you, collapsing onto his old bed. It was way too big for him as a little kid, and even now as a young man, his slight frame doesn’t take up much of the larger beds offered to him. “Who even likes cars anymore? No one drives them.”

“We have a Bugatti in the garage.”

“Of course you do.” You two sit in silence for a while, the sounds of the party downstairs just barely reaching you. “So… you wanna talk about it?”

Not really. Talking about it means telling you what it was that got him and his parents into an argument in the first place. “My parents are just… The worst.”

“I got that.” You say. He glances your way, appraising you, and you hold your hands up. “Hey, we call them like we see them here.”

“They just, um.” Octavio frowns. Should he tell you? He feels like he shouldn’t. “My dad kind of saw me looking at you and asked if we were fucking.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you says anything, unsure of how to proceed. Octavio’s knee begins to jiggle, and he huffs out a big breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“I told him it was none of his business, so I guess he decided to tell my mom. Which was… What that was about,” explains Octavio, waving his hand noncommittally. “They thought you were pregnant.”

“Ouch,” you say, and Octavio giggles. He peers over at you and you’re smiling, eyes soft, shining in the low light from his stupid race car lamp. Your make up has smudged a little, the vermillion on your lips mostly gone after you two had your share of food. Yet he can still see the remnants of it, especially as he sees the little upwards curve of your lips.

Fuck.

Without thinking, Octavio reaches up, hand cupping the back of your neck so he can haul you into a kiss, trying to take the remnants of that pretty red you’d been wearing. You go willingly, matching his vigor, his speed, and that’s one of the things he loves about you. One of the things that’s been driving him crazy, keeping him up until ungodly hours as he tries to figure how someone could affect him this way. You always keep up, even if you’re not ready to run into the line of fire.

You rest your hand on his chest, tilting your head, and Octavio instantly wedges his tongue between your lips. You part them readily and you still kind of taste like whatever chocolatey something or other you’d gotten your hands on earlier. His other hand settles on your hip, and he wants to pull you on top so badly, wants you to scream so loudly that they know what’s going on downstairs. He wants you to look at him like you just were but maybe forever.

He wants to tell you. He wants to tell you what he said to you that night, what’s had him so bugged out. The thought alone feels like a rush.

You pull away from him pressing kisses across the taut flesh of his jaw. He sighs, head moving away, and your teeth clink against the black studs he has in his ear lobes. His blood pumps in his veins, the hand on your neck gliding down the length of your spine.

“Te adoro,” he murmurs between kisses. You pause, pulling away to meet his eyes. Your hair tickles his cheeks and he reaches up, tucking it behind your ear. “Eres en mi vida todo mi tesoro.”

“What?”

“Quiero decirte. Pero tengo miedo,” continues Octavio, fingers slipping into your hair. He tugs you down, catching your lower lip between his teeth, and you shudder in his grasp. You’re half on top of him, your body hot, your mouth swollen, and he wants. “No quiero perderte.”

“Oc, I don’t understand,” you breathe. Rather than telling you, though, he kisses you hard, lips moving across yours, and you melt into his arms.

“Jesús,” groans Octavio as his hand slides beneath the high cut on the side of your dress. He grabs at your panties, trying to yank them down your thighs. The twist of your torso to lean over him makes it hard. “Get those things off.”

“What did you say?” You huff out, though you obediently rise, dragging your panties down.

Rather than answering you, Octavio grabs you by the waist, pulling you back on top of him. He doesn’t stop you at his cock, though, half hard and tightening his pants. Instead, he helps you up, hooking your legs beneath his shoulders, your thighs on either side of his head and you whine, burying your fingers into his soft hair as you realize what he’s doing.

His hands travel up your naked thighs, to your ass, gripping it tightly. He looks up at you, at the dark look in your eyes as you pull the fabric of your dress aside, spreading your legs wider, clit even closer to his mouth. He huffs a breath against your cunt, damp but not wet, and his cock demands that he rectifies that right now.

With no further warning, Octavio’s mouth finds the shape of your cunt, molding against it, wetly kissing the pretty pink flesh. You quietly gasp, fingers wrinkling your dress, and he swipes at your slit with gentle flicks of his tongue, letting the musky taste of you linger on his lips.

That doesn’t feel right, though, not for the urgency at which he feels the need to move, so he flattens his tongue, sliding it through your slickening folds and up to your clit, slowly peeking out. The minute he feels it, firm and juicy and wet beneath his tongue, he sucks it between his lips.

The unhinged moan you let out is only emphasized by how you tighten your grip on his hair. You try to spread your legs further and Octavio fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your ass. Octavio helps you fuck your clit against his tongue, using his grip to make you grind against him, and the moan that leaves you sends a painful jolt to his dick.

His eyes flutter briefly open and if he wasn’t hard before, he is now, Dios. Your hair frames your warmed face beautifully, mouth open to heave in desperate little pants. Your clit is needy, twitching against his tongue, and your hands are fisted into the fabric of your dress, partly for leverage and partly to give him access to you.

His tongue slips down to your hole, the tip of it pushing, pressing it apart to gather up even more of your taste. You shudder above him, trying to roll your hips forward, and Octavio quickly takes the hint. His tongue moves back up to your clit, flicking back and forth, moving swiftly, and he feels your thighs tense, ass cheeks clenching in his hands.

“Oh, Oc, don’t stop,” you whimper, and he sucks as you thrust forward, uncaring of the way his chin drips with you. He’s going to smell like pussy. “God, right there, right there, Octavio, yes, yes, yesyesyes-”

You cum with a noiseless gush and Octavio groans at the sensation of your juice trailing down his chin. He doesn’t care that you slacken in his grip, that he’s momentarily suffocated by your cunt, just wants you to grind against his face as much as you can, try to ride out that orgasm you just had. You shudder, pushing at his head. Octavio pulls away, letting you scoot back down the length of him. The second he can reach you he kisses you, open mouthed and dirty, letting you taste the salty cum on his lips.

“Fuck.”

“Si, I’m trying,” he says, pressing your hips against his slacks. The noise that leaves you is half laugh, half moan, your clit hypersensitive against the fabric. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yes,” you say, “please, yes. Yes, let’s fuck.”

“Yes, good, okay,” Octavio babbles. He taps your ass with two fingers. As you roll off, he undoes his belt, tossing it to the side. He unzips his pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband, only to find you reaching down to help him. He raises his eyebrows up at you and you smirk, seemingly having caught your second wind. “Si?”

“Si?” You taunt, reaching down to tug his pants down. You only pull them just enough that his cock can spring out, erect from eating you out, and you sigh at the sight of it.

He grins, trying to scoot his pants down a little more, only to pause at the sensation of something cool in his pocket. You climb on top of him, parting your dress again, and he watches you carefully.

With one hand, Octavio rolls that sweetheart neckline down your shoulders, to your elbows. It puts you in an odd position, unable to move your hands, but your tits fall out and, fuck, if that isn’t the sexiest shit he’s seen.

“I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping.”

You snort. Unable to move your arms, your dress caught around your biceps, Octavio has to reach down to position his dick beneath your wet cunt. It opens beautifully for him as he drags the blunt tip along your lips, drenched with your earlier orgasm, and when it bumps your clit you jolt. Finally, gratefully, he finds your hole, and without further teasing, you sink all the way down onto him.

Your mouth falls open and you both groan in unison. Octavio’s thighs clench, trembling, because it’s only been a few hours since he’s cum and he’s not sure how much it will take for him to do it again. You feel so good, though, your pussy pulling him in.

“God, Oc,” you groan, falling forward, and your hands find purchase on his firm abdomen, tits squishing together as your index fingers touch. Before he can say something back, you’re moving, breasts jiggling with every bounce of your hips.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tips of his fingers digging into your thigh, and he’s pretty sure you can feel his pulse thumping through his dick. He bucks up into you, making your tits bounce harder, and you gasp as the tip of his cock thumps against something that feels different than the rest. “God, there?”

“There,” you moan back. As your eyes flutter shut, he slowly, carefully, pulls the neon green vial from his pocket. You’re lost in your own bliss, only sliding halfway up his cock. He waits, waits for your eyes to flutter open and when you finally look at him again, eyes heady and dark with lust, he jams the stim into his thighs.

Your jaw falls open, eyes widening as his veins bulge green, eyes brightening. He grins, wolfish, heart pounding. In the games, the stim makes him want to run, to shoot something. Now, all it does is make him eager to fuck you harder, faster, faster, faster.

The vial rolls out of his hand and he seizes your hips, holding you in place. You whine, desperate and he’s quick to oblige you. He thrusts up, cock disappearing and reappearing in a blur, tirelessly fucking you from the bottom, his thighs tensing at the tight squeeze of your walls on his cock.

The soft hair around his cock is already slick with you, worsening as he fucked into you with all the energy he saves for the ring, saves for when he’s Octane. Your chin drops against your chest, and he devours you with his eyes. He catches the way your teeth sink painfully into your lower lip and something primal comes over him, an animalism for your noises to overpower the ones from the party downstairs.

One of his hands shoots to your stomach, thumb blurring down to your clit. He fondles the hard, wet nub, and groans at the sensation of your pussy muscles clenching hard around his throbbing cock.

You borderline scream, trying your best to smother it with a scramble of your hand. It doesn’t help, the noise choppy with every powerful thrust of his hips into your cherry red cunt.

“Oh! Octavio! Oc!” You cry, the fingers of your opposite hand digging into his button up, grasping for purchase. He doesn’t know whether you lose your balance or just can’t keep yourself upright, but you plummet into his chest. He doesn’t flinch, just uses the angle to fuck you down the length of him, panting into your ear. Your pussy makes wet noises as he pounds you down onto his cock, tongue flickering out over your ear.

“What did you say?” You suddenly whine. It startles him and his rhythm stutters with his surprise, breath hitching in his throat. He holds it until he’s lightheaded, staring past your head at the ceiling. You weakly grind against his cock and he realizes he’s practically stopped moving, body only moving because of the stim being force through his veins like adrenaline.

“Oc,” you huff out, turning to press your brow against his throat. He can feel his pulse hammering in his jugular and he can’t tell if it’s because of the stim or because of you. “Please.”

Octavio abruptly sits up beneath you. His hands wrap tight around your waist, lips placing wet, open mouthed kisses along your collarbones.

“Te amo,” he murmurs into your skin, lowly, like maybe you won’t hear him if he speaks quietly enough. Recognition flashes in your face. The arms of your dress slide back up your shoulders as you suddenly wrap your arms around his shoulders You use him for leverage to lift yourself up and down his cock, your wet cunt squeezing, hugging. Sloppy noises make their way out and he vaguely recognizes that his pants are going to be ruined.

“Say it so I can understand you,” you demand and he’s helpless, a slave to your desires, every sweet roll of your hips sending bolts of lightening through his gut. He grunts, fingers digging into your lower back.

“Fuck,” he hisses and you twist your head, biting into his throat. He moans, the noise low, strangled, drawn out as you continue to raise and drop your hips, only moving part way up his dick as you do. “Fuck, fuck, baby, porfa, I need-”

“Say it!” You gasp, the friction of his pubic bone against your clit sending you into a frenzy, making you use your grip on his shoulders to raise yourself up higher, until only the tip is inside. Your thighs work to keep you up but you slam back down and Octavio shudders.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, and you turn your head into his hair, wailing near his ear. He whimpers at the noise, trying to roll up. In this position, though, he’s at your mercy, and you fuck yourself onto him once, twice, three more times until you’re shaking into a wetter, softer orgasm.

He hisses at the sensation, at how your cunt clutches him, trying to keep him inside even as you continue to drag your body along his dick. He presses his face to the space between your breasts, smelling your sweat, and your perfume, and he pulls you all the way down so you’re sitting on the very base of his cock, rocking you along it. Almost there, right there, yes, mierda, so good…

“Fuck,” he hisses out loud as he cums. It’s weaker than the one in the ship, little spurts gushing out of him instead of erupting. He keeps his forehead on your chest, catching his breath, your cheek resting on top of his head as you do the same.

“So…” you say, softly, and your voice is hoarse, even though you hadn’t been doing a whole lot of noise making. Shame flushes through Octavio, the last of the stim ebbing from his system. He’ll need to get his dialysis machine to wash away the shreds of it but he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything but what he said to you.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m,” he says, grabbing your hips, trying to push you off. You clutch him tighter and your fingers cup his chin. You bring his gaze up to yours and his breath hitches at the way you look at him, at that soft, gentle look that he wanted you to give him forever.

“I love you too.” You say. The world freezes. The noise from downstairs fogs out of his ears, the wet, sticky sensation of you on top of him gone as he stares up at you. You, who has been here for him this whole night, who started off as a hook up.

He moves quicker than lightening, quicker than he’s ever moved, yanking you into a kiss. Your lips move together, hurried, passionate, making up for all the time he didn��t know. He pulls away, lips making a wet, popping sound.

“I could listen to you say that all day,” he huffs out. You giggle and he holds you tightly to his chest for a long, perfect minute, your fingers carding through his short hair.

Octavio hurtles back onto the bed, arms flopping above his head and you snort, still sitting in his lap, his dick inside of you. You don’t seem in a hurry to get it out though. Octavio strokes your thigh. “I really wish you would’ve told me that before this. I could’ve come as your girlfriend.”

Octavio’s lips twitch up in a little smile and he reaches up, placing a hand on your cheek. You make a face at the sweat there, but you don’t move away, your eyes a little softer, a little more open than he’s seen them before.

“You could’ve told me. Ever thought of that, chica?” Octavio asks. He throws his head back, laughing when you lean away from him, climbing off his lap to flop next to him in bed. You loop an arm around his shoulders, interlocking your fingers and nestling against the one closer to you.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, and he kisses the top of your head, humming.

“You love me.”

“I do. I do.”

#octane/reader #octavio silva/reader #octane x reader #octavio silva x reader #apex octane #apex legends octane #apex legends #apex lemons #apex imagines #nsft #lemon #shorty writes #female reader

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rebel-without-cause-x · 4 years

Text

The Secret

Part 29

Jax Teller x OC

Series Masterlist // Masterlist for Jax

"Gemma this smells amazing" you grin grabbing a plate for you and Jax.

It was nice for him to have time off and spend some time with Abel, there was something about seeing him in full dad mode that made you want another baby.

"Thanks baby" she smiled kissing your head as you loaded the plates up.

As soon as you sat down Abel reached over for you making you smile.

"That's it as soon as mommy apears I'm no longer wanted" Jax laughed as he passed Abel over to you.

"He can't help it he's a momma's boy" you winked.

"So what's the plan for today?" Tig asked.

"I don't know about you guys but Hap is gonna tattoo me" you nodded. "So we are gonna be busy for a while as he's doing two"

"Am I now" he laughed raising his eyebrow at you.

"Yeah" you winked "they are already drawn up"

Breakfast was like any other breakfast with the boys, a lot of laugher, teasing and love.

A couple of hours had passed and Happy had finished tattooing you, tears filled your eyes as you looked down at your forearm to see the finished angel with the words "Pops" and "Amber" written one cursive in the angels wings.

"Hap you have done it again" you smiled softly "turned my drawing into something amazing. Thank you"

Jax grinned at you as he walked in with Abel sleeping in his arms.

"Let's see them darlin'" he smirked standing over you. "You look good with my crow"

"Also it was about time I got a tattoo for pops and Amber" you smiled turning your arm over to reveal the angel.

You could see the tears in Jax's eyes, before he placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Happy can you take little man" he smiled "I've got a few names I need on my skin"

"Sure man" Happy said pulling off the disposal apron and gloves.

As soon as happy took Abel, Jax pulled his shirt off, you couldn't help yourself as your eyes trailed over his body making a smirk appear on his lips. After about an hour you had freehanded and tattooed Abel and Amber's name on his chest over his heart, Ambers name had wings either side of it.

"Baby I've been thinking of asking Opie to be my best man" Jax whispered as you was wiping the excess ink off him skin. "But I know you will want him to walk you down the aisle"

"Jax, ope is your best friend" you smiled. "I don't mind you asking him"

"Who will give you away?" Jax whispered taking your hand in his.

"Chibby" you laughed "he's like my second dad"

Just before Jax spoke there was a crack of thunder making a grin appear on your lips l, you loved thunderstorms. As soon as you finished cleaning Jax up you went and got Abel off Happy before wandering into the conservatory.

"Hey princess" Chibs smiled kissing your head as he joined you on the sofa. "Thought I'd find you here"

"You know me, love a good storm" you smiled nudging his knee with your foot "need to ask you something as well"

"Ok shoot lass" he said turning to face you placing a hand on your leg.

"So Ope was gonna give me away, but Jax wants him as his best man so I've said he could" you nodded "and you have always been like a dad to me Filip so wanna give your god daughter away"

"You want me to give you away" he said lowly tears in his eyes.

"Yeah I do" you smiled softly at him.

"I'd be honoured lass" he grinned wiping the single tear away that was running down his cheek before he opened his arms out, managing to snuggle up to him whilst still holding Abel, he wrapped his arms around the both of you "I love you kid, you remember that"

"I love you too chibby" you laughed as he kissed the top of your head.

"Your old man would be so proud of how you are dealing with things" he whispered.

"Even me battering Clay" you laughed looking up at him.

"Oh definitely then lass" he winked "now you started planning the wedding yet?"

"Not really, with everything going on it's been the last thing on my mind you know" you nodded.

"I get ya" Chibs nodded "knowing you and Jax you will have everything planned out and then just going to do some spur of the moment wedding"

"More than likely" you laughed "I don't know why I should even bother planning a whole day"

"It's yours and Jax day so do what ever you want to do princess" he smiled "I still can't believe you are a mom though. I still remember you running around the club house in nothing but a nappy whilst your old man was knocking the shots back"

"No wonder mom didn't want me staying with pops" you laughed

"Apparently the club wasn't the place to raise a child" Chibs shrugged "but I dunno you, Jax and Opie seem to have turned out alright so we can't have screwed you up too much"

#jax teller x oc #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller one shot #jax teller imagine #jax teller x reader #jax x reader #jax teller #soa imagine #soa x reader #soa #sons of anarchy x oc #sons of anarchy one shot #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy

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arsnovacadenza · 4 years

Text

Day 2: Standoff

Characters: Napoleon Bonaparte & Wellington (OC by @batteryrose) Pairings : Napolington gen/pre-slash

“En Garde!”

By the third day, Leon was brave enough to look over his back.

He noticed somebody had been watching him as he left the airplane wreckage after looting for rations. Although they were distant, the crunching sounds his stalker's footsteps made were audible.

If they were in a war, he might have thought of them as foolish. But there was no war. There hadn't been any for years. Minuscule battles still occurred here and there, including the skirmish his squad encountered before they were separated from each other.

Now it's just you and I, Leon smiled wryly. Why you still think of me as a threat, I have no idea.

How long had they been alone?

Before this, the French soldier had been moving from one settlement to another, searching for a radio. Every building had been long abandoned, and he struggled to find one with working electricity. Sleeping places weren't hard to find (if you considered those cracker-thin mattresses comfortable), and neither was running water.

But scouring for food was an entirely different matter. Leon was no picky eater. His training (as well as recurring unfortunate circumstances) allowed him to withstand a relatively unchanging diet of flavorless protein bars. But even those were scarce.

Leon remembered the days when he and his comrades would keep an eye out for farms around their vicinity. At night, they'd jump over the fences and slaughtered whatever animals they came across. If they were lucky, they'd carry off a sack of potatoes or two.

It was unethical, they acknowledged. Nothing was in this fast decaying, dog-eat-dog world.

"At least no one's been murdered." His friend Joachim joked. "Hell, I heard that folks one town over from mine used to kill visiting foreign officers and cooked them!"

The town he was referring to had turned to dust long before they were born. Joachim himself disappeared one day during foraging and never returned.

Leon breathed out a long, deep sigh before he stood.

Reluctantly, he reached out for his rifle. Showdown or no, he needed to look for more bullets. Ignoring the eyes that were following him, Leon continued on his way.

Leon stared at his reflection. Dark circles were already taking shape under his eyes. The watering hole would've been a great place to nap if it wasn't for the lone soldier trailing him.

As if he was one to talk. What soldier under pursuit would do his laundry out in the open? Leon chuckled, imagining how baffled the other must have been seeing him setting up a clothesline and washing his shirt and jacket in just his undershirt.

But to Leon, his display of vulnerability was good enough of an invitation. If his predictions were correct, his adversary would come out of hiding and approach, knowing Leon meant no harm.

Not that he expected too much of their possible confrontation. If things took a turn for the worst, he would at least be free of starvation and solitude. Maybe he'd even reunite with Joachim and the others.

His sanity slippage must be very severe if he thought dying by an enemy's bullet was ideal, Leon thought.

Not that he had to wait too long for the end to arrive. Boots clunked heavily on the giant steel plate he was sitting on. Apparently, their owners no longer bothered to conceal their presence anymore.

Without waiting for Leon to turn around, the stalker greeted him in English. "Bold of you to turn your back on an enemy soldier. Are you not afraid of dying?"

Ah, it's a he. And just as desperate as I am.

"Other things can kill me faster." Leon promptly replied, the words rolling off oddly from his tongue. He hadn't spoken French in what felt like ages, let alone English.

Silence fell between them, the foreign man seemingly at a loss for words. Sighing, Leon got up on his feet and finally turned to face his opponent for the very first time.

The man's uniform confirmed him as an enemy soldier, alright. He was taller and had a slightly bigger build. Leon could make out tufts of unruly sandy blonde hair peeking out from beneath the soldier's helmet. Another defining feature was his icy blue eyes, glaring straight at the Frenchman before him.

Leon especially found it striking that the soldier wasn't even aiming his rifle at him. He was cradling the firearm diagonally across his chest, the muzzle raised above his left shoulder. The sleeves of his jacket were rolled back to expose well-defined forearms.

"Don't— don't be alarmed." Leon tried assuring him. "I'm holding no arms. I don't want to fight. See?" He gestured towards his clothesline and scattered equipment.

His opponent's eyes darted around the site before scrutinizing Leon from top to bottom. Eventually, he lowered his rifle with some hesitation.

"How ludicrous," The soldier scoffed without much bite. "The men from my company were fools, the lot of them. But I've never met anyone as reckless as you." Judging from his accent, the man was nowhere akin to the American soldiers Leon saw in the field.

"I," Leon struggled to come up with a witty remark on his own. "I'm alone." he blurted out.

That was a nonsensical response if he were to go with the man's confounded expression. After a long, awkward pause, the gentleman cleared his throat.

"That makes the two of us, then." He set the weapon down and let it rest by his leg.

Relieved, Leon straightened back and rested a hand on his hip. The man seemed trustworthy, at least for now. All he had to do now was play the gracious host.

Until he kills me or leaves on his own, I guess.

"So," he cheerfully piped, mustering all his remaining charisma. "Are you hungry? I don't have much, but please help yourself." He invited the soldier to his makeshift encampment. "Do you still have rations?"

The soldier smiled wryly. "No. I was down to two bars when I came down to that wreckage. Was planning to loot some supplies, but there you were, an enemy soldier." He grumbled in laborious breaths. "I had been sustaining myself on those bars and some water those whole three days I followed you."

"How did you manage?"

"Fed on sheer anger." The Englishman flashed a smirk. "I was so jealous seeing you munching on those bars without a care in this bloody, shithole of a world. Hell, I was eager to shoot you right then and there before stripping you of every last protein bar you have."

Leon burst into a laugh, startling the poor soldier a second time.

His laughter rang loud and free, and Leon didn't care. It was a sign that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope after all these wretched months spent hungry and desolate.

The man peered at him with astonished, yet curious eyes.

"Pardon me," Leon apologized after his laughter died down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you. Um, I think I did not catch your name."

"Wellesley. Arthur Wellesley," He introduced himself with poise. "Second Lieutenant of the Royal Irish Regiment, 1st Battalion."

"Nice to meet you, Wellesley," The Frenchman stuck out his hand. "Bonaparte. Corporal Napoleon Bonaparte. But ranks no longer mean anything, no?" he grinned. "Call me Leon."

"Likewise," Wellesley accepted his handshake. " 'Arthur' is alright. Or call me Wells," the man muttered with a light blush on his cheeks. "That's what the blokes from my old regiment called me."

Leon nodded, standing back and regarding his new friend appreciatively.

"So, then, Wells." His emerald eyes glinted with newfound spirit. "What shall we do next?"

So with a 1, 2, 3, we will pick up our feet

Forgetting yesterday and every day, they don't mean a thing

Another 1, 2, 3, don't stop moving your feet

I'm sure that's all that we, that's all that we need.

Notes:

Made for Day 2 of Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020 by @kissmetwicekissmedeadly .The lyrics I put in the ending are taken from this English cover of an anime OP.

Also, Napoleon could've just gone with "Leon" instead of "Napoleone". It's less conspicuous for a nickname and it would suit him just fine.

#ikevam napoleon #napoleon birthday prompt 2020 #napolington #ikevamp wellington #ikevamp oc #riri tries ikevam #I tried

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altcvnningham · 3 years

Note

Hello! could I request 8, 15 and 22 for the ask thingy? I absolutely love Vana sm I- 😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️cctbbhbhtc one of my favorite parts about this fandom are how peoples Vs are all so personalized and unique!! Everyone's V is so great I love them all 😭😭

omg thank u for the ask! also ahhh i'm so happy u like Vana! she's become one of my fav OCs of all time- and i have a LOT. i love learning about everyone else's Vs too, especially with how much they differ with life paths! some corpo Vs are loyal to Arasaka, would do anything to get back on top, while my Vana (also ex-corpo) would gut any corpo that ever stepped on her toe in the street, lol. I also love how creative people are with how they dress their Vs- it really reflects their personality and lifestyle! Vana's worn the same scruffy steel-toe boots and Maelstrom jacket since the prologue, comfortable and functional :)

I literally get so hyped when ask memes like these start making the rounds every so often, bc hearing ppl gush ab their Vs is literally my lifeblood ahhhhh ~

But anyway shsjsjsjs onto the questions!!

8. favourite weapons & build types?

STEALTH STEALTH STEALTH STEALTH

(STEALTH STEALTH STEALTH STEALTH)

But seriously, Vana’s main weapon is literally her cyberdeck, she’s OP as fuck with quickhacks, but she’s built as flimsy as a paper plate. That’s why she always sticks to stealth- she knows she likely can’t handle going in guns blazing.

She’s inseparable from Johnny’s Malorian, just as she is his shirt, dog-tags- well, she’s... sentimental. She’d never admit it though. She also uses Kerry’s revolver, and tends to accidentally hoard shotguns by habit- good if things get messy and she can’t easily slip away.

Tanto knife if it’s personal.

(But yeah, quickhacks + stealth.)

15. which NPC is your bff?

answered here, and had a lot of fun doing so!! :)

22. who’s your favourite fixer to work with? who’s your least favourite?

Wakako is Vana’s favourite, no-nonsense, mysterious, doesn’t have to lift a finger, and scary as fuck. Her only aversion is Wakako’s connection to Tyger Claws, but fixers need a huuuge pool of contacts, so.

Her least favourite is Dino, just something about him she doesn’t trust. Mr. Hands also falls into that same vein, but at least he’s smart enough to hide his face.

(I hated El Capitan and his goofy ass hair at first, like he jus gave me bad vibes.,.,,,, but after doing more jobs for him like omfg he might be my fav. Straight to the point, all about biz, and well, if living w that clown ass hair is his truth, then all the more to u, king)

#thank u for the q's anon!!#:D #vana #vana lore #ask

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monster-addict · 5 years

Text

Unexpected

Orc x OC Multipart Fic - Part 1

Coming to university was a different experience than I thought, overall it was great. I had been going to my local college for some time until I got enough scholarship money to attend wherever I wanted. My friend Aria, had managed to convince me to come to her.

"Yes! I knew you'd come, I already told you about my roommate, bitch." She mumbled the last part.

"Yes, I remember, so you're living in the co-ed dorms right?" I asked her.

"No, considering I'm not a freshman anymore, I'm finally able to rent out one of the houses they have on campus. I asked the two dudes that were my bunkies to move in with me. It's like 5 bedrooms in the house so we all can have our own room."

She informed me on a lot of stuff as she helped me take my things in my room. I guess because they were orcs, everything was bigger, which I was glad about. She told me about how the two males orcs in the other rooms are really nice, and sometimes she hangs out with them. The great thing about this university is that no classes take place on Saturday or Sunday. Looking at my class schedule, most of my classes are in the morning, I'm not complaining about that.

"Oh Sky come here, this is one of the dudes I was telling you about. Skylar this is Orlov, O this is Skylar." She introduced us.

We shook hands, and they got to talking about class.

"What are you majoring in Skylar?" Orlov asked me.

"Umm, Biochemistry." I said.

"Oh, that's what Nick is studying, you two may get along." He said.

"Where is Nick?" Aria asked.

"At study hall, although I don't get why he goes there when no one else studies with him, he just sits there." He said.

I let them talk and I headed back to my room and pulled out my laptop, checking to see if I had any surveys to complete. That's one of the ways I try to get a little extra money. It was already a little late in the day. Aria came to my room and told me that they ordered some pizza. I ate then went back to my room, not really socializing that night.

I went to sleep, but I heard Orlov playing the game all that night. I was used to hearing that type of noise, so I went to sleep fairly okay.

When I woke up the next morning, no one else was up yet. I bought some groceries yesterday while me and Aria was bringing my stuff to the university. So I found everything I need and started to make breakfast for everyone.

Considering the fact that Aria and I have been friends for a pretty long time, I know how much orcs eat. I turned the oven on and made the bacon and sausage. I already had the coffee pot on, I was glad It was one with two pots. I made coffee on one side and tea on the other. Once I started to hear movement coming down the stairs I started on the eggs.

"Oh man, breakfast is being made." I heard a gruff voice, it was Orlov.

"Yeah, morning. How do you like your eggs?" I asked him.

"However is fine, same as Nick. He should be down soon. Aria is still sleep." He yawned and sat at the island.

I continued to cook and I heard someone else come down, Aria this time.

"I'm surprised you're up." I looked over my shoulder.

"And miss your breakfast, I think NOT." She stood beside me.

"Where's Nick?" She asked.

"He's upstairs, I thought he was going to be down before you." Orlov said.

They continued talking and I made the plates, we took them to the living room when Nick finally came downstairs.

"Hey man, what took you so long? Your plate is in the microwave, come on hurry up." Orlov said.

He didn't really seem to be that focused on what he was saying but he came into the living room with his plate.

"Nick this is my friend I was telling you about, Skylar." Aria said.

"Nikolai, but everyone calls me Nick. You got here yesterday, yes?" He asked me.

"Yup." I said.

The TV was on, but you couldn't hear it over Nick and Orlov talking. That's when Aria turned to me, and started talking.

"So, because I knew you were coming back, I got us some studio time for about an hour and a half." She told me.

"That's great, but I feel a 'but' coming." I said.

"Yeah, it's at 8 tonight." She said.

"Oh, that's fine, my first class isn't until 9." I told her.

"Oh god, you have that early bird schedule too, you and Nick are TERRIBLE." She said.

"Hey, Nick!" Aria called out.

"What's up?" He said.

"You mind taking Skylar to class with you, I'm pretty sure you guys have the same schedule." Aria rolled her eyes playfully.

"You're a biochem major?" He asked me.

"Yup." I said.

"Let me look at your schedule later." He told me.

"Sure thing." Then me and Aria get back to talking about dance.

I'm not sure how long we were in the living room talking, but Nick was the first to leave, talking about how he had to go meet up with his girlfriend. I got everyone plates and Orlov helped me clean them up. I heard Orlov say something about playing the game some more.

"Hey, you mind if I join you?" I asked him.

"What, to play?" He asked.

"Yeah." He looked at me in disbelief.

"Okay." He said.

I walked to his room, and it wasn't as messy as I'd thought it would be, he had a little sitting area to sit down.

"I planned on playing Fortnite a bit, but I'll put on Black Ops for your sake." He said.

We played multiplayer for a bit, then he switched it over to Blackout.

"You're pretty good at this." He looked over at me.

"I used to play all the time, I'm a little rusty." I say.

"I typically play with Nick, but I think I may need another controller." He said.

"Or I could by my own TV and console, that way we can just play like that, without having to compromise too much screen space." I said.

"Yeah, Nick has his own, but it depends on what we're playing, we just play in the same room." He said.

"Yeah, I get that." I say.

We played a few more games until I left the room and made me something to eat. I just made a sandwich, and drank the last bit of my tea from this morning.

Aria came in with some shopping bags, and I already knew what it was.

"Bitch, no you didn't." I looked at her laughing.

"If I get any time with you in the studio, AND if we get to record, bitch we gonna look good. Plus I picked you up your regular class attire in the school spirit." She said.

I followed her up to her room and she dumped all the clothes out on her bed.

Most of it was strappy tops and bottoms, our typical stuff we wear in videos. She showed me the sweatshirts and joggers she got me with the school mascot on them. Purple and gold, with the tiger mascot. She gave me every variation of color and style of sweatshirts and sweaters that were in the school shop.

"You do too much, but thank you." I gave her a hug.

I took the stuff back to my room and put it in the dresser.

It was nearing the time for our studio time, so I took a very quick shower and but on some jean shorts, fishnets, a black strappy sports bra and a white cropped hoodie. I finished the look with my black heels that looked like combat boots. I had my hair in box braids, so I just put them into a high ponytail with a struggle. Last minute, I put on my shade of dark red liquid lipstick and left to go to Aria's room.

"Let's go bitch." I said.

"YES BITCH! Snatching all the wigs tonight." She said.

She had on some white short shorts, and a red halter crop top with matching heels. I had my bag packed with a frozen bottle of water and two different sized towels, as well as some baby wipes.

We headed out and we walked to the studio and we checked in and got to the studio. She had her camera with her, and she lived streamed us dancing. She often posted videos on her YouTube, which is her main source of income outside of her parents. We just went over all the old dances we knew, and decided that the next time we come to the studio we'll create something new.

When you only have an hour and a half for studio time, it goes by really quick. By the time we were finished, we were sweating, but not drenched in sweat.

"It feels good being back in the studio." I tell her as we walked back to the house.

"Yes, it always feels good, especially dancing with you." She said.

"What do you want to eat when we get in?" I asked her.

"If you're cooking, it doesn’t matter." She said.

We walked to the house, to hear two orcs upstairs yelling, playing the game.

"I'm going to ask them if they ate yet." I told her.

I went upstairs, and followed the curses and grunting.

"Hey guys, do burgers and fries sound good?" I asked them.

They both turned their heads quickly towards me, but only Orlov replied.

"Yeah, thanks." He said.

I laughed at them and went to my room, taking a shower and cleaning my face. I put on some leggings and a tank top.

I went to the kitchen and started cooking. It didn't take too long to cook, so I made everyone plate. I figured Orlov and Nick weren't going to come down, so I took them their plates.

"Oh man, you're an angel." Orlov said as he took a bite.

"Haha, no problem." I said as I closed the door.

I went to Aria's room to watch some YouTube before I crashed for the night.

//Masterlist//

#orc x human #exophilia #gxf #unexpected

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rainbow-writers · 5 years

Text

Writing Snippet #22: Theme Song

The starting dialogue (the bits written in bold) are taken from @corvidprompts writing prompt. I love working with prompts like these, especially ones that fit my OCs so well :) thanks for the awesome prompt!

“I thought—I thought you were an infiltrations expert.” Kat raised her eyebrows, waiting for the other woman to respond.

It took a few moments of awkward silence, but then Natalia said, “I steal things, yes.”

Kat eyed the black bag Natalia was rooting around in skeptically. “You’re supposed to be good at covert ops.”

“Sneaky time!” Natalia grinned, pulling out a grenade launcher and a few sticks of dynamite, weighing them up in her hands. “Love it!”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Kat sighed. “Why are you... playing theme music.”

“Drama.” Natalia winked. “Mood setting.”

Kat took a deep breath, looking up at the sky and silently asking whatever god was listening to give her a hand in dealing with this woman. It was hard to pray when you a), had no faith, and b), were distracted by your partner playing Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees at full volume from her phone. She rolled her eyes, regretting each and every one of her life choices leading up to that moment.

“Roll your eyes all you want, sweet-cheeks,” Natalia chirped. Kat fought the urge not to roll her eyes again. “Don’t like the song?”

“I don’t like the fact that you literally don’t seem to care that we could get caught due to your—” Kat grabbed Natalia’s phone, much to her partner’s protests, “—theme music.”

“No need to be such an old woman about it,” Natalia grumbled, holding out her hand. Kat held the phone out of reach, and Natalia’s eyes hardened. “Give it here, Pearce.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s my phone!”

“Yeah, and this is my mission, which you were perfectly happy to mess up for the sake of theme music—”

“Give me back my phone!” Natalia jumped, managing to snatch it off of her partner, backing away. “Look, it’s not like the music made any difference! No one knows we’re here!”

“They’ll know if you keep yelling,” Kat hissed.

Natalia jabbed a finger at her. “You know, maybe you’re the problem.”

“Me? I’m the problem?”

“Yeah—yeah, it’s definitely you. It’s a you problem.” Natalia glared at her. “I mean, I’m just doing my thing here; besides, weren’t you the one who asked to work with me?”

“People seem to think you’re the best at this breaking and entering thing,” Kat growled.

“They don’t think I’m the best, Kit-Kat. I am the best.”

Kat folded her arms. “You call me Kit-Kat again, and I’ll copy the commercial and snap you in half.”

Natalia flashed a knife-sharp grin. “I’d like to see you try, sweet-cheeks.”

She brought out her phone again, and Kat’s eyes widened. “No. Natalia, don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare—”

Ah, ah, ah, ah, Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive...

“Relax, will you?” Natalia sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s fine. You should let loose a little. And—”

Kat started towards her, ready to throw the phone off of the fucking roof at this point, when there was a sudden pain in her hip. She looked down, seeing the stain on her black clothing, the bullet having gone in right between the plates of her armour. Fantastic.

Natalia’s eyes were wide. “Kat—”

“Turn the music off,” Kat growled, but even to her that sounded weak. “Turn it off now.”

There was a click, and then nothing.

Silence.

Peace at last.

Kat sighed, squeezing her eyes shut to try and deal with the pain. This was the last time she’d ever work with Natalia “Theme Song” Creed.

#Kathryn Pearce #Natalia Creed #writing #not a prompt #my writing #(taken from a prompt tho)#corvid prompts #thanks for reading #i'ma like #go #bye

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thadelightfulone · 6 years

Text

The Firm - Chapter 1

Prologue

Summary: Erik has been hired to find an embezzler.

Pairing: Erik x Black!OC

Genre: Suspense

Words: 2K+

Erik ran his hand through his dreads before excusing everyone from the conference room. This was his final meeting of the week. He did not realize how much work this new project would entail and he hasn’t even started it yet. As soon as he hung up with Green last week, he knew he would have to hand over everything he was working on, regardless of how much work he put in. This is an open-ended assignment, and he has no idea how long it will last, but he has to see it through to the end, no matter what.

Projects and assignments that were close to being finished or reaching a natural conclusion, he passed off to another member of his senior team. Newly signed contracts, delegated to the research department until they were assigned to another consulting team. It was nice to be your own boss, but he enjoyed putting in the work on his own. He stayed with a list of projects on his plate and now he had to let them all go just to help an old friend. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the open door.

“Mr. Stevens, your car is here to take you to the airport. I already emailed your trip itinerary to you. Have a safe trip, sir.”

“Thank you, Tiana. I’m on my way out now. Please lock up after me.” He grabs his luggage and briefcase before leaving the conference room. 15 minutes later, he is pulling up to the small jet sitting idly on the tarmac. As the jet takes off, he wonders when was the last time he stepped foot in the Golden State. He closed his eyes for a moment as sleep took over.

Erik was still out as the jet landed in the private field behind John Wayne Airport. The stewardess lightly tapped his shoulder to let him know they have arrived at their destination. He stood to stretch out his muscles, rolling his neck and shoulders before deboarding the jet with his belongings. He stalks over to his rental and puts his stuff away for the drive.

He puts on some music hoping to drown out the thoughts that are dwarfing everything else in his mind. Nothing helps so he gives up and turns it down. As the smooth sounds of Billie Holiday play in the background, he tries to collect his thoughts.

Green could have hired anyone else for this job. What about this woman makes him so protective that he had to call in his favor? He pinches his nose as his thoughts drift to Bridges. His breathing becomes more erratic, and his knuckles are turning white. Why did Green have to do this to him? Life was grand - his company was in high demand, he could write his own ticket for each new job, and he truly enjoyed what he did. As he focuses on the road ahead of him, he loosens his hold on the wheel, and he finally acknowledges that all he is today started way back then.

He made it to the waterfront condo he would be staying in until this job was done, dropped his luggage in the hallway, and threw his suit jacket on the chair in the back of the living room. Walking towards the bar by one of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city, he filled the tumbler with whiskey. He watched the drink swirling it around and lost himself in the waves they created in the glass, closing his eyes he thought about the moment he became indebted to Green.

--- 15 Years Earlier ---

Stevens made it about 3 klicks away from Green when he turns on his own radio to hear the call.

“Green to Command. Green to Command. We have a problem. Master Sergeant McCoy is non-responsive. Requesting back up at my location.” There is nothing but static on the line until someone at the Command Center responds.

“We have McCoy patrolling near the old house. Are you there? What are you seeing?”

“I am here; I was coming by to relieve him when he didn’t respond. I came upon the house, and he is on the ground around back. It looks like he was hit, but I cannot tell where.”

“Alright, we are sending back up. Be careful out there if he was ambushed; you could be in danger.”

“Thank you Command. I will stay in place until help arrives.”

Two more members of the unit and Stevens arrive to assess the situation. McCoy was pronounced dead at the scene. He was hit directly in the chest, his lungs taking the brunt of the impact. It was an uncomfortable death as he drowned in his own blood. Green found the bag and sniper’s rifle that was left on top of a shooter’s nest in one of the trees lining the property. Stevens exchanged looks with Green as the latter turned over the evidence to their next Commanding Officer. The unspoken agreement cemented at that moment with one silent nod and another confirming one.

Two weeks later, the whole unit is heading back to the states with McCoy’s body in tow. Until the investigation into his death concludes, they have been relieved from active duty. Stevens takes that time to sign his release papers. He only had another couple months before he would have resigned for another four years. Although, he loved it; this last time out in the field did something to him. His special ops unit saw more action than any other and some things happened that caused him to question everything he thought he knew.

--- Present Day ---

Erik threw back the whole tumbler in one go and refills it. Green had been right about him keeping tabs on the team. It was easy to do when you were on an Elite Special Ops team with eight other people. McCoy, Stevens, Green, Bridges, Daniels, Johnson, Patton, Christian, and Lee. Although, he worked hard to leave that time of his life behind him. He smiled at the knowledge that the individuals he bonded with were doing great things. Most blended into civilian life with ease after service. Some with white collar and blue collar jobs; then there are those like Stevens and Green who went into business for themselves using their skills.

He pulls the file for Green’s company from his briefcase and lays it on the counter. He knows the man’s life like the back of his hand at this point. Lifting the drink, he recites his bio for the thousandth time. Green, the trust-fund kid who went to school after serving his country. He earned his MBA from Cal State Fullerton and went on to start a philanthropic investment firm locally. His company deploys capital to both for- and non-profit entities. The firm helps other big companies look good as they try to expand their philanthropic efforts.

He sets down the empty glass and grabs his bag. Time to call it a night as he has an early morning and an even longer day ahead of him. In the bathroom, he works through his nighttime routine before retreating to the bedroom. He turns down the bed and lies on his back with his hands behind his head until his eyes close.

Erik slowly approaches the front of the high-rise building that housed Greenbridge Investments, Inc. It is in the center of Downtown Irvine, close to the other corporate offices of some big-name companies. It is a prime location to be right next to most of their clients. His hands are clammy as he reaches the glass double doors, inhaling and exhaling at a steady pace. Shakily, he opens the doors to the lobby. He knew why he was here, and he was happy to repay the debt, but he had so many questions.

He already knows what floor he is going to but takes a moment to take in his new surroundings as this will be his place of work for the foreseeable future. There is security around the open lobby layout, some in plain clothes. He notices the cameras moving swiftly over the entrance doors and by the elevators. One of the elevators has a key entrance. Leave it to Green to make sure he is in a secured metal vessel of a building. He looks at the directory noting that Greenbridge takes up the top five floors of the building, 30- 35. He walks towards the elevators when a flurry of activity passes his peripheral before he hits the ground.

--- The Night Before ---

It has been a whole week, and LaNyah is not any closer to figuring out why there are so many discrepancies in these reports. Every week, she runs reports on the money coming in and out of one of the biggest scholarship accounts that Greenbridge owns. Last week, she discovered that she could not make the amounts on the reports match the transactions from that same week. She decides to run the report for the last 3 months; one week is fine the next is inaccurate. Of course, this makes absolutely no sense to her because when she reconciled the reports within the week per usual, everything balanced.

Pushing the files away from her, she sighs as she looks over at her digital clock on her office desk. The blaring red letters reading that is after 1 am. She needs to get some sleep; she is supposed to meet with Green in the morning to report her findings. Standing suddenly, she tilts nearly falling into the lamp next to her. She pulls her glasses off and starts rubbing her hands over face, hoping that will clear up her vision. She has been staring at those reports for hours and lost track of time.

She sluggishly walks down the hall to her bedroom. As she prepares for bed, her mind keeps drifting back to the issue at hand. Shaking her head because she knows she cannot fix this tonight or even tomorrow, she climbs into bed. She spends the next two hours tossing and turning before her body settles, and sleep arrives.

The light coming in through her bedroom window wakes her up. Glancing at her bedside clock, she screams, “Damn it, I don’t need this shit today.” It is 7:30 in the morning and she has to be at her desk by 9 am. Tangled up in her sheets, she falls out of the bed onto her hardwood floors, slipping and sliding her way to the bathroom.

She is looking in the mirror huffing at her appearance. Of course, her hair decides it wants to add to her great start. Mouth full of bobby pins, she flats twists the front and pulls all her curls around into a bun at the bottom of her neck. Dropping by her office, she pulls the files and notes from her desk to take with her. Passing the kitchen on her way to the door, she grabs her tea, “Son of a bitch,” she screeches as piping hot tea douses her shirt and skin. “At least it didn’t get the reports, but I really don’t have time for this.” She drops everything on the kitchen table and runs back to her room to change her blouse.

Finally making it out the door, she figures she can change shoes at her desk. She arrives at the office, climbs out of her car, and scrapes her thigh on the door. Mumbling she looks at the run in her pantyhose, “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. We are ok, Nyah. We just need to make it to our desk and then get it together. These are small setbacks, and they will not ruin our whole day.” She shakes herself out to keep from breaking down in the parking lot. She gathers her heels, the file folders, and her purse before locking the car.

As she enters the lobby, per her usual she keeps her head down and doesn’t talk to anyone. She makes a direct beeline from the entrance doors to the bank of elevators. She is walking with such determination that she does not notice the man moving away from the directory to the elevators and runs smack into him.

A/N: As always, I have to thank my lovely beta, @thehonorablekingerik for telling me when to stop, HA. I am setting up a taglist, so please let me know if you want to be on it.

Taglist: @nemesispawn @killmongersaidheyauntie @shesfromwakanda @muse-of-mbaku @panthergoddessbast @youreadthatright @pananegra

Chapter 2

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x oc #black panther fanfiction #the firm #thadelightfulone

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sneakywitch-thief · 6 years

Text

Andromeda OC: Henri Ryder

So I finally got to playing Mass Effect: Andromeda. I dove into this game with the expectations of it being a turd of a game as the reviews said. I was convinced it would be horrible. EA Bad.

Nope.

While it’s got its flaws it’s fun as hell. Especially playing as Ryder, who I love nearly as much as I do Shep. I’ve only played female Ryder so far but it’s certainly been a good time. Looking forward to playing as a male next time around, though since I’m 100%-ing everything I’m definitely taking a break from this game! Things get, um, kind of repetitive after a while.

But I’m finding myself writing this post because my Ryder ended up becoming one of my favorite OC’s I’ve ever created. I’d write a fic to do her justice but I’ve already got a full plate. So I’m writing this instead.

Meet Henrietta “Henri” Ryder.

She’s adorable. And looks so dang young. Still losing that babyfat, almost. But those cute cheeks are scarred forever by her crushed helmet, to always remind her of the ultimate sacrifice of a father she had never really known. A horrible reminder as twisting as ugly as the Scourge, each and every time she looks in the mirror.

It had almost been her who had died... and perhaps it should have been.

Henri was a young and awkward grad student looking to gain her doctorate in xenoanthropology. Studied Prothean artifacts before her estranged father went and ruined her chances in achieving her dream. Or any, for that matter. So she joined up with the Andromeda Initiative as a sort of field science officer on the Pathfinder team.

Henri had not seen combat before Habitat 7. She wasn’t a peacekeeper -- she was a scientist and a scholar. Her twin Scott was the soldier, the beloved child of Alec. She still loved him dearly, but still felt lesser for having been born a Henrietta and not a Henry. Never really knowing Alec as Scott had.

She felt she was made Pathfinder simply because she was the only one around at Alec’s death. After all, it had been her fault he had died. And she was no soldier, no real explorer -- just a scholar. Of Protheans. She had likely only been admitted into the Pathfinder team in the first place due to her being the Pathfinder’s daughter.

All she had to defend herself against the kett was a pistol. She never strayed much from that, even as Pathfinder. And to stay true to this, I stuck with ONLY tech abilities and two pistols for the entirety of the game. Overload, Shield Drain, and my frisbee turret. Engineer 6, baby. (ended up being a bit OP, actually)

So with this initial handicap of sorts my game took a long, looooong time. In my opinion, and with all the wild goose-chasing and colonization you have to do all over the cluster without relays, the main questline of Andromeda alone would take months, if not years. Space is huge. And Rome wasn’t built in a day, so a colony on a hostile planet? Several? I tried to reflect that.

As the Initiative gained a better foothold in Andromeda over months of exploring and building, Henri started to grow in confidence in herself and her role as Pathfinder. She was good at it.

Or maybe it was just SAM who was good at it.

She grew her hair to hide the scar that reminded her of her failure, her guilt. She felt better for a time, keeping this from her mind. However, she still felt as though she was the cause of her family’s deaths -- and Scott’s coma -- and felt uneasy about herself. As if growing too comfortable would bring back ruin and tragedy back down upon her.

Her burning passion for discovery and science, as well as her know-how of foreign and alien cultures in defusing the Angara, enhanced her abilities as a successful pathfinder, though perhaps not the Pathfinder. Trailblazer, perhaps. Hopelessly lost person stumbling off a cliff and miraculously surviving, definitely. But still, she was surviving. They weren’t all dead yet, and the outposts built were, actually, thriving.

Enter Reyes Vidal.

To say Henri was swept off her feet was a vast understatement, as she had never really felt real affection before from anyone other than her mother and Scott, whom she had both lost. This shady smuggler in Kadara, he changed things.

He made her feel like someone worthwhile, not just as the human Pathfinder but as Henrietta Ryder. A lonely young woman in a galaxy full of horrors and terrors, it felt easy to be around him and to be herself instead of this bigger figure she had not the slightest idea how to be. She could be a young woman in love. With him, extinction and certain annihilation could be forgotten for a while. For fleeting moments, happiness.

Comfort.

He saw something in her that was beyond the Pathfinder, beyond SAM. Henri was there too, and he LIKED her. He knew and recognized that, and most shockingly to her, he actually wanted to be with her. Every instinct within her told her to run, he’s a thief, he’s a criminal. But she felt the same about him. They wanted to be people who mattered, and most of all, who mattered to one another.

It felt almost too good to be true when she gave herself wholly and heartily to him.

And what a charlatan he was. Lies. Manipulated into bringing Sloane to her ultimate death, Henri was too shocked to save her during this mockery of an honorable duel to save Sloane. The feeling of utter betrayal was crushing, and despite what he said, Henri knew she could never trust him again. He was a dishonorable man, a criminal, and for all she knew his feelings for her had all been a ruse to gain her trust.

Perhaps he was sincere, but to Henri, the idea of that made it all the more horrible. No matter what he said or what she told herself, she felt used.

She left him then as King of Kadara port, all that he had wanted. But she took her heart with her. In pieces, but out of Vidal’s hands before he could go and break it again.

Back on the Tempest, between FTL jumps, she lingered and ruminated on her failed romance with Reyes. Reyes, who despite her better judgement and sense of honor still very much liked. Gradually, these thoughts of betrayal and heartbreak turned on herself. Had she not been enough? No, she would never be enough. Alec deserved to be Pathfinder. Scott. Cora.

People even told her so, multiple times, directly to that scarred face of hers.

Literally anyone but her should be Pathfinder.

So Henri sheared off the hair that had made her feel good about herself. All that progress that had made her feel worthy, all that she felt had brought the heartbreak of Reyes upon her. Gone. She never got the facial reconstruction surgery urged for her by Lexi, who recognized the dangerous spiral Henri was going down.

But she needed to see that scar, let everyone see it, to remind her of all she wasn’t.

She threw everything into being a Pathfinder, running herself ragged for the sake of the Initiative. She gradually became more and more reckless in combat and exploring, almost with disregard to her own safety if it meant the completion of a mission or saving just one more civilian. (Her best friends Liam and Peebee were not good influences.)

She needed a victory after so much complete and utter failure at being someone.

However, her passion for alien culture and history earned herself a loyal friend and subject of study, Jaal Ama Darav. With Liam and Henri’s constant badgering, the three became thick as thieves. Then, to Henri, the unthinkable:

She attributed it to typical Angaran affection and blunt honesty; flowery words of politeness and friendliness, nothing more. Perhaps her interest in diplomatic relations and studying the Angara had been mistaken for romantic interest -- something that was not in Ryder’s particular set of skills. She didn’t want it to be.

So she distanced herself.

Hint not taken. Instead, he sent poems and e-mails, words of “I love you” and “dear one”, words that were to painful for her to ever hear again -- not after Mom, Dad, Scott... Reyes. People you love were people you lose.

It’s just culture clash, it’s just alien curiosity. Henri assured herself again that it ultimately meant nothing. At least, not until Havarl and the Roekaar. Jaal’s eagerness to show off his beloved new human friend to his turncoat siblings, his bravery to show down Aksuul with a gun held to his head -- perhaps there was more to learn about Jaal than about his species.

Jaal was more than just an Angaran ally, and to him, Henri was more than a human leader.

And so utterly enthralled with his human friend, or something more, Jaal brings her to meet his family. A huge family full of love and kindness and generosity. The likes of which Ryder has never known. She doesn’t know what to do in such a thoroughly alien situation. To be so readily accepted by strangers, in many more ways than one, to be known as Jaal’s “someone special”.

She’s overwhelmed. And Jaal brings her to his “tiny sanctuary” and opens up about himself, what he did as a child, stories of who he was. How she makes his heart sing, how he wants to be with her.

Henri doesn’t know what to do. She feels that Jaal is misguided, she’s an alien to him -- she’ll just end up destroying his loving family as she destroyed hers. She has to ruminate on it for some time, likely worrying Jaal terribly as he patiently waited for an answer.

Love could mean another Reyes, used for greater goals, but Jaal -- he wore his heart on his sleeve. And it was a good one. He was honorable, he was courageous, he was loving. Lies and trickery, those horrible things had belonged to Reyes weren’t anywhere in Jaal. And she felt now, realizing in his tiny sanctuary with this man who was just as curious and enthralled with her and she was about him, that he was safe -- no, that she felt safe around him. That she could.

So she said yes.

After acceptance by Jaal, her crew, even those at the Nexus who had doubted her -- Henri became a formidable and competent Pathfinder. Confident and strong. Literally forging her own path where there was none, damn all who stood against her. At this point she knew what she was doing.

While a peerless diplomat and cultural expert, she most certainly needed a few combat pointers. Still reckless and hopelessly inexperienced in a firefight, squadmates have to yank her down from an overly aggressive hover blast or pushing her reckless butt back into cover. Jaal and Drack admired her boundless courage, as thoroughly stupid as they admitted it might be.

Though Pathfinder and a brilliant scientific mind, she filled much more of an active support role in the squad than any sort of leadership role. She knew that she could never stand on her own as Pathfinder, something that she had been struggling with her entire time in Andromeda. But now she could accept that, that she didn’t have to stand on her own if she had a team, a family, to stand beside her.

And if I would have to pick a face claim for Henri, it would have to be the lovely and talented Alison Pill.

#sneaky speaks #mass effect #mass effect andromeda #andromeda #mea #my ryder #henri ryder #henri reference #my ocs #long post #long post under read more #long

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