#i will spare the halo tag and character tags from having to see this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 4 months

Text

I LIKE IT BETTER WHEN YOU CAN'T KEEP WARM | ODXNY

✮ tags ; heavy themes, gender neutral reader, mentions of past suicidal ideation, getting together, romantic tension, angst to fluff, extremely lovey-dovey ending, some implicit and suggestive content (lit one paragraph n non descript), themes of touch starvation, small height difference (reader is shorter)

✮ wc ; 6.3k (this is so shameful bye forever)

✮ a/n ; every time a semester ends i lose my mind and me writing this in several hours straight is evidence. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a character study with the central theme of loneliness, i'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

i will spare you the insane rambling for the authors note at the bottom of this fic.

✮ synopsis ; he wants something. to live maybe. and if he could be a little selfish, to be with you. he wants that, too.

Bright.

Could just be the dark room he keeps himself in talking. His computer system and encrypted Internet browsers are all in dark mode - and his desktop set-up doesn’t have any L.E.D. strip lights to keep him company. He prefers it that way, the ambiance a better environment to work in when he’s doing his usual rounds. Down to the programs U.I. - Odxny spends most of his time in perpetual darkness. Cozy and familiar - totally safe and secure. Nothing but the low whirrs of a computers fan and the faint blinking of routers to keep him company.

You’re the brightest thing he’s had on his screen in a long time. You’ve got white walls and no precaution, really. You’re sitting at your own desktop - and he can see everything of your life in the background of where you sit. There are photos of you graduating high school, being around unnamed friends, vacations and trips, and head shots like the kind you take for a resume. It’s all so personal. Bookshelves, trinkets, poorly made clay sculptures. Posters of musicians you like and Studio Ghibli movies. Evidence of life surrounds you like a halo.

Awful. Angel comparisons to someone he’s only known for a day make him wonder if he’s more pathetic than he thought. He probably shouldn’t think so hard about a stranger, a real stranger. Thrim generated randomly, though he thinks it sounds like a name. Finds it fun to say, for better or worse.

Natural light pours in from a window nearby, casting shadows in your room. He already knows you, in a way. He did the background search. Where you were born, raised, grew up. The schools you went too, the career you seek. Bits and pieces of you are all scattered in his memory and are not at all thorough. He wasn’t really trying for that at the time, just needed to know if you were dangerous. There’s a cognitive dissonance. To know a life so thoroughly and to witness it is completely, and utterly different.

There’s miles between you. Must be thousands. He can’t remember the last time he’s really met someone, though. It’s hard not to notice that this feels akin to that. Like the embers of a campfire, glowing but not burning. A comfortable warmth.

Bright. His screen is very bright talking to you. Even obscured behind the mask, it’s a little difficult to look at it and leaves him on edge - restless and mildly painful.

When his vision adjusts though, there’s clarity. A person, a stranger - with an exceptionally nice laugh and who is exceptionally trusting. Odxny tries not to think too hard about the feeling of warmth that flutters at your overflowing sincerity.

The conversation is easy.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Odxny pretends to think on it. “Enough to keep you around.”

“See you later.”

“See you.”

You accompany your last words with a wave - short and sweet. Darkness pulls him in, back where he started. He has a mild headache from all the light.

You pick up on the language better than he thought you would.

He underestimated you. Can you blame him? Your choice is language is ArnoldC, for fucksake. Sure, he has limited knowledge on esoteric languages but can it really be in-depth enough to show you the basics.

(It can. Or at least, Od presumes this to be the case because you’re rather helpful in Incri’s hacks and Incri is hardly helpful to anyone in the world, no less the server.)

You pick up on things quickly with little guidance - always to the point and not usually making many errors. He has to commend your abilities and give you credit where it’s due. It’s not a hard language to learn, but for anyone with no familiarity with coding at all he’d expect there to be a learning curve. Even if you had coding language, it’s not like you knew SQL coming in.

You fit strangely well into the server somehow. You’re happy to learn and nonplussed about helping with small things, though you don’t know these people at all and have no reason to participate in their nonsense. You talk to Incri fine, and manage to get Pep to accidentally reveal telling information. Odxny finds all of this rather… entertaining maybe. More than impressive, really.

He has a hard time making sense of the feeling. He would hope you don’t think you’re under duress - given the fact your relationship in two days has been pleasant. Then again - maybe he’s missed some social cue and you do think that. It’s possible. After all, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s spoken verbally to anyone with very, very few exceptions.

He manages to call you again after the fact - opens the call with sincere and heartfelt congrats and feels pleasant seeing you take the compliment in stride.

You land on the subject of programming again, inevitably. He interrogates you a little more over your choice in language - almost like he can’t help himself. It’s basic curiosity. You had said you were the best in ArnoldC. A little research proved that to be true, presence of you in the forums of various esolang pages. He landed on many things. You’re the best at ArnoldC, but you also know Brainfuck for some ridiculous reason.

He thinks you’re a little ridiculous in general.

“It’s really for the love of the game, huh?”

You nod when he asks this. Smiling, bright and unbothered with a soft edge of smug pride that makes the muscles of his face twitch up. “Mhm. I like my little collection.

Odxny doesn’t doubt it for even a minute. He’s seen the proof, but perhaps he doesn’t need to mention that. “Your trophy case of ridiculous language?”

Your eyes come to life all of a sudden. “Wait. A real trophy case would actually be so cool.”

He pauses, blinking as the words sink before a smile breaks onto his face helplessly. “That was not to enable you.”

“Too late. I’m already looking up the ugliest wood trim display cases I can find.”

The laugh comes naturally. “You really are just like this?”

You look proud again. “What? Fun?”

Yes, Odxny thinks but doesn’t say. “Baffling.”

You ask Odxny to elaborate and he does. The conversation flows with frustrating ease. So easily that he mouths off about his plans to you without a second thought. He doesn’t know why he does it. Not really. He’s thought it through over and over - so it’s not like he needs to disclose it. He made his choice.

He thinks about moving it along. About ending the call or simply brushing past without going into any detail.

When he glances at the screen, you’ve got a pillow in your lap and your eyes completely focused on him. There’s that feeling again, alarming clarity in your gaze and brightness that causes him immense unease in the world he’s made of nihilistic, apathetic darkness. There’s a plan, always has been. He’ll do this and disappear and the world will soon forget him. If it happens that way, than at least this loneliness is a choice he’s made for himself and not something the world has cruelly decided for him.

His lips move faster than his head, than even his heart. Compelled by a nameless and brilliant force. “I don’t have any reason to stay. I’m just — tired. Of everything.”

“No reasons? Nothing makes you happy here?”

His response is measured. Quiet. It’s not secret. He finds his voice crumbles around the words anyway as if they’re a confession. “Not for a long time. I don’t feel much of anything, really. It is what it is.”

You frown. He’s seen it all before. Heard it all before. “That’s…”

He cuts you off quickly.

“We just met. And we’ll be strangers again soon enough.” He says with as much conviction and resolve as he can possible manage. Who he’s convincing remains unclear. “So, not to be cold but..you know.”

The disappointment in your face leaves an impression, but you relent. He tries to make amends for the depressing conversation of talking again and you perk up so genuinely it makes want to cry, in a distant and foreign way.

“Catch you later, then.” He says, and closes at out the call. The room falls dark for the second time. He blinks a few times to get rid of the light clouding his vision.

Wnpep is eager to teach you on the third day.

You’re eager in reply - matching energy with sharp wit and enthusiasm. Wnepep is a better teacher than Incri by several miles. Evident in how much faster everything falls into place for you. Not that you really need too much help in the first place. You break down the crumbling walls of an insurance scam with ease and come out of the other side more accomplished.

It’s a noble last hack, Odxny thinks. Not unsurprising from Pep - unofficially the most sane and likeable member. He figured it’d be something like this less than a matter of personal vengeance.

You go back and forth for a bit in admin chat. Od types an apology about winding you up and tries not to read too much into the innuendo of it as you reply back with your own faux offended replies. He insists he’s somewhat sorry, and you’re far from believing him.

He finds himself grinning at his screen while he texts you mid conversation. When the realization hits, he almost curls into himself from embarrassment - a hand covering his mouth like it’ll do away with the grave sin.

The inneundo happens twice in one conversation, before you get to call under the premise of a victory toast.

A brief conversation about the last hacks barely leaves room for much else except Odxny plans of total isolation.

“Mm. I should’ve known it would come back to this. Why do you care what I choose to do with myself?”

That baffles you in a terribly genuine way. “Am I not allowed to care about another person?”

Odxny speaks honestly. “You are but I mean…” He trails off. He knows how he feels. “I’m not really a person anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no one. I’m going to be no one. You have other things to fill your life with.”

There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice that he winces at when he hears it. It’s true isn’t it? All of it is true to Odxny, but especially where he says you have other things to fill your life with. You might share the same hobbies, but he’s seen it. He’s seen how different you are - your livelihoods, your existence. You’d be missed if you suddenly disappeared. Odxny knows the same isn’t true for himself. It’s been like that for a long while now.

(It’s crushing. That’s what makes your very ephemeral existence feel like a burden. Why it casts the shadows of doubt on choices he made, about how he would live so long ago. You care, don’t you? At least, more than anyone else in his life in the present. You care so undeniably, and so obviously and it is all so simple to you.

He almost envies it. Almost resents it, too. It’s such a small shred of humanity, the barest forms of sincerity but it is painfully raw. A split nerve. An open wound It’s not like the server, all of whom have accepted this distant fondness. It’s a delicate thread - spider silk accuracy and just as much strength. There’s conviction in your missing him and it haunts him.)

You think of what to say for a long time before landing on it. “I do. But I can care about multiple things at once,”

It sounds like I care about you too closely. He finds himself shivering. He’s truthful with you, unsure of how else to be when it comes to these conversations.

“That sounds burdensome.” He says. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

You don’t lie to him either. “Sometimes. But it’s worth the trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because I like your company,” You reply. Soft sincerity in your words. More clarity. More painstaking light.

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“If it was that simple then -“ Then it makes it seem like things could be different. He doesn’t say that. Stops himself before it can happen. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. Why do I feel like I need to prove this to you?”

He’s almost afraid to look at your face, wincing when he sees how knowing you look. Not in a condescending way - but genuine, full blown understanding. Like you see through him.

He wonders if he knows you as well as he thought he did.

Your face is so sympathetic. “Are you sure it’s me?”

He cuts the conversation short on his own - making an awkward transition from the topic at hand into whatever he can manage. It’s an awkward fumble - a poor attempt at distracting both of you from this line of thinking. You’re kind enough to let him have it. He asks about your hobbies. You tell him about how you like to try the weirdest things and combinations you can find in a restaurant.

He finds it suits you.

A lot of things suit you. Even your piss poor attempt at the Terminator that he quickly mimics - possessed by god knows what.

You laugh when he does. Brilliant and bubbly and characteristically warm. You say the words through giggles.

“That was so bad!”

“It was a lapse in judgment,” He replies back defensively, smiling against his will. He finds himself laughing too.

“I like your laugh, by the way.”

He pauses caught off-guard. “Oh? My laugh. Oh, uhm. Thank you.”

You make a face that he can’t read. Knowing. In a different way than the last. He feels nervous.

“I have been laughing quite a bit, haven’t I?”

You grin. Smug and deliriously happy. “Sure have.”

He looks away from you. “Ha...Odd.”

You giggle again. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, nose scrunched in genuine delight. It’s a pleasant sound but not because it’s particularly wispy or floaty or delicate. But it’s real. Pleasant in the way the white noise of park during summer. Pleasant like the varied playlist overhead in a record shop. Pleasant like a moment of humanity tucked between everyday. He clears his throat.

“I like your laugh, I think.”

You laugh again, gasping with faux offense. “You think???”

He tries not to feel so grounded by that sound and fails. “Yeah. I think. Laugh again.”

He tries not to add please. You shake your head like you’re reprimanding him.

“No, no, you have to earn that. Make me laugh.”

“Nevermind. Shut up.”

You do laugh again that time. He joins you soon after. “And now you laugh? At me?”

The conversation moves again, comfortable like a tide. You ask about his favorite language and he tells you as much. You’re quiet and growing cheeky, listening to him talk.

“So you do like coding.”

“Maybe a little.” He replies, not giving in. “You remember far too much of what I say.”

The conversation comes to a close again. He thanks you for how nice its been and you make an off-handed attempt to get him to change his mind. You could always talk more. The implication delicate beneath it.

We don’t have to forget each other. Odxny brushes past it - but says he’ll see you tomorrow anyway.

Extorting Elimfs childhood friend (?) is an easy enough endeavor. Odxny texts you through out - to ask advice on what things to take when he leaves.

He calls you again when its over too. He can’t find a reason for it - nothing that makes sense. He just wanted to call you. He hasn’t wanted something like that in a while, but he tells himself its fine. This is the last time you’ll ever know each other.

So its fine. He won’t waver.

He’ll just.. call you.

He asks you on your weed habits, mildly surprised when you tell him you smoke and take edibles sometimes too. The conversation loops back to the fund at one point. You don’t hide your displeasure about the whole thing today.

You’ve talked about it already. No need to keep bringing up. But you seem to feel so strongly and Odxny can’t figure out why. Can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know why every single time.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’ve come to like you in a few days?” You ask, after probing.

“In a way that matters, yes.”

You frown at him when he says that. It’s the most upset he’s seen you look, if he can call it that. You’ve never been upset when he’s been rude or insulting - but this is bothering you. It doesn’t help him pull away from you.

He says it again. Reinforces how temporary this all is. He’s trying to convince one of you. Both of you, maybe, of his unimportance.

“I don’t think that little of you.”

He finds it hard to reply to that. It’s that feeling against. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s not empty platitudes or some vague sense of responsibility for his life. All of it is real, and all of it is meaningful in how plain it is. You make it seem easy.

“It’s life. It’s normal. People come, people go.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I can’t forget you that easily.”

He wishes you would. He’s painfully, painfully relieved that you wouldn’t it. He voices neither thought.

“Then- try! You’re putting so much on yourself, and for what? You don’t stand to gain anything.”

You shrug. “Peace of mind. Knowing you’re still out there.”

It’s heavy. The implication is heavy. He’s not going to kill himself. He doesn’t want that anymore, though he thought about it. At the beginning. Loneliness is more painful when you have memories of what not being that way was like - he thinks. At the start of all that loss, the hollowness bared an almost painful gravity inside of him.

It’s like being told to breathe or blink - becoming conscious of what was once a natural function, how full life was once when it’s escaped. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but living is meaningless.

These things aren’t paradoxical to him. They haven’t been for all this time.

(They weren’t until he met you at least. A mirror of wanting. Odxny looks at you and sees life reflected back. Despite it not being his, its moving. It’s beautiful in a human way, reachable. Tangible. Earned.

Wherever you are. Whenever you’re together, the black hole inside of himself seems to fade back into average planetary darkness. He becomes cruelly human again, feeling warmth and laughter.

He’s tells himself he’s not afraid of dying and that’s mostly true. He’s most afraid of living. Afraid he won’t be able to learn it again.)

He manages to tell you some of what he’s thinking. He has no clue how to start over. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. You don’t feed him any false hope, but he tells you how he sees it. You’re feeling pity for him right? And you should figure that out sooner rather than later.

“Is it really that easy for you?”

You shake your head. You’re smiling but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It isn’t. But I have to try.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“What?”

“Is this…?”

He cuts the call off when he hears himself, unsure of what answer he’s hoping for. The realization dawns on him too much, too quickly. The feeling of hope is loud in his chest but there is another feeling, embarrassing in it’s swiftness that follows shortly after.

Oh.

The servers shuts down after a mildly sappy adventure to close up shop. The closest Odxny has gotten to flirting with you in his own way. He’s sad to see everyone go, despite there being no other choice.

It’s easier than he thought it’d be. To give you his number he means, even after shutting the entire server down. After leaving everything behind. He gives you the choice to make. Call me if you still want it - a silent promise.

Maybe because deep down - some part of him always wanted to make this choice. Just maybe.

Your voice is different over the phone line. A little clearer, spoken softer. Just as lovely as it was the first time he heard it. Maybe more. Maybe.

The city beneath him is bright. So bright. It doesn’t hurt to look at, he thinks.

You call him every day.

You’ve been doing it for months.

He thought, at some point, you’d let up or start to forget. He’s been waiting on it to happen as horrible as it sounds. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d slip back into the background as is natural. A proof of his nonexistence, if you will.

You don’t forget though. He almost wonders if he’s dreaming when it happens. There’s a routine between you two, these days. You have your own life that you’ve been living the same as normal. When it’s night time for you, though - you hop onto your desktop and call Od like you’re two very average people.

There’s nothing solid to define your relationship aside from friendship as is. This is less frustrating than he expected it to be. Getting to know you better has only made him like you more. Your relationship is solid in a strange way. It’s been about six months total, and as corny as it sounds - Odxny feels like he’s known you for his entire life. You understand him in an intimate way, with vulnerable tenderness and radical acceptance.

He kind of misses the privacy of his old stomping grounds, but he doesn’t mind speaking though discord. It feels… normal. In a not displeasing way. You mostly talk to talk about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s your job search, other times it’s your part-time or friend drama. You’re vibrant as always. Without the wall of anonymity, Odxny gets to know of you like he’s just your average person. He finds he really, really likes that.

You play games together frequently. He’s never been interested in cozy gaming, but you play Minecraft and Stardew Valley together per your request. Odxny streams himself playing Ocarina of Time for you on Discord in the background sometimes too, and you keep it on when you’ve got work to do or you’re cooking or something else. There’s something very mundane to it.

You’re not doing anything with him today though. You’re calling him on facetime, rather than at your desktop. You’ve made the executive decision to laze around and Odxny has no problem joining you though you speak less than usual as a result of being sleepy. You had a long shift yesterday so perhaps Odxny can’t blame you.

“Need to get better shoes. For walking and stuff.” You say thoughtlessly. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Yeah?”

You nod. Your face is smushed against your pillow at an unflattering angle. He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’m on my feet for like nine hours when I serve and it hurts wearing flats. Need something sturdier even it diminishes my drip.”

He laughs at that. “Please never say that again.”

You continue onwards. “Decreases my aura, even. But alas, utility comes first.”

He snickers as he glances at you through the phone. You’re propped against one of his monitors as he does work on his computer. He’s getting back into programming for the love of the game, just seeing what he can do.

“Want help looking?”

“Feels a little ridiculous asking a super pro-hacker to shop Sketchers with me.”

“You seriously thinking of buying Sketchers?”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I’ll get tipped more if I get the light-up ones.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hater.”

You break out into genuine laughter as Odxny shakes his head in despair. It’s something you’d do, no doubt. You sigh.

“I really do want a break from work.” You roll around on your mattress. Odxny can hear your rustling but can’t see you much. “The chains of capitalism shackle me in place. Woe is me.”

Odxny thinks on what you’ve said for a long while in silence. The question comes up every now and again though he’s never brave enough to ask it. His ludicrous amount of disposable income however is still sitting in his bank, collecting dust. It’s been six months and he’s hardly made a dent in it.

“Do you want to come visit?” He asks, cringing at the sound of his own voice. The words are strained and a little too eager. “I can pay the difference for expenses for wages and stuff. And, uh. Uhm,”

He loses his train of thought trying to speak, worsened by the way you pop onto his screen when he says that. Your expression is unreadable to him, comfortable and even. You smile a little as you lift the phone so he can see what you look like laying in your bed. Your face is in full view.

“It’d be a little weird to visit you before we start dating officially, no?”

His eyes go wide at the implication. You grin, mischief and mirth making your eyes practically beam. He can feel a blush crawl up his neck as soon as he registers it.

“Excuse me? Why are you saying that like it’s already been decided?” He bites back, not sure what else he could say.

“So you don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t- you - damn it,” He groans at his own bluster as he giggles on the other side of the line. So cheeky. Damn him for liking it and damn you for being cute. “…You are saying you like me right?”

Your face softens. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Uh-huh. Just wanted to take it slow. But I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“How long is that, exactly?”

You shrug playfully and the fact he can’t be within reach to kiss you feels especially harrowing. “A secret.” You smile again, all trouble. “So. Wanna date?”

“Terrible confession. Zero stars,” He says petulantly. He leans back in his chair and finds himself smiling uncontrollably. “Fine. I guess.”

Your laugh fills his room. He doesn’t get tired of hearing it. His face hurts from smiling.

He manages to stave off on the anxiety of you coming to see him for a lot longer than he thought possible.

Making arrangements proves to be a little difficult. You have to tell your roommates that you’ll be gone for a while but promise to still pay rent and explain to your boss where you’re going. You have a good enough relationship and have been working long enough for them to agree to keep a spot open so you can start working when you come back.

After that, there’s the matter of Visas. Odxny goes out of his way to make that process go much faster than normal, though he doesn’t actually tell you. Once all of that’s sorted, there’s living arrangements. Try as you might to insist to live somewhere else, his place is too spacious for him to let you stay anywhere else. You can take the guest room.

He pretends that all of this is just happening in his imagination. He doesn’t even know the last time anyone came over, let alone lived with him. He does his best to make things presentable, and makes a guest room for you to live in should you desire. He even buys more decor (plants and things) to make it look… less like a cave and more like a home.

Nothing really feels real until the day arrives though. It’s a long flight and difficult trip. You refused to let him pay for the tickets so he moved it around to get you into first class both ways through other methods.

You text him the terminal, the arrival time, any and all delays. Still. None of it feels real until he’s already waiting for you near the bags. He can feel his heart race, his lungs short of air. He’s never experienced something so ridiculously contradictory in his entire life. He wants to run away while feeling stuck in place.

The anticipation nearly kills him.

He would recognize your voice anywhere though. Like he did for so many days alone in the dark. A hand waves high, shouting as loud as it can.

“It’s you!”

The sound of sneakers skidding across tile floors make his breath hitch. His eyes go wide as you stand still in front of him, luggage in hand and a million-watt smile on your face. He feels his heart beat so loud, he wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“Hey.” He says, dumbly.

“Hi!”

The adjustment period to living together isn’t what he expects.

It’s been a long time since he’s been so close to another human being. It becomes clear that you’re really living together though when your things end up in the bathroom completely incidentally. There’s something about finding your sleep shirt on a towel rack that makes reality settle in. You’re living together.

He’d be stupid not to notice the purposeful distance between you. An attempt to be thoughtful and not overwhelm him. It’s never awkward when you’re together. You eat together, watch movies and play games while sitting too close on the couch. You’ve been on a date in the two weeks you’ve spent, and it barely took any convincing on your end to make him go along with you.

Isolation aside though, Odxny is not clueless to the conventions of modern dating. You avoid touching him too casually. He doesn’t blame you, but he can’t help but crave your presence with a little more bittersweet longing as the days pass. He has to get past it or bring it up eventually, but it feels like something he’s never going to get over somehow.

The opportunity to do so gets thrown at him all at once. You’ve been living together for sixteen days. A conversation about love languages is what undoes it.

“Whats your love language, Od?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Dunno actually. Never bothered to look.”

“I’d guess… hm. Quality time maybe? Or words of affirmation.”

He shrugs as he sits next to you on the couch, glancing at your phone as you read through the different ones. “What’s yours?”

“Physical touch. I’m super touchy. With anyone who will let me, honestly. Bad habits.”

Odxny gives you a long look as you say it. He debates if he should bring it up.

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know?”

You look up at him, startled by the comment. Several things pass over your face before you settle on an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t want to be too much for you.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” He says automatically. You laugh good-naturedly.

“Your confidence is assuring, but you underestimate how touchy I am. I’m afraid of I get my hands on you, I’ll never let go again,”

He thinks he wants that more than is normal. He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

You give him a long look, seeming struck by an idea, before humming and standing up. You turn around with your hand out towards him. His brows furrow in bewilderment.

“Have some faith.”

He takes your hand and stands up with you. He likes that he’s taller than you. Staring at you, he feels your fingers clasp around his hand and his heart thuds - loud and messy.

“Your room or mine?”

“What?”

You laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Or don’t actually, but I don’t bear lewd intentions.”

He crinkles his nose at the word usage and laughs. “Shut up.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He concedes with embarassing swiftness.

“Okay.”

You lead Odxny to the guest room you’ve been living in for the last two weeks. The bed is well-made and all the new furniture he bought is occupying so many of your belongings. It makes him dizzy. You shut the door behind him as you lead him in. It just feels especially surreal.

Wordless, you let go of his hand and hop up onto your bed. Once you’re laying down, you prop up on your side with your elbow and pat the empty space next to you, smiling at him as you do. Once it clicks what your asking, he can feel his face grow hot. He can’t refuse it though, and he doesn’t want too.

The sheets you bought together smell like you. Between there’s practically no distance between you at this angle. He’s gotten to look at you plenty through these few days but it’s different. You scoot impossibly close to him until there’s nothing separating you.

Your breath is warm - a soft exhale leaving your lips as you inch closer.

“What’re we doing?” He asks in a murmur, stone stiff. You smile, coyly.

“Touching each other.”

He frowns at the joke. Your expression goes a touch serious right after. The sincerity is debilitating. “Can I touch you?”

He nods. Can’t do much more than that.

He stares at you with impending, long-suffering longing as you bring a single hand to his face and cradle his neck. He flinches unintentionally, but pulls your hand back when you try to move it. He wants this. You relax a little when he does that.

Your hands are softer. Softer than a heartbeat. He can feel the various cuts and scars from years of working against his skin but they’re still so soft. He can feel how warm you in such a brief touch his chest aches. Your hands cradle his face tenderly, thumb brushing across his lip with a smile brighter than thousands of lights. Something in your expression wreaks havoc on his heart. Something so raw and so gentle and so full within it - all directed towards him.

It’s been so long. So long. He’s never wanted something so bad he couldn’t remember needing. He’s never wanted to be closer to someone than he does to you in the moment.

“You’re handsome,” You say, so sweetly. Not a confession, but gentle appraisal. It’s rare he cries but he wants too. “I like looking at you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” He rasps, gravel in his voice unfamiliar.

You hum a little. Closing the space between you with a press of lips. It’s not chaste. Odxny is grateful for how long and how deep you linger. He wants it so badly. He wants you in some damning and unforgiving way. How could a human being feel so warm? Feel so pleasant with so little?

You press your foreheads together. His hand trembles when they grip onto your waist but you encourage him just a little. It’s just a kiss. His heart might beat out of him. It’s just a kiss. He thinks he loves you.

Your hand moves away from his face. You let it go underneath his loose shirt to touch his shoulder, running your palm down the plane of his chest. You squeeze his waist, and wrap your arms around his back and pull him to you until your bodies touch somewhere in the middle.

You guide his face to your neck and chest as you hold him. He grips onto you tight in response, a gasp in the back of his lungs at the sudden sensation. You coo above him, soft and light - your fingers threading through his hair and nails massaging his scalp.

Your voice sounds above him, despite how deep in a haze he is. He can’t do anything but cling to you with impossible longing. You speak softly as you pet him. Your heartbeat soothes his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tell him. There’s that familiar clarity that makes him want to cry. “I’m glad you let me come with you.”

He can’t think of anything to say back. It’s a soul-shattering emotion. “I love you.”

You laugh wetly above him. “I love you, too. So much.” And then much softer. “Let’s be together for a long time.”

You lay in each others arms until sunset. In small talk and silent murmurs. It takes him hours to work up the courage to kiss you again - but only minutes to take it further.

It’s desperate. Terribly. Inevitable. You’re beautiful in a way that is undescribable, best expressed through his teeth on your neck and his hands all over where he can reach - each grip and thrust and bite a reminder. You’re pretty when you’re pleased, warmth reaching up inside of him whenever you make the right face.

He buries himself in you. You’re soft and warm and beautiful and he wants to stay with you. Time is a thief. He damns the sun when it tears you from him come morning.

He decides to make breakfast when you wake up. Nothing complicated. You go to shower after him and he plates up toast and eggs and other various things. It’s half done when you come downstairs.

Your skin is still damp, and you smell of vanilla and soap. Your coffee sits in a cup on the table as you pad over to him. He turns to look at you as you reach your hand up and cup his face. You pepper a kisses along his cheeks stopping at his lips for the last one before you’re satisfied.

He fails in his attempt not to blush.

“Morning.” You grin. He tries not to be sick at the domesticity of it all and fails.

“Yeah. Morning.”

You sit at the counter and drink your coffee, glancing outside the window. “It’s bright outside.”

Odxny can’t tear his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” He agrees. He’s not torn his gaze away. “Very bright.”

✮ a/n ; i want all real life compsci men to kick rocks but odxny sweeped me off my feet in a way i can only describe as humiliating. he is a bit like astarion for me in that i see a lot of myself in him at least in the past. he is also incredibly babygirl and uhm . other things (fine. he's very gorjus.) but i truthfully was most compelled by his idealized idea of isolation. as the fic will show it resonated with me as a fellow compsci dork who also tends to isolate like crazy LOL

this fic was like a demon that possessed me. literally no meds, no caffiene - just balls to the wall demonic possesion of needing something out of my system LMAOO. and adhd of course. im working on all the other stuff too i promise. consider this a short interlude 👍🏾

#seekL x reader #odxny x reader #seekL #odxny #girl how the hell am i meant to tag this #normal fandoms tagging ettiquette means no fic but i dont think it applies here #what is my problem so genuinely

581 notes · View notes

morganas-pendragons · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,394 times in 2022

That's 366 more posts than 2021!

179 posts created (13%)

1,215 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@morganas-pendragons

@authortobenamedlater

@embarrassedauthornerd

@thelvadams

@mcbride

I tagged 1,184 of my posts in 2022

Only 15% of my posts had no tags

#show: hotd - 69 posts

#halo spoilers - 63 posts

#twd spoilers - 58 posts

#show: kenobi - 53 posts

#show: halo - 49 posts

#c: obi wan kenobi - 45 posts

#show: moon knight - 44 posts

#batfam - 42 posts

#moon knight spoilers - 41 posts

#kenobi spoilers - 39 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#kix getting adopted by obi-wan bc he's force sensitive and obi-wan found out he was gonna get decommissioned so he said screw the kaminoans

My Top Posts in 2022:

Nobility | Elijah Mikaelson

as I am writing this I am currently on 4x17 of the vampire diaries and I had a whole dream about this man last night that prompted me to write this fic. and he's hot. okay. I love the complexity of his character.

anyway, this isn't too long but I had to get this out. possible part 2 if you guys like it. enjoy!

***

He's not somebody worthy of being loved. He knows that. Someone who has committed the atrocities he did, someone who had lived a long enough life to be sure that he was at peace when death came for him.

Pushing people away is better. Mikaelsons are artists at that. When you have lived long enough to see the same eyes in different generations of people, it becomes difficult to allow yourself to feel things like what Elijah believes himself to be feeling right now.

Love, if memory serves him correctly.

You were just a simple person. Someone who didn't ask for a lot, someone who took joy in the little things rather than the things that often drew people to him and his brothers. Money. Extravagance. You were not interested in that.

You were just interested in him. The man across the cobblestone street who would simply stand by and watch you play violin from dawn until dusk. The way he would always smile when he thought you weren't looking and the way his eyes looked when the sunlight reflected off of them just the right way.

You found beauty in the every day. Him? He was ethereal, and that drew your attention.

He almost never approached you for the first several weeks that you took your street corner, but every time you came back from your breaks you found two hundred dollars in your violin case.

Generous and curious. Interesting.

The days that handsome stranger was there the most was when you played older music. It seemed to ring familiar to him. Like it reminded him of something better. When you recognized what his favorites were, you made an effort to play only those whenever he came around.

It's a shame he was drawn to you so easily.

"Excuse me?" That wonderful, brilliant accent rang clearly behind you as you turned away from the coffee stand parallel to your corner. "I thought I would formally introduce myself to you. My name is Elijah."

Of course you knew who he was. The Mikaelsons had only helped established New Orleans. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Mikaelson." You replied. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

He was handsome, dressed in that deep navy suit with the crisp white tie. Dressed immaculately and finely groomed. Someone definitely had an appearance to maintain.

"I'd rather you give me your name."

You smile around the plastic rim of your cup as you reply with your name. His eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles as he hears it. It's just as lovely as you are.

"And yours?" You ask.

"Elijah. Elijah Mikaelson."

***

Christmas came easily enough. Tips were always better around this time of year, and you were meant to be one of the featured violinists in the Christmas festivities on the square. People came and people went. You were always smiling. Always joyful.

The world had spared you from pain.

Or that was at least what Elijah thought.

"Where is this girl that you haven't stopped yammering on about?" Klaus remarked as the two of them moved down the cobblestone street in the direction of the Christmas lights and the smell of hot cocoa. "Because I have heard many a violinists in my day but with the way you talk about her-"

Elijah jabbed his brother in the side and pointed to the stage. There you were in all your glory, dressed in one of those typical Santa suits for women that was just a little bit too short and had that ridiculous hat. He'd never understood the purpose behind that story that catered to children's dreams.

"Her. That's her."

"Ah, I can see why you're drawn to her." Klaus murmured. "Innocence is not something we're accustomed to, brother."

Maybe that's why he was so drawn to you. You in all your innocent beauty, a simple human, someone he was so desperate to know to see if this one person... this one girl.... could help him believe the one thing about himself he's been trying so hard to deny.

See the full post

155 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

fragments | the master chief

This is entirely @embarrassedauthornerd fault. She sent me the idea when I said that I wanted to write John fic for the show, and this happened. It will be multiple parts. Please tell me what you think. Likes tell me nothing. Reblogs, comments, anything is appreciated!

and if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! this contains spoilers for the first two episodes of Halo. Female!Reader. Enjoy!

***

Things are coming back to him in fragments. Memories. Soft, monochromatic pictures and faces of people he was not supposed to forget. John knows deep in his heart - something that is never supposed to lead his actions, but here he is anyway on the run from the UNSC - that what he keeps seeing every time he touches the object is something Halsey took from him.

He wants to hate her, but how can he? She raised him. Morphed him into who he is. Catherine Halsey was the sculpter of everything The Master Chief is known for.

What John fails to understand is why you are in them. There are two adults, rolling hills and a white dog, and a girl who smiles at him like he is the reason for her happiness.

The imagery always shifts though. Your face is the only one that does. The rest is pure, untainted, hidden away in the corners of his mind, and only triggered by the object that cannot be named.

When you are not smiling, you are screaming.

And that petrifies him. The infamous Master Chief Petty Officer, the pride of the military and humanity, is afraid of and for you.

You should be looking harder for me, John. Look deeper.

He's only just finished his conversation with Halsey in his cell when he dares to broach the topic. She's been regarding him with such a soft look, such a look of concern but he knows it's just masking the intrigue for whatever he endured when he touched the object the second time. Data. Catherine Halsey lives and breathes discoveries.

117 has to learn autonomy: He is not hers, he is not a tool. That's right, John. You're human. Blood and flesh and bone with a heart that is only yours. No one can take that from you.

John swallows the knot in his throat and carefully considers his words.

"I've been seeing something else. Another person I don't remember. There are people. Multiple."

"Oh? And who might this be?"

He pauses and closes his eyes again to picture you. Shimmering hair that's a color he can't quite discern, eyes that seem to stare right through and into him, hands that cradle his face and run thumbs against his jawline just gentle enough that the touch is almost imperceptible.

The image flickers. You're smiling, then screaming, and then there is simply darkness. No other memories remain. He is so desperate to know you. Who are you? Why do you make him feel safe? What are these memories that are just out of his grasp?

"A girl." His expression is grave as he meets Halsey's gaze. "Not just a normal girl either. I knew her. Well. And I can't-I need to remember her."

Halsey flashes one of those smiles - that condescending, wicked smile - before she gently squeezes his hand and stands to her feet. "No, John." She replies cooly. The way she so easily brushes off his pleas speaks volumes. "You don't need to remember. That's not the mission here. The mission is to understand the effects of the artifact and what it contains inside."

The mission is to understand the weapon, John. You are not a priority. Your desires are secondary to that of the UNSC. You are a tool. A weapon. And weapons do not get to plead to remember fragments of memories that may not even be real.

John gives a curt nod as she slips out the door and disappears. He is alone with his thoughts. His dreams.

He dreams of dancing. Something he'd never seen himself doing, but someone had coaxed him into doing it after a lengthy lesson. He'd stumbled over his feet at first and had blushed through his embarrassment, but you had simply brushed it off with a shy smile and encouraged him to try again.

So he did. That night, John dreams of dancing.

As John sleeps, Halsey paces. She knows exactly what he is talking about. That girl had been the other candidate to be conscripted into the Spartan 2 program at the beginning of her work. She had failed the preliminary checklist and had been removed, effective immediately.

Or they'd tried to until John had become attached to her. And well, attachments for Spartans are forbidden. The UNSC cannot allow their prized Spartan to be attached.

So they'd done what they saw fit. They had broken that girl down to the very fabric of what makes a human human, wiped it clean, and reprogrammed her to be their best.

Their best headhunter.

The one with fragmented memories of a boy.

****

See the full post

185 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

succumb | the master chief

summary: john dreams of the one thing he’s desperate to have. You.

Sometimes in the quiet hours of the morning, John dreams. They’re fairly simple dreams when he’s younger. Dreams of desire to be able to live the childhood he knows deep down he will never have. Dreams to be back home on Eridanus II, surrounded by the love of his mother and father, and running with reckless abandon through the forest he calls home.

They change as he gets older. His dreams shift from home to horror. There’s no longer dreams of light and happiness and freedom. It’s just war.

That is.. until he meets you. John meets you, a fragment of a memory from his past, and he’s suddenly dreaming of something he hasn’t dreamt of since he was a child: Home. Waking up beside you, brushing hair from your face and admiring your beauty even in sleep, being able to feel you and call you his...

It’s a dream.

A dream he welcomes openly. It prompts him to want to sleep more.

The ones that make desire pool in his stomach are the ones where Silver isn’t around. Where he’s alone in the bunk room and dressed only in his fatigues, battle weariness settling on his shoulders so much that his body cannot carry weight anymore and he leans forward to hide his head in his hands.

That’s when he feels the ghost of lips against his arm. He already knows what it’s from. A side effect of the augmentation, the scar is thick and ridged and stands out so starkly against his skin that it’s practically impossible to hide. John had never been fazed by them before. He wasn’t one for insecurities.. but he had been so nervous once he started thinking about what you might think about his scars.

That was why he’d hidden them.

Until now.

John’s entire body shudders at the sensation of your lips burning his skin, fingertips trailing across his hipbones and upward until they settle just over where his heart is pounding.

“I wish you knew how loved you were, John.” Your voice is so soft he nearly doesn’t hear it even in the quietness of the room.

He doesn’t reply. John’s head slowly tips to the side, and he slowly breathes through his chest constricting and the dizziness that settles upon him whenever you begin to kiss your way upward to the column of his neck.

“I don’t deserve to be loved this way.” The words are out before he can stop them, and The Master Chief whines when your touch disappears just briefly before he’s then being pinned to the bed, his wrists trapped by your hands above his head.

What a view. He’s grown so used to sorched battlefields and the echoes of screams, but the view of the person he loves poised above him with that fixed, intense stare that screams adoration is something he can get used to.

He craves that. Wants that.

Is desire human?

“You listen to me, John-117.” Your voice is firm but gentle as you lean in closer, closer closer close enough that he can feel your breath fan his face as your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips. “I don’t care how much blood is on your hands. I don’t care what sins you’ve had to commit. I am yours...”

Your lips hover just over his.

“And you are mine.”

And he always wakes up before he can kiss you.

***

One day, I will kiss you.

He seeks you out like a man on a mission the follow day. You’re alone in the gym set aside for the Spartans, back turned to him as you continue to aim your wrapped hands at the punching bag.

Heat pools in your stomach at the thought of John standing across from you, bare chested and poised to fight, and there’s something deep in you that says you want him to. You want him to pin you down with his body and kiss you until your lungs scream for air and your lips are swollen.

Is desire a human need?

Might as well be. It’s all you’re capable of feeling when you’re in proximity of the Master Chief.

You stop mid-stride to peer over your shoulder as the door shuts behind you. John moves in with all the grace of a battle hardened warrior, and you barely have enough time to react before his gaze is fixed on you.

Hungry.

See the full post

216 notes - Posted May 18, 2022

There’s Only Legacies Burning | O.K.

[not my gif!]

Guys, truthfully, I am not okay after watching that episode. It sucked for me. I'm not someone who usually reacts to TV and what tv shows bring because I'm aware it's not real, but this episode felt so real it made me physically nauseous despite how excellent it was.

spoilers for Kenobi 1x03. let me know if I should write for him again!

tagging my name twin @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories

He can't breathe. Everything is encompassed by fire, and he can't breathe.

Part of him knew that this day was going to be coming. Even if he hadn't been entirely aware that Darth Vader was walking around in the body of his former Padawan, Obi-Wan knew that he would have to face the main who had essentially brought the galaxy to ruin.

It didn't mean he couldn't try to run from it.

Leia and Tala and yourself were safe. He was more then okay with being the diversion if it meant you and Leia got back to Alderaan. He had accepted Death as a gift a long time ago. This would be okay. He would be okay.

Because wasn't he always? People knew him as Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Master of Soresu and a Jedi so steeped in the Light Side that he practically embodied it.

The war he wasn't even supposed to be fighting in just kept taking and taking and taking. Jedi were not soldiers. They were never meant to be soldiers, and yet the Dark Lord of the Sith had orchestrated an entire war that had inevitably led to their downfall. He had lost, time and time again. Lost Qui-Gon, lost to Maul, lost Satine, lost Ahsoka and Anakin... he was so used to losing things, losing people, that he seemed to have forgotten what it was like to succeed. To win.

If only The Great Negotiator of Yesterday could see him now...

He had lost. They had lost. What was the point of fighting, of trying to be someone of a long-dead era, when there was nothing left to fight for? What was the point of trying to stay loyal to the Light when the whole galaxy was encased in darkness and death?

He looks at Leia's face and sees it then, just moments before they part. The reason why he's decided to do this. Hope. Joy. The promise of a future.

But when he looks at you? There is all of the love he feels as if he has been deprived of. Loving you, being with you, is like replenishing the air that has been snatched from his lungs and granting him the ability to remember what it's like to properly breathe again.

When he looks at you, the embers of the man who compose Obi-Wan Kenobi begin to grow stronger, and the pieces are slowly put back together by the capable hands of someone who has always held his heart.

It's a shame that he will now die without it.

"Now you will suffer, Obi-Wan. Your pain has only just begun.”

It’s fitting, now that he thinks about it. Even if Anakin always did have a flare for the dramatic. Obi-Wan had left him in the prime of his suffering and his rage when he’d departed from his brother’s burning body on the banks of Mustafar. Those fires had burnt away what little remained of Anakin Skywalker and had birthed Darth Vader.

These fires will burn away the last of Obi-Wan and birth Ben.

The fire goes out for a miraculous reprieve, but Obi-Wan finds himself unable to move very well knowing that he’s failed his mission. Again. He failed you, and he failed Anakin, and he failed Ahsoka and Luke and Leia and Cody-

“Bring him to me.”

Somewhere in the distance he hears a cry from a stormtrooper - a failed attempt to recreate the soldiers that the clones had once been to the republic - as a teal lightsaber flies out of the darkness in a wide arc around Vader that seemingly takes out every single trooper who had been looking to kill him.

Vader tilts his head. He clearly wasn’t counting on you, emerging from the dark right in between himself and Obi-Wan.

Your saber flies back into your hand to be gripped by white knuckles.

“I believe you’re trying to take something that doesn’t belong to you, chaak’ar. You don’t get to have Obi-Wan.” You tilt your head to the side in a manner that just screams threatening. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Vader is not amused. “Your devotion to the Light is futile. Your anger and your bitterness would have made you a fantastic Sith apprentice. If only you had seen it sooner, then you would not have suffered the fate of falling in love with the man who made me this.” Vader replied.

You rolled your eyes. Even if this.. thing... had taken over Anakin’s body, he still had the ability to somehow make everything seem much more dramatic by making it about himself.

“I’ve heard enough of your lies. You were the one who failed. Failed me, failed him,” You point behind you at the ground where Obi-Wan lays. “I came into Anakin’s life too late. I know that. Despite that, when we loved him time and time again, loving him then and loving him now only made us weak.” You loosen the grip on the hilt of your blade and eye the machine in the corner, in which you most definitely intend to use the opportunity of an explosion to slip away into the night. “Goodbye, Lord Vader.”

Your saber flies toward the panel, and Tala watches as you and NED bend down to scoop Obi-Wan up while fleeing under the cover of night fall, leaving Lord Vader to watch the flames dissipate before him.

See the full post

336 notes - Posted June 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Accurate representations of my mood after moon knight episode 5:

See the full post

419 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

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

2 notes · View notes

lgg5989 · 2 years

Text

Church Encounters Chapter 10

Hey guys! Thanks to everyone for your continued support of this fic, @barbiewritesstuff and I are having a great time writing it. She is posting this on her tumblr as well so jump over and give her a like or a comment. We have had a few requests for side drabbles and stuff about these characters and we will be happy to answer them! Just send us asks :)

You can find the previous chapters on my Masterlist, and you can read the whole series so far on my Ao3! I made the moodboard, I hope you enjoy it! :D

Comment on my post or @barbiewritesstuff’s post to be added to the tag list.

Tagging: @roosterscock

Jake had been dreading the mission assignment for weeks now. The team had been training vigorously and while it was not as intense as the uranium plant mission it was going to require more dogfighting. While the opportunity for a promotion had been hanging over his head for a number of months now, Jake knew that this mission was a test of not only his skills as a pilot but his skills as a leader.

Rooster would be flying at his wingman, and as much as he loved and trusted Dove, she and Vegas were slated to fly as spares. He trusted Dove more than anyone else, but Vegas was a wild card and after her stunt with Halo at the bar, Jake didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Payback and Fanboy as well as Phoenix and Bob would also be along for the ride.

They were being asked to provide air support for a group of Navy seals who were infiltrating an enemy compound. While there were only a few threats of fifth generation fighters, the enemy had a large array of aerial vehicles at their disposal.

For the last few weeks, the team had been practicing with Maverick in the sky. He taught them the skills that he used in the F14 to take down the fifth generation fighters and while it wasn’t as discouraging as the uranium mission, the pilots were feeling the pressure of the dogfights.

“Rooster, where are you man?” Jake called into the coms, Maverick hot on his tail with Warlock not far behind him.

“I’m coming Hangman, just try to hang in there another second,” Bradley replied, his voice straining from the Gs that he was pulling in his climb to get up to Jake. He pulled up behind Warlock and Maverick, quickly trying to get a missile lock on one of them, hoping that the other would bug out.

He got tone on Warlock, “That’s tone Warlock,” Rooster called out, now trying to focus his efforts on getting Maverick off of Jake’s tail.

“Alright Hangman, break right,” he said, as Jake shot off to the right, Bradley took aim at Maverick as he followed. The sound of tone came through his cockpit and he called out, “That’s it for you Mav.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mav called back, “I’ll get you next time.”

Jake had been pushing the team through hours and hours of rigorous dog fighting. He wanted them to have the skills be second nature so that in the field when they were tired, their responses would be fast and without mistakes. At the end of the day, his goal was to bring everyone home alive and he wasn’t willing to risk that for someone’s stamina not being enough for the length of the hop.

As he landed the plane, he caught sight of you disappearing into the building, your flight suit tied around your waist. Jake’s heart hurt watching you walk away from him. He hadn’t the time he wanted to spend with you as of late due to the pressure of the mission and the promise of a promotion. You told him that it was alright, but he still felt badly, he didn’t want to put anything but God above you in his life.

He jumped out of the cockpit, finishing his post-flight checks quickly before running inside after you. The door to the women’s locker room closed just as he made it inside. He knocked quietly on it, pressing his ear to it trying to see if anyone else was in the room with you.

When your voice called back, confused, “Yes?” he pushed the door open slightly, “Are you alone baby?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m alone, why?” you called back, coming to the door.

Jake pushed it open at that moment, taking in the sight of you. In the time it had taken him to reach the door, you had stripped off your flight suit, leaving you in a black t-shirt and a pair of black leggings. Jake groaned as his eyes took you in, he moved towards you, cupping your face in his hand, “You’re going to kill me darlin’.”

You laughed at him, pulling his sweaty frame closer to your own, “I think you’re going to do that to yourself, sailor.”

Jake pressed forward, catching your lips in a gentle kiss. Between sweet kisses he said, “Not if these leggings kill me first.”

Running your hands through his hair, you pulled his mouth firmer to yours, a quiet moan slipping out as Jake pressed you into the wall behind the door. You began to lose yourself in the kiss before the sound of people walking in the hallway outside the door reached your ears. Breaking the kiss gently, you looked up at him, “We have to stop, Jake.”

“I know,” he said, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said, rubbing the back of his head, “I’ve missed you, we haven’t had much time together.”

“I’m sorry for that, once this mission is over, I promise that we are going to have a few lazy days to relax,” he said, his face buried in your neck.

You let out a soft hum as his five o’clock shadow scraped across your neck. Using your hold on his hair, you pulled his head back from your neck, pressing one last kiss to his lips, “Now get out of here Lieutenant, I’d hate for you to be caught in the wrong lockers.”

Jake gave you a sly smile, “For you baby, I’d risk it all.”

You let out a laugh, pushing him out the door, “I’m sure you would Seresin, it's too bad for you that I love you too much to let you risk that promotion.”

With that you let the door to the locker room fall closed again, pressing a hand to your smiling lips, you made your way back to your locker. After showering and redressing, you left, noting that Jake’s truck was still in the parking lot.

You made a mental note to make him up a few more containers with meals. He had been staying late each night trying to ensure that every angle of the mission was covered, and you knew that he wasn’t eating properly.

With that in mind, you headed to the store before making your way home to get started on some cooking.

—

You had messaged Jake when you got home, but his response had been short, you were a bit disappointed but you knew that it was for good reason. Settling in front of the TV for the night, you turned on one of your favourite shows, BONES. As you sat in front of the TV, your hands were working on something special. The patch that you had been making was for Jake. If he got this promotion he would likely be the leader of more dangerous and difficult missions, you wanted him to have a piece of you and God with him, something to keep him safe in the skys.

You had made a patch, it was his favourite colour blue. The words of the bible verse had been written in a striking black thread. You anticipated sewing it to the inside of his flight suit, right over his heart.

The verse was a Psalm, “Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life. You stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes; with your right hand you save me. The Lord will vindicate me; your love, Lord, endures forever—do not abandon the works of your hands.”

Underneath you had embroidered your name, a heart next to it as well as a small, “I love you.”

You were hoping that the extra time you had to spend on it meant that it would be done before the mission. The team was scheduled to ship out in two weeks if the plans didn’t change and if you estimated it correctly, you had a few days worth of work left.

A knock on the door interrupted your sewing. Placing the patch on the coffee table, you paused the show before making your way there. Glancing down at your watch, you noticed that it was after ten, you should probably be in bed already. You were dressed for it, wearing one of Jake’s old t-shirts and a pair of sweat shorts.

As you got to the door, you glanced through the peephole, Jake was standing on your doorstep, a deep frown etched on his face. He looked like he was wearing pyjamas and you wondered if he had come from his bed to see you.

Pulling the door open you looked at him confused, “Hey, what are you doing out so late?”

Jake gave you a once over, the tense lines that were around his eyes and mouth relaxing some at seeing you, “I’m just anxious about this mission, I know it's late, but could you just…can we talk for a bit, or just watch some TV?”

“Of course,” you said, pulling him into the apartment behind you. You settled him on the couch before making your way into the kitchen to make two cups of peppermint tea, your grandma had always done the same for you when you were anxious.

When you came back into the living room, you found him holding the patch in his hands, running his fingers delicately over the words that were embroidered there, “You’re not supposed to know about that yet,” you said, startling him.

“Sorry it was just out,” he said, taking the tea that you had made him in one hand, still admiring the patch with the other.

“Yeah, I’m hoping it’ll be finished before the mission,” you said, smiling at him.

“I would be honoured to wear it,” he said, looking at you lovingly, more of the stress melting from his face.

You felt yourself blush, “I was going to sew it into your flight suit,” you said quietly.

“Where?” he asked, confused.

“On the inside, over your heart,” you said, now looking at the couch, your face burning red.

You saw him put the patch on the coffee table out of the corner of your eye, before he used his fingers to lift your chin so that you were looking at him, “I love it, and I love you. I would be happy to wear it in my suit, baby.”

A smile broke over your face, “I just don’t want you to feel obligated-” you started but Jake interrupted you, “It’s an honour to wear anything you make me.”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. The two of you talked and drank your tea, you eventually snuggled into Jake’s side for a while. He told you of his worries for the mission and you reassured him that it would all be alright. At the end of the night, he left you with a chaste kiss pressed to your lips before climbing into his truck and driving to his own apartment.

—

The two weeks before the mission passed quickly and you soon found yourself standing on an aircraft carrier looking out at sea. You had sewn the patch into his flight suit a few days ago, but after that he had been so busy that the only time you had gotten to spend together was the night before you deployed. Now that you were on the ship, things were even more busy for him and you hadn’t even had time to pray together like you had for the last mission. A bad feeling had settled itself firmly in your gut and no matter how many prayers you said, they didn’t seem to take the sinking feeling away.

That night, as you tossed and turned in bed, there was a knock on your door. Being careful this time to rise from the bed and not fall on to the floor, you opened the door to reveal Jake, his bible in hand.

“Can we pray for a few minutes?” he asked, “I know we should be in bed, but we won’t have time tomorrow and I won’t feel right about this until we do.”

You pulled him into your room by his hand, “Of course, I have been praying all day,” you said. Quickly, you switched on the lamp by your desk before pulling the blanket off the bed to set on the floor.

You both knelt on the blanket. Pulling your rosary from your duffle bag, you and Jake began to pray it together. After a round of the rosary, you both spent some time in quiet prayer, bringing your thoughts to the Lord. When you started to fall asleep against Jake’s shoulder, he crossed himself. Gently taking you in his arms, he picked you up and placed you in your bunk. Picking the blanket off the floor, he spread it over you, before he left, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

—

The next day, you rose early. Making your way to the mess hall, you found that the only thing you could bring yourself to consume was water, your stomach in knots at the thought that you were going to sit on the deck and listen to the mission.

When the time came to fly the mission, you sat in the back of your jet with Vegas, both of you stewing in a tense silence. The radio occasionally crackled with the other pilot’s voices as they made their way into enemy airspace.

Every time Jake’s voice came over the line, your heart clenched. The knots that had tied themselves in your stomach hadn’t left all morning, and now they were making you feel sick.

“You see anything Bob?” Jake called out.

“Nah, nothing,” he replied, another minute passed before his voice came over the comms again, “I’ve got something here, twenty miles nine hundred knots closure.”

Rooster’s voice called back, “I see him, it looks like it might be a grouping.”

“Shit,” Fanboy said, “They’re splitting, there’s got to be six planes there.”

Vegas put her mask up to her face, “This is Dagger Spare requesting permission for take off.”

“Denied Spare,” the comms controller called.

Your stomach sank further, hopefully the four planes could handle the six enemy aircraft. As the dogfight everyone had been anticipating began in the air, you listened for fatigue in your fellow pilot’s voices intensely.

—

Phoenix’s voice had a tremor in it when it crackled through the comms, “I’ve got one one me and I can’t shake him. Where are you Hangman?”

“I’m right below you,” Jake said almost immediately trying to think about how to get his friends out of their current situation, “Dive down so that he will follow and let’s see if I can get him to bug out.”

A second later he heard Rooster’s voice, “Hangman, you’ve got one moving in behind you. I can’t cover, and Payback is a little busy.”

“I’ve got it, Rooster,” Jake said, “Let me get this guy off of Phoenix and Bob first.”

He moved in behind the jet that was on Phoenix and Bob right as his missile lock warning went off in his cockpit. Pressing a hand over his heart for a second, feeling the patch that you had sewn into it, he let out a deep breath, “Alright Phoenix, I’m taking the shot on your bogey.”

“Any day now Hangman,” she said, her voice sounding more strained as she struggled to evade the enemy aircraft.

“Smoke in the air Hangman,” Payback shouted and Jake’s heart clenched. He reached up, hitting the button on his control panel for flares.

“Dagger One defending,” he called, “Shit, I lost the missile lock. Phoenix, keep evading.”

“I’m doing all the work here Hangman, get me some help,” she called back, “Bob do you see a way out of this?”

“No, not unless you want to try something sketchy with another jet,” he said.

“I’ll line one up for you, Phoenix,” Jake said.

“Let’s do it Hangman,” She called back.

“Alright, I’m going to break right, you break left, let’s bring them back around and into each other,” Jake said.

“Copy. Bob keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t lose us,” She directed.

“Copy that,” Bob said, “He’s still on us.”

Phoenix and Jake turned around, now going head to head, “Alright, Phoenix, you go for the over then break right. I’ll go for the under then break off as well and they’re going to fly into one another, like a big game of chicken.”

“This has to be the craziest thing you’ve ever gotten me to do,” she said, disbelief in her voice.

Jake cussed as he took a few hits, the other pilot realising that he wouldn’t be able to defeat Jake with missiles had switched to guns. He desperately tried to avoid the fire as the jets got closer and closer to each other, Jake pressed his hand over his heart one more time before saying, “Now!”

He pushed the stick down, diving just below Phoenix as she pulled up. They waited with baited breath as Bob called out, “They barely missed each other, but it looks like they aren’t coming back after us.”

“Damn right,” Jake said, relief flooding his system. Just then, his control panel started going crazy with alarms.

“Shit, right engine is on fire,” he said, “Extinguishing engine. I’m losing hydraulic pressure, fuck me.”

He heard Vegas call again for takeoff, only to be denied again. Letting out a breath, he tried his control surfaces. He had pitch and yaw, but rolling was difficult, he could still fly this plane.

“Alright, let’s get these assholes out of here and get home,” he said, “Everyone fall into formation on me. Rooster, how many are there left?”

“Those two you played chicken with bugged out, Payback picked one off of me and I got a fourth,” he heard Bradley say.

“Okay, two left,” he said, “Bob, Fanboy, you got anything?”

“Nothing Hangman,” Bob called back.

Fanboy took an extra second to respond, “I have two on the radar dead ahead of us.”

“Alright, Phoenix and Bob on me, Rooster you take Payback and Fanboy. Shoot them down or scare them, it’s time they went home,” he said, his hand struggling with the stick to keep control.

As they manoeuvred towards the enemy aircraft, Phoenix was able to lock on with a missile. Firing, she got a hit, with only one enemy jet left, he bugged out.

“Dagger Squad, radar is clear, continue running air support until mission completion,” command’s voice said.

Jake was fighting his plane, keeping it in the air was becoming harder and harder as more and more fluid leaked out of the lines. He glanced down to the picture he had of you taped to the control panel. It was a polaroid that he had taken earlier that month, the two of you were at the beach and the sun was setting. You had been sitting in front of him, your knees bent and your elbows resting across them. Your chin sat on top of your arms, a small smile on your face.

With you on his mind, he prayed the Hail Mary over and over, he might have even been whispering the words into the comms, it wouldn’t have surprised him. When, finally, command said that the SEALs had gotten out, and they were cleared to fly home, Jake drew an easier breath.

As mission leader, Jake waited to land last. As he passed over deck one last time before landing he asked, “Vegas, Dove, do I have landing gear?”

Pressing the button, his heart stuttered when he didn’t hear them fall out beneath him.

Your voice came over the comms, “No Hangman, no landing gear.”

“Shit, Dagger One to Command, I don’t have landing gear,” Jake reported.

“Copy Dagger One, we will have extinguishers waiting on deck. Dagger One call the ball,” he heard back.

“Copy that, Dagger One has the ball,” Jake said, lining himself up for landing.

As he touched down, the bottom of his plane scraping along the deck of the carrier, he felt the tail hook catch on the cable, pulling him to a quick stop. Smoke started to fill the cockpit and he struggled to get out. The jet was likely covered in hydraulic fluid and the sparks thrown by the metal dragging along the tarmac would likely cause it to ignite.

He punched the button to raise the cockpit, pulling at the straps around his shoulders. He grabbed the picture of you from the control panel before climbing out of the plane. You were waiting for him on the ground, surrounded by the rest of the team. Without waiting for a ladder, he slid down the side of the jet and dropped off the wing.

Immediately pulling you into a hug, he felt you grip him tight, “I thought I was going to lose you,” he heard you say.

“Me darlin’? Never. You’re stuck with me,” he said into your ear, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before separating from you. He kept one arm wrapped around your shoulders as he shook hands and hugged the other pilots.

Once the celebration on deck started to calm down, Dagger squad was commanded to report to debrief. After the debrief was over, everyone relaxed into their bunks. The long day of stress and then the sweltering heat of the debrief room had not been easy, but tomorrow, they would be going back to California.

Jake laid down to sleep that night and thanked God for bringing him back to you. He didn’t want to admit it but he had been less scared of losing his life and more scared of leaving you before he could properly call you his. He vowed that he wouldn’t wait much longer to ask you the question he had been pondering since he had brought you home for Thanksgiving. With thoughts of you in a white dress on his mind, Jake fell asleep quickly, a smile on his face.

—

Immediately upon arriving back in California, Jake had been called to Admiral Simpson’s office where he was informed that he was receiving a promotion to Lieutenant Commander which would be made effective at the end of the month when a small ceremony and banquet could be planned. You couldn’t be happier for him and knew what had happened as soon as he had come out of the office building and into the parking lot.

He pulled you into a tight hug whispering into your ear, “Oh thank God that all of the time spent away from you was worth it.”

You let out a series of giggles, “Jake, I wasn’t worried about it.”

“You might not have been, but I was,” he said, setting you down on your feet and giving you a kiss.

“When is this banquet to take place, Lieutenant Commander Seresin?” you asked, using a slightly sultry voice, your mouth pressed up to his ear.

Jake pulled you a little closer to him before replying, “At the end of the month.”

You hummed, “Well I guess I better go dress shopping then.”

“I guess you should,” he said back, smiling widely, “But right now, you are coming with me!”

“Where are we going?” you squealed out as he picked you up, carrying you to his truck.

“You are going to put on that dress mom got you at Christmas, and I am going to take you out to dinner,” he said, placing a kiss on your cheek before sitting you in the passenger’s seat.

Dinner was fantastic and Jake treated you like a queen, opening every door for you and even bringing you flowers when he picked you up from your apartment. He had on a dark button up shirt and dark jeans, and the dress that you had bought took his breath away. The orange complemented your slightly tanned skin perfectly and the cut was just right to tease Jake but not so revealing that you felt uncomfortable.

“Wow, this dress…it’s really something…” he said, placing his hands gently on your hips and turning you around in his grip. You could feel the way that his fingers pressed gently into the soft skin of your stomach and it made you smile.

As you turned to face him again, you asked, “Do you like it?”

Without hesitation he said, “I love it,” before giving you a quick peck on the lips, “Are you ready to go?”

“Let me just put these in some water and I will be ready,” you said, heading to the kitchen. Once you had placed the flowers in water, you grabbed your shawl and clutch before following Jake out the door.

Dinner was delicious, Jake took you to a fancy steakhouse where the waiter poured your wine and packed the leftovers for you. By the end of the night, you felt happier than you had in a long time. Riding home, Jake held your hand in the car, talking to you about everything and nothing. When he walked you to the door, he placed his hand on your back, giving you a deep kiss.

“I was so scared up there,” he said quietly against your lips, “I’m just so glad I made it back to you.”

“I knew you would make it back to me,” you replied, giving him a gentle peck.

Jake let out a quiet sigh, “How?”

“Because you promised,” you said to him, looking in his eyes.

A grin broke across his face and he placed one more kiss on your lips before bidding you goodnight and walking back to his truck.

—

The few weeks before the end of the month had flown by and you were feeling stressed. You never liked shopping for yourself and while you were happy for Jake’s promotion, you were dreading the banquet. Every dress you owned was deemed by Annie and Audrey either not fancy enough or too reminiscent of prom. So you had to venture out to the department stores where after trying on dress after dress and using almost all of your monthly data talking to your sisters, you had found nothing.

As you were walking out of the store, Annie said from your video call, “What about that store? The one just behind you? Have we been in there yet?”

Turning to look, you saw the store she was referring to, it was a boutique and there were quite a few dresses hanging in the window, but only one had caught your eye.

“I see one, it looks promising,” you said to them, making your way through the doors. You were greeted by an attendant and you pointed out the dress in the window, “Do you have that one in a six or an eight?” you asked.

“Let me see, it should be hanging over here,” she said, and you followed her over to the rack.

Picking the dress off the rack in both a six and an eight she looked at you, “Just these two doll?”

“Yes ma’am, if they don’t work I'll browse some more,” you said in a quiet voice, following her to the dressing room.

She let out a sigh, “Ah, long day of looking?” she asked as she unlocked the door for you.

“Yes, a long couple of weeks actually,” you said, looking at her with a defeated face.

“Hopefully this will be the one then,” she said, giving you a kind smile, “I’ll be just over there restocking if you need a second opinion.”

“Thank you,” you replied, giving her a warm smile, before closing the dressing room door. You pulled your clothes over your head and grabbed the bigger dress off of the hanger, if it was too big then at least you could feel good about yourself. Pulling it over your head, you adjusted it over yourself before slipping up the zipper. It fit you like a glove, and as soon as Annie and Audrey caught sight of you in the mirror, they both squealed, “Oh my goodness, Y/N you need to get that one. You look stunning!”

----

For all of his many qualities, Bob had one, irredeemable flaw. Robert Arthur Floyd had never, in his entire life, for any occasion whatsoever and despite his best efforts, been on time. He was perpetually twenty minutes late, even when he left early. Bob wasn’t actually his original callsign, ‘Tardigrade’ had been put forth but abandoned when they couldn’t fit it on his flight helmet.

Knowing this, you didn’t bother getting fully ready before the time Bob had promised to pick you up for. You showered, prepared your hair and makeup and then chilled on your sofa, practising your needlework until Bob’s signature “Sorry, I’m going to be late!” text, then, you went back to your room and put on the emerald green velvet sheath dress you had bought for the occasion.

The dress had been gorgeous on the rack, and even when you wore it in the shop’s changing room, under the neon light of a single overhead light bulb and in front of a purposefully unflattering mirror, but now you put it on, you felt as though you were staring at a goddess.

You stood there staring at yourself for another minute before suddenly waking up and running to the bathroom to remove the clips from your hair and brushing out your finger waves. Then, you practically sprinted to the entry hall to briefly root through shoe boxes and pulled out a pair of heels you had only worn once before. They were beautiful, a thin stiletto heel, a toe strap the same colour as your dress and a golden ankle strap made out of a delicate chain. Just as you were putting them on, the doorbell rang.

Bob stared at you, speechless for a moment when you opened the door, “Wow, you look gorgeous,” he said, “I can’t wait to see his reaction,” he added with a little laugh. You couldn’t either. You had done your level best to hide the dress from Jake since you had bought it, you wanted it to be a surprise. Bob turned towards his car, offering you an arm, “Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” you said, interlinking your arm with Bob’s after grabbing a coat and shawl and locking up your apartment.

Once at the car, he opened your door with an exaggerated bow, “M’Lady,” he said, quickly running to the other side of the car and getting into the driver's seat. You looked at the delicate golden bracelet watch on your wrist to see you were still a little early. Bob turned the key and started the car, pulling out of your apartment’s designated guest parking space. By the time you made it to the hotel where the banquet was being held, you were only forty-five minutes late.

You spotted Jake leaning against the bar, nursing a bourbon and talking to Rooster. He had his back turned to you and only knew to turn around because Rooster had seemingly stopped speaking mid-sentence. The second he saw you at the top of the stairs, Jake dropped his glass. It shattered with a loud noise that echoed through the space.

As people fussed over Jake, you gingerly walked down the grand marble staircase to the hotel’s ballroom, careful not to twist an ankle and add to the commotion. Once both of your feet landed on the soft red carpet, Jake shook himself off of the waiters trying to clean up the glass and advanced towards you.

“I’m not sure what to say,” he admitted, “you look breathtaking, mia cara.”

Jake had started calling you ‘Mia cara’, My dear, a few months ago. You liked the name, and it made you feel special, he didn’t call anyone else mia cara, but a month or so ago, you had gotten curious where the name had come from. When you asked him about it, his explanation made you feel so warm inside. His grandpa Thomas had called Nonna mia cara from the time they met until the day he died. Jake, even as a child, was in awe of his grandpa and seeing how long he and Nonna were married, he figured that the man must have been doing something right. He said that the name just felt fitting for you, “You are everything near and dear to me, why should I call you anything else?” with that you had given him a kiss. You had never been happier to have another name.

Jake had completely lost himself in your eyes when something collided into his shoulder with enough strength to knock him forward a little. He turned around to see Harvard and Yale, shortly followed by the rest of the squad. Bob and Fanboy were deep in a heated debate the likes of which could only ever be caused by Star Wars. As they both angrily gestured at each other to prove a point, you sidled closer to Jake, just to avoid getting hit. Instinctively, he threw an arm over your shoulder and held you closer.

Bob was gesturing wildly, deeply enthralled in the conversation, when his hand bumped Phoenix’s arm. The toothpick in her martini, which still had an olive on it, fell from her glass and landed on the floor. She moved to get it but, being stuck between all of the guys, it would be more awkward for her than for you.

“I got it,” you said, bending down, pressing yourself against Jake to keep your stability.

You heard a groan come from the man behind you and when you stood up, your head turning towards him, you saw a blush rapidly spread over his face. The rest of the team let out laughs as you just looked at him confused, “You alright?” you asked him quietly. To which he just nodded his head in answer.

Bob, his face red from laughter, choked out, “You good man? Still planning on waiting for marriage?”

Your eyes grew wide at his comment, realising exactly where you had brushed up against Jake. Now that the cat was out of the bag, the rest of the team seemed to all at once understand the situation.

Coyote looked at him with a pained expression, “That's why you’ve had a stick up your ass the last few weeks?” his voice surprised.

Now both of you were blushing, you didn’t want to discuss your sex life, or lack thereof, in front of the whole team.

Rooster just stared at him wide eyed, he smacked Coyote on the back of the head, “Hey man, Y/N is right here, let's leave this for later.”

With that, most of the group dispersed. Rooster, Coyote, and Bob all making their way to the bar, glancing back at you and Jake every now and then.

Jake rubbed a hand over his face, turning to you and trying to give you a smile, he opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything you started talking first, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

The hand that was sitting on your hip squeezed as he cut you off, “It’s okay, I need to have some more self control,” he said, his eyes darker than you had ever seen them.

You felt a blush burning across your own face, and you were sure that it could be seen through the makeup that you had put on before leaving the apartment.

“I’m just going to go take care of this,” you said, holding up the toothpick that had caused the whole issue.

Jake nodded, giving you a smile, “I’m going to go tell our friends to mind their own business.”

As the two of you parted ways, Phoenix came over to catch your arm, “I’m going to borrow her for a minute Bagman, hope you don’t mind.”

“It's no problem,” he said, turning around and walking towards the bar.

Phoenix looked at you for a moment before speaking, “Dove, that man is going to marry you and I’m not sure what you did to get him to change but good for you.”

You felt your blush get deeper, “Well we just wanted to do this right…” you started.

“I get that,” she said gently, “I just can’t believe that you tamed the Hangman.”

You let out a laugh, “No I don’t think…”

“Don’t tell me you’re blind Dove. The way he looks at you? I’ve been waiting for someone to look at me that way my whole life,” Phoenix said quietly, “I’m happy for you.”

The two of you found a trash can for the toothpick, as you made your way back to the bar, Vegas and Halo approached you.

“Well, it’s a shame you aren’t using Hangman to his full potential,” Vegas said, looking at you like you were a piece of gum she needed to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.

You started to defend yourself when Halo stepped in, “You see how he looks at her Vegas, they aren’t using one another. Stop trying to drive a wedge.”

Vegas turned on her, “I’m not trying to drive anything. Sex is an important part to any relationship, they will have to do it sooner or later.”

Rolling her eyes, Halo fought back, “Well it's really none of our business when they decide to do it. If you can’t respect that then maybe you should leave.”

Vegas’ face got red before she walked away from you, heading to the opposite end of the bar as the rest of the team.

“Can you believe her? I don’t know how you ride backseat for her Dove, I couldn’t do it,” Phoenix said.

Halo cleared her throat, “I can’t believe I thought she was my friend. I can’t be friends with someone who treats others so poorly.”

You were surprised by Halo’s words. Ever since the incident at the bar, you had exchanged only pleasantries. You had wanted to mend things many times, but the presence of Halo had always been a deterrent, and with how stubborn Halo could sometimes be, you thought she might never apologise for hurting you. This wasn’t the apology you had hoped, but it was a start.

“Yes, well, good of you to realise that,” Phoenix said, a hint of disapproval in her voice, “I need a refill.”

She marched off in the direction of the bar, before she could tell the bartender what she wanted, someone tapped a knife against a glass to catch everyone’s attention. Standing tall on the stage the live orchestra had been playing on stood Admiral Simpson.

“If I may have your attention for a moment please. We are gathered here for two very special occasions. This year marks the 40th birthday of the F-18. Although the aircraft has often been pitted against the Grumman F-14 Tomcat, the Grumman A-6 Intruder and the LTV A-7 Corsair II and criticised for its shortcomings in various departments, I think it is important that we highlight how versatile and reliable this aircraft has proven to be, as well as how instrumental it was to the creation of the Boeing FA-18E Super-Hornet. This brings us nicely to the second occasion. We are here to celebrate a man who showed exceptional leadership skills and bravery in the face of danger. He was brought back to Top Gun after being stationed in Lemoore where he had the honour of flying the FA-18E with his squadron, The Vigilantes. Lieutenant Commander Seresin, Congratulations,”

Cyclone raised his glass towards Jake, leading the way for everyone else to do the same. A blush creeped on his face but luckily did nothing more than tint his cheek a rosy shade of pink. You looked at him, finding him already looking at you, he winked.

For the rest of the evening, Jake was swarmed with people coming up to congratulate him. Eventually, he managed to extricate himself from a group of particularly chatty military wives and joined you by the bar.

“Please save me,” he whispered in your ear as another group of attendees dragged him into another round of ‘Congratulations’ and ‘It’s an honour to meet you’.

One of the men introduced himself, elbowing his way through the group to stand right in front of Jake, “I’m Killian Jones with the Nantucket Sunday Times, we’re doing an article about the great aircrafts of the twenty-first century. First of all, thank you for your service. I gather from the Admiral’s speech that you have some experience with the F--”

“Honey,” you interrupted, seeing Jake’s panicked look, “We should go, the babysitter needs to go home. It’s a school night”

“Right, yes, the babysitter. Yes, of course, we should go,” Jake said, trying to play along, “We should go now, actually, we really have a lot of road to do… It was lovely to meet you all, I hope you have a wonderful evening. Good luck with your article, Mr. Jones,” Jake said as you grabbed his hand and led him away, “Thank you so much,” he whispered to you as soon as he was out of earshot.

You waved towards the squad as you passed by, but didn’t stop. You gathered your coat at the door, forgetting to check if you had your shawl and stepped out of the hotel just in time to see the bottom of Coyote’s shoe step into a taxi, shortly followed by Phoenix. Tearing your eyes away from them, you followed Jake to his truck.

----

Jake guided the truck down the road smoothly, his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing your knee gently. You couldn’t tear your eyes from him in his dress whites, somehow he made them look like they were made just for his tall, broad frame.

“I’m so proud of you,” you said softly, smiling at him.

He looked at you, a smile on his own face, “Thanks, mia cara.”

Before you could say anything else, he added, laughing, “Also, the babysitter? That’s the best you could come up with?”

You let out a quiet chuckle as Jake pulled into the parking lot of your apartment, “Well since we both want a whole brood I figured it wasn’t the worst white lie I’d ever told.”

He put the truck in park and walked you up to your door, his warm hand grazing the exposed part of your back, you couldn’t help but think about how much you wanted to kiss him. In the time you had been dating there were definitely a few times where you wanted to know what more was like. You knew that those were not the thoughts that a lady should be having, let alone an unmarried one, but it made you wonder how long he would wait to propose. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind a short engagement.

You got to the door, popping open your clutch purse to get out the key. You felt Jake press slightly against your back, his warm body in his dress whites keeping the slight chill of the night air from getting to you. As you pushed the door open and leaned down to take off your heels, you expected him to follow you inside, when he didn’t you looked up at him confused, “Coming in?”

“Baby, if I don’t leave now, I am going to do something that I’ll regret,” he said, giving you a light peck on your lips before physically pushing himself away from the doorframe.

As he took another step back, your hand shot out, grabbing on to the front of his dress whites, “I trust you not to,” you said, quietly, looking at his lips.

Jake moved so quickly, if you weren’t the thing he was moving towards, you would have missed it. He pushed you back into the apartment, slamming the door closed with his foot. Spinning the two of you around, he pushed you up against the door, his mouth never leaving yours in a passionate, deep kiss.

His tongue traced your bottom lip and you opened your mouth to his, letting him deepen the kiss more. You could feel his hands tracing your curves through the thin fabric of your dress, their warmth leaving a burning path in their wake. His hips stuttered forwards into yours, and you could feel the arousal that was so prominent in the bruising kiss that he had you trapped in.

You let out a quiet moan and Jake’s hands started to bunch up the fabric of your dress. His mouth suddenly separated from yours, his panting breaths blowing gently across your heated skin as he kept repeating, like a mantra, “We need to stop. We need to stop. We need to stop.”

But you found that you couldn’t stop. You were pressing little kisses to his cheek and jawline, running your fingers through his hair and down his back, you knew it was improper but you wanted more. His mouth found yours again, giving you small pecks between his whispered chanting. He pulled one of your legs up to his hip, his hand skimming over the bare skin of your ass. You let out a small squeak before biting his lower lip at the unfamiliar sensation of his calloused hand on your smooth skin.

He let out a groan, still chanting quietly to himself, “We need to stop, baby.” Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It startled you both and Jake’s hand squeezed you tightly enough that you knew there would be a bruise left in the morning. Before either of you could react, you heard the one person you didn’t want to see at the moment.

Cyclone’s voice came muffled through the door, “Damn, I told her to be careful with him. I hope they aren’t doing anything inappropriate.”

At that, Jake let go of you, the fabric of your dress fluttering to the floor, you both looked flushed and well kissed, but that wasn’t your biggest problem. Jake had marks from your teeth embedded in his lip, and his pants were tented with his prominent arousal. You stepped in front of him, turning to face the door, “Stay behind me,” was all the warning you gave before plastering a smile on your face and pulling the door open.

Cyclone looked the two of you up and down before holding out your shawl to you, “You left this at the table, just wanted to make sure it found its way back,” he said quietly.

“Thanks, Dad,” you said quietly, “Jake was just walking me in, like a good gentleman,” you threw on the end, hoping that your current states weren’t overly noticeable.

“I hope that’s all he was doing,” Cyclone said as he turned around and walked to his running car.

The blush that covered your face would have made a beet jealous, Jake reached forward and closed the door. The two of you looked at one another before bursting out in laughter, “Did that just happen?” you asked.

“I think it did,” he said, his gaze no longer holding the same amount of desire as it had previously.

You stepped forward looking through the peep-hole to see that Cyclone’s car had left, “Well sailor, you better get going, before we do something we'll both regret,” you said to him, a smile on your face.

“Obviously I can’t be trusted,” he said, placing one last, firm kiss on your lips before pulling open the door and running out to his truck. With a glance over his shoulder back at you, he climbed in the cab and pulled out of the parking lot.

#hangman #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman seresin #hangman fanfiction #hangman fic #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun

60 notes · View notes

heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Brackish and Briny Waters (one)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: 1980. Moving to upstate New York. This could be a fresh start that you and your husband have been looking for. Masterlist Next

Tags: +17 | 1000 words | 1980s AU, very vague connections to Ralph's episode in Blue Bloods, allusions to dark past, house remodeling, one (1) boner.

AN: I watched Things Seen and Heard and said "what if George wasn't a huge fucking piece of shit and also was played by Alex Brightman" so here we are. I thought his Ralph character would fit best in this AU

DAY ONE

Your new home was nothing like the urban jungle you grew up in. On your way upstate, you saw houses stretch further and further apart, green rolling hills, wind farms, and sheep and cows and horses. You even passed by an emu farm or two, sure to point them out to your husband as you switched from long paved highways to old dirt roads.

"It's kind of on a hill," Ralph tells you, "an old dairy farm with 2 acres of land. It's got lots of trees and space to build add ons and gardens. We could have a gazebo, babe!"

You laugh at him. You're tempted to build one just to see the look on his face when you take him seriously. If nothing else it will be a good challenge for you.

This is supposed to be good for you. For the both of you.

Ralphie's hands are always warm. You can feel the heat of them even through the thick denim of your jeans. His ring is glossier than it was when you looked at it yesterday.

At some point you must have fallen asleep but when the moving truck jostles you awake you see it– your new home.

"It isn't much," he always starts," but we can handle a fixer upper, can't we! The bones are good, heating and AC and proper insulation except for the solar room. I think it was an add-on, it's not finished yet."

Ralphie lets the realtor take you up and down and around the place but he's never farther than an arms length away, sometimes hovering over your shoulder as if to smell your true feelings about this place. You give him a glare at one point and he backs off. You almost regret killing the soft, nervous smile on his face but it helps you breathe better.

Once it's just the two of you, he chides, "do you like it?"

You glance around at the walls again. Barren and empty, the wallpaper cracking in places and sun bleached, there are loose tiles in the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom could use a deep scrubbing. It's enough to keep you busy for a year or two. "Yes I like it."

Ralphie sighs and wraps you up in a hug. You never feel safer than right here, right in the halo of his arms. This place could be just the thing you need to pull yourselves together.

You barely unpack for the night– Ralph ever the organizer has the bare necessities packed so as to be easy to grab and settle in for the night. The unfinished solar room seems to give the whole house a draft.

"Damn idiots," Ralph hisses as he tightens the quilts around you, "you think they'd at least cover the open windows."

"We'll do that tomorrow," you promise, already starting to drift off on his chest. You barely register his soft voice but your brain processes 'we?' soon enough. You rub your cheek on his chest. "Oui, we."

His chest rumbles and he too drifts off to sleep on the shifty air mattress in the master bedroom.

The morning can't come soon enough. Or that's what you would say in the city. All that noise, noise, noise. You never realized the world could be so quiet. You can't tell if you love it or you hate it but Ralphie's snoring and the singing bugs at night help to sooth your frazzled nerves.

The sun rises slowly. It hasn't breached the horizon but the sky is bluer than blue and that means it's time to get up. Your husband is sporting a little morning wood and you're tempted to play with it, but you know if you do he won't make it to work on time and he needs to make a good first impression.

You content yourself by watching him dress. The way the muscles in his arms flex, his pants slide on with ease. He takes his time buttoning up his shirt paying special attention to each and every one of them. The way he tilts his head back and exposes his throat to tie his tie. He glances at you once and offers a small smile.

When he's finished, he sits on your side of the bed and kisses your forehead. "I love you. I'll see you tonight."

You hum and stop yourself from asking him to come home early because you know he will. Ralphie leaves a soft peck in the hollow of your throat and gets up to find his box of work stuff for his new office. He doesn't expect to see you waiting by the door with a thermos of coffee.

"It's not Starbucks by any means but I hoped it would help," you say sheepishly.

This time Ralph kisses you firmly on the mouth, one hand taking the hot drink and the other wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. The kiss is so deep you moan into it and you're about to curl fingers in his shirt collar when he finally breaks away. You're both breathless.

"Thank you, baby." He gives you one more small peck on the lips. "Promise we'll unpack together after work."

"I can't believe you give substitute teachers offices," Ralph said.

Professor Floyd DeBeers shrugged. "We have no idea when Ms. Lewis will be able to teach again but you have her lesson plan and we want the kids to feel her absence as little as possible."

"I'm not taking her office, am I?"

"No, no," Floyd waves, " it's her TA's office. A temporary space, a little small but it should be alright."

Looking at Floyd's own office which is the size of a public school library where Ralph is from, he's less surprised the TA office appears to be twice the size of a broom closet which is more than he's used to. He plops his stuff on the spare desk and turns to Floyd.

"I think this will be more than enough."

@escape-your-grape @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @imma-fucking-nerd @beetlesstuff @werwulfy @softbeej

#three bees writing #Ralph Lamont #Ralph Lamont x reader #1980s au #alex brightman #black reader insert #🐝🐝🐝✒

13 notes · View notes

cupofcowboys · 4 years

Text

Love Letters for Molly - Molly O’Shea x Reader/OC/Canon

*crawls out of my grave* I LIIIIIIVE. It’s a year since I’ve written for RDR, but I couldn’t miss out on @rdrsapphicweek. I’m too gay for Molly for that. So here is my haphazardly written love ode to that angel. I wrote it vague enough you can fit yourself, an OC or any canon character you fancy. If they would write love letters that is!

Words: 986

Tags: RDR Sapphic Week, WLW, Dutch/Molly, Pining, Affairs

Read on AO3

-♥-

The first letter fluttered out of Molly’s book. She plucked it from the grass and read the slightly smudged words carefully. Once she had finished, she glanced nervously around. It was a very dangerous letter. There was no signature, but she knew it wasn’t from Dutch. He didn’t write like that. The love letter in her hands was from a secret admirer.

It was poetry. Not copied from a book, but written for her. It described how her copper curls caught the morning sun, haloing her in soft angelic light, and the envy they felt of her lipstick as they watched her paint her lips. How they longed to be closer so they may admire her better.

Molly couldn’t help thinking about it. As she lay in bed beside Dutch that night, her heart thrummed with curiosity. She wondered who else in camp thought about her like that. Were they thinking about her now, too?

She felt guilty. She shouldn’t let herself be swept away by an unknown admirer. Not when Dutch needed her to be by his side. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking around the next morning as she put on her makeup, hoping to catch her admirer in the act. But no one seemed to notice her.

The next letter she found in her pocket a few days later. It was longer than the first, filling the entire page with tender words. She felt embarrassed reading it. She had no idea someone was paying so much attention to her. They seemed to read her as though she were an open book, her heart laid bare, and they held it kindly.

They spoke of her green eyes, how they shone like emeralds, and the freckles which covered her from head to toe, little kisses from the sun. Her face when she read her favourite books, the leap in her voice when she smiled, the change in her walk when she knew Dutch was watching, and how she cried under the trees when she thought no one was looking.

The letters kept appearing every few days, always in a new place only she would look. They grew more emotional over time, giving Molly brief glimpses into their thoughts and feelings outside of love. They were conflicted about Dutch. They both loved him as a leader and envied him as Molly’s love, a battle of wills they had lost the moment they began to write. They hoped, at least, that the letters made Molly happier.

She was falling in love. Though she didn’t know who they were, not for a lack of trying their heart was easy for her to fall into. Dutch had become cold. She had forgotten what it felt like to hear she was beautiful and worthy of love. He barely spared a second glance to her these days. She was becoming the same. Her eyes scanned the camp hawk like all day, hoping to uncover her mysterious admirer.

When they were forced to move camps, the letters stopped. Molly found she missed them. There was little joy without them, as Dutch barely spoke to her and the others were as distant as ever. She wondered if her admirer hadn’t been one of them after all. Perhaps it had been a Pinkerton trap, hoping to lure her away.

Her fears were set aside when she got another letter. A pressed flower fell out of the envelope, an apology for the delay. They had noticed she was down, and they dared to hope she missed them. But they missed her smile, which lit up their whole world, and hoped to see it again now that they could write. And finally, they told her they loved her with all their might.

Molly couldn’t hide her joy. She smiled at everyone in camp and hummed without the gramophone. Dutch noticed, and he wondered why. He hadn’t been kind to her, or paid her any time, yet she was acting as if she didn’t mind. It bothered him, but he didn’t know why.

She found a letter in the hollow of her favourite tree. It was quite unlike the others, more forward and full of steam. She found herself breathless as she read how they’d like to hold and kiss her, and deeper thoughts than that. For the first time she closed her eyes and imagined her admirer, and at first imagined him.

Then she realised something, and he changed from him to her. Instead of waistcoats and trousers, she thought of long hair and skirts. She knew her admirer couldn’t be a man. They were different. Softer, kinder, warmer and reminded her of her. At first she was confused, but soon found herself excited to explore a whole new world.

Molly watched the other women as they worked. She thought about all of them in turn, trying to figure out which she preferred and who might be her admirer. They gave nothing away, seeming not to notice her. But Dutch noticed Molly and finally had enough. Their argument shook the camp and made everyone run off.

He demanded her attention, which had been stolen away. Privately, she blamed him for neglecting her. If he hadn’t made her feel lonely and unloved, she would have thrown the letters away. Of this she said nothing, but argued back at him. She demanded his attention but knew he wouldn’t give in. In her heart she knew she no longer loved him, and that he didn’t love her.

Three days she waited for the last letter. It was heavy and when she opened it, a necklace fell into her lap. Emeralds glittered in the gold, a perfect match to her eyes. She picked it up and looked at it with surprise. The note with it was short, barely more than a line. But it was the best of all the letters.

“If you love me, wear this tonight to the tree.”

#rdr sapphic week 2020 #molly oshea #molly o'shea x reader #molly o'shea x oc #molly o'shea x canon #wlw #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde #hanatea

107 notes · View notes

lordsisterxotome · 4 years

Text

By Firelight (Mozart x Reader) NSFW

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Mozart x Reader

Warning: Smut!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 1,704

Requested by: @justdidabadthing

Other Notes: First post on my new sideblog, yay!!! I was seriously inspired by an ambience video while writing this. It was fantastic so here’s a link to it to listen to while you read --> Elegant Bedroom Ambience

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Vampire or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Tag list: @puffpuff300

If you would like to be tagged in future works, message me!:)

Bare bodies cuddled closer, ever-longing for each other’s warmth despite the fire roaring in the large grate and the silk covers long since thrown off. Firelight flickered against the creamy walls and furnishings and outside a heavy snow fell, blanketing the earth in white. Candles flickered faintly in the chandelier and on wall sconces, bathing the room in a warm orange glow.

Except for the occasional crackling of the fire, all was silent, the couple on the magnificent bed basking in the after-glow of another round of passionate love-making. Long fingers rubbed circles into your bare shoulder as your lover watched the firelight dance against your naked skin. Shivering, you cuddled closer, enjoying the feel of Mozart’s chest rising and falling against your own with each breath. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the arm around you tightened, his hand stroking the curve of your hip.

This wasn’t either of your rooms. In fact, you weren’t even at the mansion right now. Mozart had been invited to play at a ball for a friend of le Comte’s, the invitation including a night’s stay at their estate as an honored guest. It had been a day-long carriage ride to reach the palatial estate out in the countryside, during which your lover had held your hand the entire time, tense shoulders relaxing a little when you cuddled up to rest your head on his shoulder. You had blushed when his hand found your thigh to give it a meaningful squeeze, perfect lips easing into a smirk as he wrapped an arm around you to pull you firmly against him.

As usual, he performed beautifully, enchanting the other party-goers with his graceful looks and magical fingers, and the more you watched, the more the butterflies in your stomach fluttered. The coil of anticipation in your stomach wound tighter as the evening went on, Mozart’s hands on you every spare moment he had. It didn’t help that your gown was off the shoulder, leaving ample opportunity for his talented digits to ghost over the exposed skin deliciously. The little touches and squeezes, seeming perfectly innocent to anyone who could have caught a glimpse, were anything but, making your pulse accelerate as your lover charmed you all over again.

His hand had gripped your side softly as you finally bid your host goodnight and were escorted to your room, your body warming in response to his as he walked close beside you down the hall. It sent shocks through you when his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm into your side, knowing how those fingers could play your body just as well as piano keys.

To everyone in attendance he seemed like the perfect gentlemen, but you barely had a chance to appreciate the luxurious room before he was on you, tearing through the lacings of your dress to get to your bare skin. Falling onto the bed with you, Mozart made love to you in a flurry of limbs and teeth and fangs before carrying you to the bathroom where he drew a bath in the grand, claw-footed tub and made love to you there too.

The soft orange light of the fire threw your shadows against the wall as he made love to you over and over again, bodies entwining until it was unclear where you ended and he began. You had long since lost count of how many times you had screamed his name tonight, your voice echoing back at you as pillows and sheets fell to the floor or water sloshed over the curved edge of the tub. His heat had long since pervaded your mind and body, leaving you feeling wonderfully full and loved as you rested against him, but he didn’t seem finished for the evening as his voice broke the quiet.

“Let me make love to you again,” he murmured, a familiar desire pooling in the pit of his belly and suffusing his limbs with heat. His constant need for you surprises even him, but he isn’t complaining so long as you're his and he’s yours. Looking up, you answered him with a long kiss, letting him roll you onto your back as he took his place above you once again tonight. You could never deny him, especially when you knew your need for him would never be sated for long. Mozart was ethereal as it was, but in the firelight he looked angelic, all haloed yellow and orange and silver. There was nothing angelic about the raw hunger in his eyes now though, the need dulled only a little by how many times he had already taken you tonight.

Your inner thighs are still sticky with his last release and Mozart purred as he watched his seed seep from within you. Pale hand grasping his flushed cock, he stroked himself a couple of times before positioning the inflated head against your heat. He slides into you easily and you sigh, closing your eyes as your body tingles pleasantly. You don’t think he’s ever made love to you so many times in one night before, and there’s a slight burn as his hips meet yours, his cock fully seated inside of you.

The pace he sets is slow, a gentle roll of his hips against yours as your walls massaged his length. Soft sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room and his breath fans across your face. Lips descend on the sensitive spot just below your ear and your arms wrap around him to hold him close. Tilting your head back to give him better access, you moaned softly as the force of his thrusts changes - still gentle, but more punctuated now - slowly working your spent body towards release.

His pleasured groans as your walls squeeze him are music to your ears, rivaling his piano playing in beauty. Your neck and chest are already covered in his marks, but he eagerly adds more, drawing a mewl from you as he takes a sore nipple into his mouth and sucks softly. You feel so good, so tender and loved, and it brings tears to the corners of your eyes. How can he still make you feel so good when you physically shouldn’t be able to handle it anymore? Every touch, every gasp, every look has you going crazy for him.

This moment feels like a fairy tale, your silver prince loving you so softly it brings tears to the corners of your eyes as the snow falls in heavy flurries outside. Why does it make you so happy to realize you’ll wake up in this room with him in the morning? The mere idea of him being the first thing you see come daylight has your heart skipping, and you smile against his skin as you turn your head to nibble at his jaw and ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in your ear as his member continues to delve into you, sending shivers down your spine as you gasp and moan for him. “You feel so good, meine liebe. Mmm, I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you.”

The over-stimulation from so many previous orgasms has you nearing your peak all too soon when you wish you could stay in this moment of tender love-making forever.

“Wolf!” you murmur breathlessly, warning him of your impending release, but he already knows. He knows your body better than you do. He can feel it in the way your core tightens around him, see it in the way your eyelids flutter and breath catches in your chest. His tongue laps at the wounds on your neck, a phantom pleasure of that brought by his fangs making you cry out softly. Mozart’s already had his fill of your blood tonight and fears taking anymore will make you pass out. Right now he just wants to feel you come around him, wants to see the effects of his passion on your body.

With a thrust that buries him as deeply inside of you as he can reach, he triggers your climax. A soft cry leaves your lips, feeling his hips stutter as your walls clamp down on his throbbing cock. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he cums inside of you with a muffled groan, his heat warming your insides for the final time tonight.

Mozart collapses panting on top of you, spent cock chased by his cum as it slips from your folds. You slip a leg around the back of his knee, holding him in place as his head rests against your breasts, hands rubbing circles into the skin of his back. He’s never felt more loved than he does right here, held in the arms of the love of his life, his muse. Already, new melodies bloom to life in his mind, all of them stemming from you, but he doesn’t move to write them down. To do so would be unthinkable when he’s so happy it aches.

Moving just enough to look up at you, he cups your cheek in his palm, a thrill of delight racing through him as you lean into his touch. Whether you know it or not, he’s always trying to tell you how precious you are to him through his music, each note dedicated to the love you inspire in him every day.

“I love you,” he murmurs, nose brushing yours as he brushes strands of hair off of your forehead. The look in his eyes is so raw, so tender, it’s hard to believe he ever looked at you so coldly when you first met. There’s love in every line of his face as he gazes at you, lips parted in awe and violet eyes shining with love as your hands reach out to draw him in for a smiling kiss.

“I love you too, Wolf.”

The words aren’t enough, not for either of you. To put what you feel into three words so simple feels odd, but it’s all you have.

Firelight continues to dance off the walls as you and he fall into a blissful sleep and the snow continues to fall like powdered sugar outside, the warmth of your love staving off any chill.

#by firelight (mozart x reader)#ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen x reader #ikemen fanfiction #otome #otome x reader #otome fanfiction #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp x reader #romance #ikevamp mozart #ikemen mozart #ikevamp mozart x reader #cybird

295 notes · View notes

sou-ver-2-0 · 4 years

Text

Writing Master List

I love writing analysis and fanfiction for Your Turn to Die. Here, you can find links to all my writing. Spoilers abound!

Meta I’m Proudest Of

Why Calling It “Logic Versus Emotion” Makes Sense

Sou Hiyori and Kanna’s Sister Parallels

I was wondering why Sou had a zero percent survival rate…

What is Sou proudest of?

What is Kanna proudest of?

What is Keiji proudest of?

Unpopular opinion about Keiji

What are your thoughts on Nao as a character?

Why pushing Fake Reko is logical and sparing her is emotional

Shin vs. Kanna choice: each “valid in its own way”

That was a real comedy of errors on your part, Shin

What “Things” did Shin learn at Sou’s House?

If I could kill Keiji to save both Kanna and Shin...

Thoughts on queer-coded villains and Shin

I make Shin say five nice things about Keiji (not meta, but important)

Some jumbled thoughts about Redemption, and Part 2

How different do you think the story would be if Shin were a girl?

Theories

“Midori is Meister’s son,” and other Sou theories <- my favorite theory!

The Hades Incident, the Present Death Game, and the Role of the Man from the Memorandum

Rambling about Meister Family Theory

A Quick Keiji Theory

I’m staking my pride on this one: Keiji won’t die in the coffin. Part 1 and Part 2

Implications of Kanna being Original Sou’s blood relative

The Mystery of Anzu’s High Survival Rate

Fanfiction

My username is Florencetheflowerfairy on Ao3! Any fanfiction I write will be tagged “my fanfiction” on here.

I haven’t yet posted this to Ao3.

My fanart

Soup Hiyori

Happy birthday Kanna!

All of my meta

How does Sou deal with pain?

When does Sou feel safest? What would others change about him?

What would the others change about Sara?

What do I wish to see happen with Sou?

Chapter 3 Prediction: Sara will lose Keiji

Sou & Keiji’s relationship thoughts; and Personal Headcanons

Opinion on Midori / Original Sou; and Opinion on YTTS

Thoughts on Kurumada’s Partnership with Sou and Kanna

What calms Sou when he’s upset?

What does Sou wish he could change about himself?

Who would be Sou’s favorite fictional character?

What would EVERYONE change about Sou?

How did both Sous do in school?

Who does Sou want to please the most?

How would Kanna spend her money?

What calms Kai when he’s upset? How does Kai deal with pain?

How does Kanna do in school? What’s something Original Sou lost that he would love to have back?

What’s something I wish had happened with Joe?

Unpopular opinion about Q-Taro

What’s something I wish had happened with the Yabusame siblings?

Unpopular opinion about Kai

Unpopular opinion about Original Sou

Who would I vote for in the Second Main Game?

Laughing at Q-Taro in Russian Roulette

Speaking of “I laugh at inappropriate moments in YTTD”

Math Saga (Collection of Theorizing Posts about the Percentage Papers)

Why Kanna can’t take the scarf

More Scarf Meta

I think Shin should fake amnesia in the zaniest way possible, please

Thoughts on Mr. Policeman is Joe’s Dad Theory, Parts 1 and 2 (Some of these thoughts are outdated because I don’t think Keiji knew Joe’s last name in the beginning.)

If I ever seem too harsh on Keiji, please keep in mind

We can hear Joe’s music theme in Midori’s music theme

Thoughts on the Floor Masters

Did Shin send the Sacrifice Card to Joe?

What if Joe had one month to live?

What is Original Sou proud of?

Reading Shin as Queer

Alice and Pain

What would other people change about Kai?

Could Shin and Keiji’s roles switch?

What was Keiji like before the shooting?

I encouraged Sister to vote for Kai in Practice Round

How does Original Sou/Midori sleep?

Who do you think Keiji would bond with the most?

Analysis of Sara’s vote in the Practice Vote

Massacre Ending Thoughts

Thoughts on Naosara?

Dummy Bullet Saga (How did Shin know about dummy bullets??)

Keiji is my Confront Character

What will the fallout with the dummies look like?

Keiji seeing the percentage papers is the simplest answer IMO

Thoughts on Keialice

Thoughts on Joesara

Shin Tsukimi could have DIED ON HIS BIRTHDAY?!

Shin is Poor! Part 1 and Part 2 and Part 3

One more funny story, on a walk with Sister...

How would Shin have fared in the Death Game without the Sou persona?

Is Shin too good for this world? (Reaction to above meta)

How would Joe, Kai, and Mishima approach the Second Main Game vote?

What do you think would be Shin’s partnership ability?

Thoughts on AI personalities

Reaction to ‘Sara gets the Sage Card’ Theory

Have you considered the implications of 0.0% vs. 0%?

Foolish Sara AU

When does the Death Game take place, and how long are they there?

Shin’s relationships with Reko and Gin

“When you drink, you gotta be careful not to get swallowed up yourself.”

Judge Keiji by the fact that he’s acting like a cop

I’ve switched to calling him Shin!

What was Shin like in the years after Original Sou died, but before the Death Game?

Headcanons and Shin, Kanna, and trading tokens

Analyzing Shin and Sara’s doll placements in Safalin’s lab

Shin’s reaction to Sara’s “Haven’t we always been the bestest of friends?”

Scenario: Keymaster Kanna takes Shin’s key necklace instead of his scarf

Artists should draw Kanna grieving Shin however they like

Nao and Shin’s friendship

“I happen to like people with nice personalities”

I’m just putting these here so I can find them if necessary: 1, 2, 3

What if Shin thinks Sara is an adult?

Shrodinger’s Lock Saga (Many theories came from speculating about Asu-Naro’s weird locks in Sara’s first trial!)

Shin emulating Sou, oh no

Some thoughts on Shin and Alice, and the darker side to their relationship

A Serious Analysis of the Collarbone Sprites (& other Shin sprites)

Midori and Joe Sprite Parallels

Do you think Ranmaru is more or less reliable than Keiji?

Ranmaru and Keiji Parallels and Thoughts on Keiji flirting

Ranmaru and Keiji reacting to Joe

Out of the cast, who do you think is most likely to be the mastermind?

Miley vs. Gashu thoughts

Megumi Sasahara theories and headcanons

I love that this game’s heart is so earnest

AU where Shin has the Sacrifice, and he can’t pick Kanna

Theory/Headcanon: Sou-Shin-Sara-Kanna three year age gaps

Scenery Paintings in the Gallery

Kanna and Original Sou Parallel - “creepy smiles”

Undertale Parallels, and making Original Sou sympathetic

Kai and Original Sou Parallels

Fic ideas: Green-haired characters, and Shin + Sara Friendship

I love Fake Reko so much!

What if the decision to push Fake Reko affects what happens with the dummies?

Follow-up to above meta about Fake Reko

What if Joe died in his First Trial?

Reaction to Keiji Discourse about flirting, Part 2

Reactions to Fem!Shin:

Kanna’s perspective, Bath Scene Shin, More Bath Scene, Keiji flirting with Shin, I DON’T CARE HOW SEXY HE IS, Am I a lesbian

Will the dummies want to fill in for their counterparts’ lives?

Q-Taro Pacman Sister Theory

Poison Stinger analysis and Rio Ranger’s characterization

Megumi returns as a doll theory

More thoughts on “Back Up Candidates” Theory

Thoughts on AIs representing younger personalities

What if the current Death Game is another simulation?

Shin and Q-Taro ages musings

Shin and Sara ages musings

Honorifics Analysis: Part 1 and Part 2

Everyone’s music preferences headcanons

Shin’s thoughts on Gin in Logic Route

What if Shin died and Kai survived in the Second Main Game?

Imagine Trans Kanna

Thoughts on the names Sara “suspects” when learning that there is a human from Asu-Naro among us

Why doesn’t Shin challenge Keiji for lying that he’s a detective at the start?

Shipping

Which death hurt you the most?

Who do you think is overrated? Who do you think is suspicious?

Shin-Sou roleswap AU

Did you ever notice how Shin is crying during the First Main Game?

How do you think the characters sleep?

What if Shin became Sara’s ally instead of Keiji?

Seven Deadly Sins in YTTD

Song Analyses

“Rat” by Penelope Scott

“Villainous Thing” by Shayfer James

“Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)” by Panic! at the Disco

“Butterflies and Hurricanes” by Muse

"House of memories" by Panic! at the Disco

More fun posts

Sister tag (All submissions by my sister)

Sometimes I get self-conscious for loving Sou Hiyori so much

Thinking about how our Sou Hiyori is a queer-coded villainous type

Picrew of the Greenblings

Fannish ramblings and Speculation about Voting for Keiji in 2nd Main Game

Sou has a halo in the manga

Sprite Parallels between Kanna, Sara, and Sou

Confession: Character development is more important than plot twists

Star Wars KOTOR musings

My Favorite Thing about Sou and Sara meeting

Another Greenblings Picrew

How to roast my fave

Are the greenblings next to each other??

Me feeling soft about Sou x Alice and Sou x Kai in spite of myself

I’m too much of a nerd for tumblr

Picrew of Green-haired characters and Sara

Cute Kurumada and Kanna headcanons

Do it for Nao

Happy birthday Keiji, from Sou

Danganronpa Thoughts as of 10/22/20

Top 3 emotional moments

Comparing Eye Sizes

I’m all caught up with 3-1A as of 10/24/20

Link to my “Shin attacking Inbox” edit

I am my PFP

“Disclosure” apparently means “Coming Out”

What did you name your Midori?

Do you think Shin was a gamer?

PMMM Thoughts: Logic vs Emotion

Why would you make Shin a tank?!

Dracula is Sou and Shin is Renfield

Among Us Headcanon

I just think Kanna having the Keymaster first is good drama

So long you fucking fascist (posted on 11/7/20)

Please don’t send me leaks!

Also how are we going to tag spoilers...? (11/12/20)

oh no I’m getting sentimental

Shin and Sara’s confrontation over the smartphone remains my favorite thing ever

Reactions to “I make Shin say five nice things about Keiji”: 1, 2, 3

A Rewarding part of my blog

My undying love for Britney Spears

“Ahaha, I’m glad you remembered my name.”

I love this picrew for the Greenblings

“Saw” and “Cage” on Google Translate

What if there were two Gonbee Yamadas?

Put them in meme boxes

Keiji’s emo eyeliner

Shin can smash something! and part 2

Acrostic Poem for Sou Hiyori

Midori’s canon voice

“Sou” puns

Time sensitive questions!! 1 and 2

All the characters’ ages

Do you think Shin swears?

Let’s not pit bears and twinks against each other!

Here’s how Shindemption can still win

tfw you draw fanart in time for Kanna’s birthday

Keiji accuses Shin of breaking Mishima’s monitor even though he KNOWS Shin is innocent

Q-Taro and Shin college AU

Kugie’s ghost haunting Keiji

Christmas 2020: Part 1 and Part 2

Picrew of Shin and Sou, High School Days~

I struggle to write villains

I play Villains Bingo with Shin

…

This list will be updated sporadically as I write more! You can always use the “mine” tag to find any worthwhile original post I make.

Please feel free to talk to me about YTTD anytime! I love hearing from you all! It keeps me motivated and makes me happy to meet people!

#mine #masterlist #updated as of 12-31-20

173 notes · View notes

littleladymab · 3 years

Text

The Phoenix Suite (SW Rebels Pod+Fic)

Do you know what a phoenix is? It is said that the bird would go out in a burst of flames, and then rise from its ashes, born again. Even if we lose here, the Rebellion will never go out. Someone will always be the spark.

((Kallus tries to get a message to the Rebellion, but he fails -- tries to get a message to the Rebellion but he fails -- but he fails -- he fails))

Series: Star Wars Rebels Characters: Kallus, Thrawn, and the Ghost Crew Rating: Teen Tags: S3 Finale, time-loop, warnings for implied torture/character death/suicide (but again, it's a time loop, so it doesn't stick)

Read by Litra (link to stream)

----

Kallus hits the ground, hard.

He wheezes, more in shock than in pain, and inhales a lungful of dust and air tinged with the ozone of blaster fire. His shoulder takes the brunt of the blow, hands cuffed uselessly behind him.

Still, he’s able to roll into the fall and scrambles to his feet as the call goes up behind him.

“Grand Admiral!” a trooper shouts. “The prisoner is trying to escape!”

Kallus can’t hear Thrawn’s response, but the screams of the dying Rebel forces and the heavy tread of the walkers is enough of an answer: He’ll die with Atollon, and with the Rebellion.

For a wild, frantic second, Kallus considers charging one of the rear guards and taking their blaster, dragging down whoever else he can with his inevitable demise.

But then the part of his brain that clings to survival, to the barest glimmer of hope that this can still be salvaged, urges him onward.

So he runs — away from the sounds of the massacre, away from the orderly advance of the troopers and their walkers. Far enough that the only thing he can hear is the distant roar of chaos and ships crashing to the planet’s surface in his ears.

Breaking the cuffs is easy when he has a moment. He knows where to apply the right amount of pressure, even with his hands locked behind him.

There’s a faint and ominous skittering sound to his left, so he banks right. He has no knowledge of Atollon, and he certainly doesn’t want to learn about the local fauna.

Not when his brain is reeling and clawing desperately for a solution. Not when he’s staunchly ignoring the voice in the back of his head, the cold, calculated tone of the ISB Agent, as it scoffs and says you know a hopeless case when you see one.

Because he does. He knew from the moment he woke up in the cell after being knocked out by Thrawn on the communications tower.

Shit, probably earlier than that, if he’s being completely honest.

Playing at being a Rebel, thinking he could handle the mantle of Fulcrum.

The moment Thrawn walked into the picture, he was fucked.

His feet carry him without thought, winding away deeper and deeper into the wilds of this uninhabited planet. Further, he thinks, from the remains of his failure.

Until he crests a ridge and he’s standing on a cliff and he can see it all spread out before him. The base flattened, like a bug squashed beneath a boot. The white shapes of troopers picking their way through the remains, and the occasional flash of blaster fire when they find a survivor.

His stomach turns at the sight, the now familiar sickening sensation that this is the mighty hand of the Empire. This is not a war, and it never will be.

And it’s not that he wanted to go down in a blaze of glory or anything. He just wanted to make a difference for once. The tug in his chest, the last desperate pull of hope that led him this way, finally dies, leaving him standing on uneasy legs at the edge of the precipice.

“This is all my fault,” he says to the valley below, and wishes that it could be more of an apology and less of a goodbye.

“Which side do you mourn for?” a voice like thunder asks, and Kallus whirls around — reaching for a weapon that isn’t there.

But instead of a man, instead of Grand Admiral Thrawn with his glowing red eyes or the emotionless mask of a trooper, Kallus finds himself facing a creature that towers like a mountain above him. Its head is framed in a halo of dust as constellations of atmo burners light up behind it, and eyes like twin suns stare down at the human.

Kallus is speechless. Nothing in all of his training has prepared him for this. “What are you?” he asks instead.

“I,” the creature intones, shifting its head so that its silhouette is visible in the fading light, “am the Bendu.” It creaks with every movement, the coral that forms its antlers and outer shell grinding together as the beast lowers itself to Kallus’ level. “And what are you? You found me, yet… you are not a Jedi.”

Kallus wonders what makes being a Jedi a prerequisite for this. “I am…” Kallus starts, but in the end, he can’t figure out what the answer should be.

“Alexsandr Kallus, Imperial Security Bureau Agent 021,” the creature supplies, and Kallus feels hot and cold inside all at once.

He grinds his teeth and clenches his hands into fists and refuses to give into a physical display of his anger. “Not any longer.”

The Bendu studies him, those burning yellow eyes peeling him away layer by layer. “You wear the uniform. You keep that name close to your heart. Who are you, Alexsandr Kallus, if not an agent of the Empire?”

Enough is enough.

Every bruise and broken rib and laceration stings, the pain pulsing in time to his ragged breathing and his labored heartbeat. They are what reminds him of who he is, because everything he can see and hear tells him that the Bendu is right, he still is ISB-021.

He draws himself up to his full height, and throws his shoulders back in a way that he has seen Rebellion fighters do — one that conveys defiance instead of the perfectly postured lines of the Empire. “I am Fulcrum,” he says. “I am a Rebel spy, an Imperial defector. I am—” Here he falters, voice finally cracking. “I am well and truly fucked.”

The Bendu gives a low growl of something that might be understanding deep in its chest. “So then, Alexsandr Kallus: Which side do you mourn for?”

A laugh, strained and hysterical, boils up the back of his throat, but he swallows it down before it can get loose. “Why would I mourn the Imperials? They are the clear victors here.”

“Ah,” the Bendu says, as if it had caught Kallus in a particularly clever trap. “But in their victory, have they not also lost? Things they don’t even realize are missing.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Kallus counters. “If you were here, why didn’t you help the Rebellion? Why didn’t you help the Jedi?”

There is another rumble, this time like a storm, and the blazing suns of the Bendu’s eyes flash in warning. “I am the one in the middle. As I told the Jedi Knight who came and asked for my assistance, I take no side.”

Kallus just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. More Force and Jedi nonsense taken to the extreme. “This is a war. You side with the oppressors when you refuse to take action against them.”

“You picked a side, Agent. You carry pride for what you have done. Who are you, with your accolades and titles bestowed upon you by your Empire, to tell me that I do more harm than good? I am the Bendu. I am the one in the middle.”

Standing there on the cliff’s edge, still in his ISB uniform, Kallus wonders if he himself isn’t currently dangling precariously in the middle. Stranded between two worlds, no longer one but not truly another. He rejected the Empire, but was never fully accepted by the Rebellion.

Except that’s not true, is it? Not really. It wasn’t all that long ago that he was in the detention cell, undoing Ezra Bridger’s handcuffs, and the boy turned to look up at him with an expression of distrust but determination. The crew of the Ghost put everything on the line to try and save him, but he had said no. I can do more good here.

“I didn’t think that I had a choice,” Kallus finally says. “I didn’t know anything else.”

“Then what changed?”

How to answer? A part of him had died after that night on Bahryn. The person who crawled his way out of the ice and into the trader’s ship was someone else entirely.

Kallus had been given a choice; several, in fact.

He had spared Garazeb Orrelios’ life, twice. He had declined the invitation to be rescued by the Ghost crew.

That’s when he began to acknowledge the cracks — the chipping veneer on the Empire’s elaborate portrait of the future. When given the chance to do something more, he knew that there was another answer than the easy one offered by the Empire.

Eventually, he gives a helpless shrug. “Everything.”

The Bendu considers this, considers him. It’s similar to the feeling of being studied by Kanan Jarrus, or by the Inquisitor. That depth in their gaze that sees beyond this moment, like they know something is about to happen.

Someone who can see the full picture, where Kallus cannot.

Kallus knows, without a doubt, that he’s about to be given another choice. He is a man who takes disjointed pieces and knows how to put them together into a narrative. He is a man who has thrived on logic and reason for so long that they are second nature to him.

There is nothing left for him except execution at the hands of the Empire, or a slow death in the wilds of Atollon. There is no other way for this story to end, except for the choice that he will be offered.

“Would you change this, if you could?” The Bendu waves one massive hand, encompassing Kallus beaten and bloody, the smoldering valley below, the remains of destroyed ships like falling stars in the hazy sky.

“Yes,” Kallus says without hesitating.

“What would you change?”

Another shrug, not knowing where to begin. “Everything.”

The Bendu leans in closer still, until its eyes are the only thing that Kallus can see, and its hot breath washes over him. “If you could do this over again, would you?”

Now is not the time for logic and reason. Now is the time for gut instinct, in trusting something bigger than himself, bigger than the Empire.

Alexsandr Kallus, no longer an ISB Agent, no longer Fulcrum, dead man walking, looks the Bendu straight in the eyes and says, “Yes.”

It happens all at once. (It happens over the course of an eternity.) [It happens in juddering starts and stops and flashes of moments strung together.]

Kallus feels like he’s being plunged into a pool (into the dead cold of space) [like he’s being torn apart and reconfigured]. There is a weight on his chest that saps the air from his lungs and before he can get a chance to wonder if he’s made a mistake, everything goes black.

(( read the rest on ao3 ))

#star wars #sw rebels #star wars rebels #i live life on the wild side and just leave the links in the main post #a lil miss fic #podfic #baby's first podfic please enjoy #litra did an amazing job reading it #written for the pod_together 2021 event

2 notes · View notes

wherevermyway · 4 years

Text

the spectator (2/2) // minchan & binchan // horror // 16+

two: i was never here at all series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: bang chan x lee minho | bang chan x seo changbin rating: mature! 16+ warnings/tags: major character death, possession, obsession, horror, descent into madness, mild acts of violence. word count: 1,318 also on AO3

originally posted: 18 february 2021

Changbin is concerned about Chan’s new obsession.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“We need to leave this house,” he begged and pleaded with Chan during one of the good days. “This place is fucking haunted, I can’t do it anymore.”

“Val bwae nal jikgwa lma?”

Changbin’s eyes went wide as he momentarily forgot how to breathe. “What did you just say?” His ears had to be deceiving him, but—

“Klae ben qwael mi.”

Chan looked so… unaffected as he spoke in a foreign tongue. It wasn’t English, Korean, or even the French that Chan promised he’d keep speaking after university. There was something so off-putting about it, like his database of language had been swapped as if it was a cassette tape.

“Dude, Changbin, you’re gawking again.”

And then he was back.

“Are you okay?” Changbin pressed, feeling his face going cold. He didn’t want to alarm Chan when he seemed so fragile.

“I’m fine, man,” Chan grabbed Changbin’s hands, pressing a quick kiss to the backs of his hands before he froze.

It was minute, but it was there.

Chan is mine.

The whisper on the air was nearly impossible to catch.

“I’m fine, man,” Chan reiterated, smiling as he went back to his book. “Weren’t you saying something about fixing the stove?”

Changbin knew better than to bring up leaving. “Yeah,” he turned to his cup of lukewarm coffee, no longer able to stomach the thought of drinking another sip.

Things got worse after Chan opened the box of photos.

“I love you, Minho. You’re so perfect.”

Chan refused to leave the spare room, the room filled with all of Minho’s possessions. He would sprawl himself out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with an empty gaze. Occasionally, Changbin would hear him speak in the foreign language. There would be laughter.

Chan would be laughing, and Changbin would be curled up in his bed across the hall, covering his face with Chan’s pillow as he cried himself to sleep. It was impossible: he wasn’t able to get Chan to come back, stuck in this peculiar trance that possessed him. Chan was turning increasingly violent and unpredictable as time went on, slapping or shoving Changbin every time he questioned anything about Minho or his belongings.

One day, when he was seemingly normal, when they were about to make their way downstairs for breakfast, Chan started wildly cackling to himself, which caused Changbin to turn around. “Are you alright?”

“Optal vren kal.”

“Chan,” Changbin sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment in exhaustion before hands were on his shoulders, lightly pushing at him.

Changbin collided against the staircase, sliding down the carpet that ran down the middle of it. He landed at the foot of the stairs, seemingly unscathed, but looked up in terror at the man that he loved.

Chan stared down at him, his irises gone for a moment and a playful grin on his face. A soft laugh came up from his chest before he came back. When Chan returned, he panicked for the briefest of moments before it was like his memory was wiped halfway down the staircase.

He was slipping away, becoming less and less Chan-like the further time went on.

One night, Changbin woke up to the sound of laughter from the room across the hallway, and he decided that enough was enough. Still sore from being shoved down the staircase, and tired of fearing the man he loved, he got out of bed. He had no idea how he could combat a ghost, but he decided he would try to get Chan away from the house, no matter what the cost was.

He wanted Chan back, but a rush of guilt overtook him as he briefly considered just leaving him here.

Still, he stood at the doorway of the room staring at the shell that resembled Chan.

“Chan,” he sighed, “please get up. Come back to me.”

The older man rolled his head, gaze empty as he stared. “Xep kal mwe.”

Changbin took in a deep breath, then walked into the room, desperately reaching out towards Chan.

Crossing the threshold was a mistake.

“Get out of my house!” Minho threw books at Changbin, trying to get him to leave, but the man stood firm, tears streaming down his face as he shook his head.

“Give me Chan, and I’ll leave.”

“You can’t have him,” Minho taunted, getting into Changbin’s face. “I’ll make sure you never have him again.”

Chan’s gaze was empty, his pupils and irises gone again as Minho wrapped around him, dangling from his neck, whispering things into his ear.

Changbin stepped back once, until he was in the middle of the doorway. He stared at Chan, his body shaking and trembling from fear and how cold it was in the house. The lights flickered, a few bulbs popping and cracking, the frail, fragile glass collapsing to the ground.

“Leave.”

“Intruder.”

“Get out of this house.”

The hissing of the voices came back, so loud in Changbin’s ears. He wanted to run up to Chan, to grab him and drag him out of the house, but—

It felt like hands grabbed at him, yanking him back to the wall across the door.

He was frozen in place.

“Chan!” Changbin shouted at the top of his lungs as cold hands wrapped around him, pulling at his throat, tangling fingers in his hair.

Minho grinned from ear to ear as he stared at Changbin. He slowly made his way to the frozen man, bringing his cold lips to Changbin's ear. “You had your chance to leave. But Chan is mine forever, now. You’ve made your bed, now lay in it.”

Changbin trembled, trying to force himself free of the grasp that locked him in place. “Please, don’t do this. Please, I love Chan, let him go and you can do whatever you want with me, just let—”

Minho’s eyes glimmered with a red sheen for the briefest of moments as he forced Chan to look at Changbin again.

“Changbin,” his voice was so familiar, yet foreign and far away.

Distant.

“I love Minho. Minho is perfect.”

It was the last thing he said before Minho reached his hands through Chan’s chest.

Chan’s irises came back, his pupils flickering around for a brief moment as he shouted in agony, blood sputtering up from his lungs, blood spilling from his eyes.

“Changbin, please!” He cried out, then fell forward, blood pooling out on the floor, rapidly spilling into the cracks of the wooden floor, into and around the strands of his hair.

The door slammed shut, and Changbin sank into the floor, relinquished from the grasp of the supernatural. His tears fell from his face as he shook, pulling himself across the floorboards. With great effort, he reached up to the door handle, afraid of what he would see if he opened the door.

But he had to.

“Chan,” he whispered, tears slipping into the cracks of his lips as he spoke.

He turned the door handle.

He was prepared to see blood.

He was expecting to see Chan, sprawled out and dead on the floor.

Instead, there was nothing but the boxes stacked up in the corner of the room, up against the window. There were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, the dust-covered silk delicately dancing in the rays of light that streamed in from the window.

“Changbin,” a familiar voice came from behind him, “dude, get off the floor. This place is haunted, let’s get out of here. Didn’t you hear the realtor? It’s not worth it, even if it’s this cheap.”

There was something about the boxes, though. There was a man that sat atop them, encased in a halo of light, his feet dangling as he softly grinned. He was ethereal, somewhat translucent.

“Hello, Changbin,” he taunted, reaching a hand out towards him. “My name is Chan. Remember me? Remember how much you love me? Come set me free.”

#the spectator #skz fics #skz horror #horror #minchan #binchan #bang chan x lee minho #lee minho x bang chan #bang chan x seo changbin #seo changbin x bang chan #chan x minho #minho x chan #chan x changbin #changbin x chan #wherevermyway

9 notes · View notes

stanzoeywade · 4 years

Text

Queen B Mamma Mia AU pt.1

Taglist: @somewillwin @belvoiresqueenbee @origmansello @clownery-is-a-new-personality @kamilahtrash @poppysminion @poppysimp @minsinclair-lee @poppysmc @iiizdumb @uselesslesbianfr @scattered-to-the-winds @idiot-justidiot @toyhenoctus @begoniathotia @otakufangirl-12 @malvinghlein

Summary: This will be based off the sequel so yeah. Enjoy. Hopefully I do this AU justice lmaooo. This first part will be Chloe St.James centric where she will be the character Harry.

First of all I headcanon Chloe to look like Chloe Grace Moretz, because they kinda look the same with their facial structure and nose shape. You don't have to agree, I'm just saying lol.

•Everything starts with you graduating from Belvoire University. Zoey and Penelope as your two best friends, and as a way of wanting freedom, you decide to go around the world in hopes of finding somewhere to settle down.

• Your first stop is Paris, France - also known as the fashion capital as well as being the famous city of love. You immediately fall for the sights that Paris has to offer, it's beautiful, you can't help but think.

• You stumble your way into a hostel tucked away in a small corner of Paris. You're ringing the bell waiting for a concierge but no one comes, so you decide to go behind the counter to get a key for a room. I mean who's gonna turn down the chance to get a free room amirite?

• This is when you meet Chloe, who's dressed in nothing but a bathrobe. Hair wet and dripping on the staircase. The two of you make eye contact and she immediately tries to explain in broken French and English. You just look at her in amusement, having to bite your lower lip to prevent yourself from laughing. "Je voudrais une spare key, s'il vous plaît." she says desperately hoping you understand. "Je suis locked out ma chambre." she pleads.

• Your eyebrows raise in amusement and you can't help but tease her. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite understand. Can you please repeat that?." you say in English. She quickly repeats her broken French until she realises, and she stares at you with a deadpan expression.

• "I don't work here." you quickly explain. She looks at you, curiosity present in those big blue eyes. "I'm gonna call the police." she chides, as to remove the awkward tension. You're quick to say "Please don't." and she just laughs and says "Yeah, I don't think they'll understand my French anyway."

• You quickly check her out, and you're instantly attracted, 'She looks really cute, and she's very sweet too.' - you think to yourself. Chloe also checks you out and thinks 'She's really pretty, I hope she isn't dating anyone. Maybe I have a chance?'

• The two of you decide to tour around Paris together, and you're immediately charmed by Chloe, she's so very nice, albeit naive but she's very charming in her awkward way.

• Chloe's in the same boat, she didn't think that she could fall this fast, but you're a welcome surprise, she loves how you listen and play along with her whenever she has weird thoughts. The two of you find each other very attractive, and it's obvious judging by your long stares and lingering touches.

• "Would it be okay if you hold your bag using your other arm?" she asks meekly. You're confused and you say "Sure, but why?" You notice that she looks shy, cheeks flushed as she stares at the ground. "It's so I can hold your hand" she says in a quiet voice.

• Your heart soars because how can leather jacket wearing "bad girl" Chloe be so fucking cute. You're immediately charmed and you oblige by holding her hand as you walk through the streets of Paris.

• The two of you make your way to a small French restaurant, and despite its outside appearance, you're surprised by how cozy it looks on the inside. You sit across from Chloe, who looks at you with an intense gaze you can feel like she's staring at your soul.

• You learn a lot about Chloe and she's quick to open up to you. It's the same for you though, she makes you feel at ease and even though you've only known each other for a few hours, you can already see yourself trusting her. You tell her about your dream of finding that one place you can call home, and you tell her of your plan to go to Greece someday.

Play Waterloo.

• "What do you think about sleeping together?" she says tentatively, and you choke on your water. "Well aren't you forward" you say playfully. She looks at you and pulls out her guitar, where she starts to play and sing, serenading you. You're surprised by how well she can sing and you can't help but blush.

• You stop her from singing, and she's quick to explain why. "You would be my first" she says quietly and you don't believe her. "You can't be serious, Chloe have you seen yourself? You're lying right?" you say suspicious, but Chloe just looks at you sincerely as she says "There's a lot of advantages of us sleeping together and it will be a win-win situation. I'm also being serious, you'll be my first. It's mad but I think I like you."

• By the end of the night the two of you go to her room, where you spend the night.

NSFW CUT

• As soon as you get to her room at the end of the night, you quickly kiss her gently, as to not overwhelm her. You ask "Are you sure you want to do this Chloe?" and she nods her head as she says "I've never been so sure."

• It starts slow and gentle, where both of you gently caress each other's body, reveling at the soft skin under your touch. You can't help but want to kiss Chloe senseless, especially with that soft expression on her face.

• You slowly start to begin undressing her, tugging on her jacket and quickly taking her shirt off. You can't help but stare at her as you whisper "Beautiful". Her milky white skin looks soft and unblemished, especially with the light shining on her, making it seem like a halo was adorning the top of her head, due to her platinum blonde hair. Your breath is taken away, and you're slowly pulled back to reality when she kisses you again.

• "It's not fair if I'm the only one stripped down to my underwear." she says voice husky from desire. She takes her time undressing you as if opening a present. She kisses each patch of skin that she unravels, her kisses trailing down your neck to your breasts.

• You whine at her soft kisses, and you pull her face towards your lips, kissing her as your hands move downwards to her stomach. She shudders at your touch, and your hands go lower until they find the inside of her thighs.

• You pull at the fabric of her underwear, pulling it down, and Chloe gasps into the kiss, and you pull away to kiss her neck, sucking and biting to leave marks, Chloe's soft whimpers and moans being music to your ears.

• You start to tease her clit, adding pressure using your fingers. Her eyes are glossy, filled with lust as her hips jerk forward wanting more friction. "Rosie, please I need you inside." she pleads desperately. You comply and slide your index and middle fingers inside. She groans at the contact and slightly jerks her hips forward. Your thumb brushes against her clit, which earns you yet another moan.

• You want to hear more so you thrust your fingers in and out slowly, to make sure that she gets used to the movement first. As soon as you feel her inner walls clench around your fingers, you can't help the groan that comes out your mouth as you say "Fuck Chloe, you're so tight." You start to thrust faster and Chloe lets out a wail in pleasure, her body shuddering as you find her g-spot. She's close to cumming, and you can tell because she's lost control of her upper body, which means that she has to lean forward to you for support. She climaxes with a silent moan, body glistening with sweat making her glow and you've never seen anything so hot.

• After Chloe comes down from her high, you kiss her softly and ask "Did that feel as good as it looked?" Her cheeks are still flushed and her breathing is still shaky, and all she can do is nod her head as a response.

• The two of you just bask in the afterglow, cuddling together as Chloe starts pillow talk. "That was nice, it was more than nice actually." she rambles on and you find her oh so very cute at this moment. "Was that okay for you?" she asks shyly, and your response is a soft smile as you say "It was lovely, I had a great time."

• The next day Chloe wakes up to a note by the drawer next to bed and it reads "Thank you for last night, Chloe, that was amazing. I'm sorry for saying goodbye through a note, but I feel like amazing things are waiting for me."

• She immediately gets up out of bed and runs to the airport getting herself a spot on the next flight to Greece.

• As she gets there, she sees you with another woman on a boat, leaving the dock, and her heart is immediately left broken. "Why did I have to fall for you, Rosie Hughes?" she whispers, voice breaking as she sees your figure disappear off into the distance.

Hi, hi everyone this is the first part of the AU, hopefully I did it justice, as always don't forget to like or reblog. (I read the tags when you guys reblog and it always makes me happy when I see that you just enjoyed what I wrote.) The next part will be about Veronica as Bill. 🥺💋 I hope you enjoyed reading. 💕

#chloe x mc #queen b chloe #playchoices #choices fic #mine #mamma mia au #owo #chloe st.james #veronica lombardi #poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #veronica x mc

40 notes · View notes

today-only-happens-once · 6 years

Text

Strength from Which to Speak

Title: Strength from Which to Speak

Word Count: 4412

Summary: for @justisaisfine’s Sanders Bro AU. “Maybe he should have said more about why he was coming, instead of just texting Roman to ask if he could swing by. But it just hadn’t seemed like the kind of thing a person should bring up over text.” Or, Remy LaBlanche finds himself looking to Roman Sanders for some advice on a really important question. Genderfluid!Remy, Sleepxiety, Platonic Roman/Sleep, familial LAMP/CALM.

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury, abuse, trauma, hospitals, threats (kind of?), mention of nightmares, anxiety, crying, nausea mention. Please let me know if I forgot any.

A/N: So I wrote another fic for the Sanders Bro AU because I still have no chill about it. Huge, huge shout-out to Isa for putting up with all my questions. This is me playing in their ‘verse and is more… speculative than the other fic I wrote, but flashback scenes are based on asks and Isa’s responses to them. First time writing Sleep. Relatedly, this was my first time writing a genderfluid character. I hope it’s okay! Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine. Oof. Don’t know for sure how to feel about this one. Thanks again for letting me mess around in your AU, Isa!

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess

…

Present.

Remy LaBlanche releases a breath and rakes a hand through his hair as he stands on the front stoop of the familiar house. He checks his phone. Six minutes early.

He slips his hands into the pocket of his dark jeans and glances up. The sky is painted with layers of darkening gray, promising rain to come. Remy just hopes it’s not an omen. Birds returning from the winter—it’s still early spring—chitter happily to one another as they fly overhead. A cool breeze tugs at the very ends of his hair, pulling the strands back into his face.

He thinks, for a moment, that it makes him look like his boyfriend.

The thought of Virgil reminds him why he’s here. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and wipes the nervous sweat on the denim before he knocks. His fist lingers up by the door, then drops to his side lamely.

Remy has always considered himself someone well-acquainted with the feeling of “nervous”. His first concert with Eye of the Storm? He’d been nervous. The first time he came out as genderfluid—any every single time after that? Nervous. The first time Remy left home, the first time he’d told Virgil he loved him, their first kiss…

“Nervous” had come to be an oxymoron in its comforting familiarity. Except that standing here, on the front stoop of a familiar place, Remy feels a different kind of nervous. One that makes his fingers twitch and his stomach tug into vaguely nauseating knots, no matter how many times he’s told himself that there is no reason to be this—

The door swings open, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hey,” Roman Sanders greets.

His hair is slightly mussed, and his white t-shirt and dark jeans signals that it’s an off day for the actor. Remy doesn’t need to look at him long to recognize the barely hidden worry. It had relaxed over recent years, but it was a familiar look on the oldest Sanders brother. When Remy first met him, Roman had worn his worry—locked behind a bravado—more than Virgil wore his patched hoodie.

“Hey.” Remy rubs the back of his neck. Guilt mixes with the nervousness and sits awkwardly in his stomach. Maybe he should have said more about why he was coming, instead of just texting Roman to ask if he could swing by. But it just hadn’t seemed like the kind of thing a person should bring up over text.

“Uh, come in,” Roman says, stepping to the side. Remy releases a slow breath as he steps over the threshold.

…

Eleven years ago.

Remy has the soles of his shoes pressed up against the amp, his back slouched against the wall. His jacket is discarded on the floor beside the guitar case. The other kid—Virgil, Remy remembers—strums a chord, pauses, changes the fingering on the instrument’s neck, then strums again.

Remy watches him over the top of his sunglasses. This was the second day in a row he’d found the other boy hiding behind boxes, amps, and instrument cases in a spare room of the recording studio. He remembers sheepishly the wide, startled stare Virgil had given him when he’d yelled “Gurl!” upon first hearing him play. But what could he say? Virgil had talent, and Remy definitely hadn’t been expecting to hear it from someone hiding in a spare room.

Virgil seems to notice Remy staring at him and ducks his head a little. He plays a small guitar riff that catches Remy’s ear, his lips quirking slightly. “Here,” he says, taking a long sip of his iced coffee before setting the cup to the side and grabbing a spare guitar. “Play that again.”

The other boy glances up at him through long, purple bangs in surprise before he looks back down at his guitar and plays it again. Remy improvises a couple of chords underneath it. It sounds… really good, if Remy’s being honest. It’s somehow melodic and edgy. The two sounds fit together seamlessly. Virgil keeps playing and Remy matches him chord for chord, until eventually they both let one sustain and fade into silence.

“Well shit,” Remy says after a beat. “That wasn’t half bad.” He wonders why his heart flips a little at the small smile that pulls at Virgil’s lips. It makes him smile a little too.

“Virgil?” The voice from the doorway isn’t one that Remy recognizes.

He cranes his neck over the top of the boxes they’ve effectively hidden behind and sees a man with a curly flop of light brown hair and a red-and-brown letterman jacket with an R on the left. He looks older than both of them, but younger still than most of the people Remy had seen working in the building.

Virgil swivels around and looks at him expectantly. The other man jerks his head over his shoulder. “You ready?” His gaze falls onto Remy, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. The young man’s gaze flickers over Remy’s face for a moment like he’s searching for something. Then he smiles a little, his eyes softening. Whatever he’d been worried about, he didn’t seem to find it. “Hey. I’m Roman.”

“Remy,” he replies. He sees Virgil—who has busied himself by locking the guitar back into its case—glance quickly at him.

“I hate to tear ya away, Virgil,” Roman says apologetically. “But we gotta make sure our brothers haven’t burnt down the house making dinner.”

“Logan wouldn’t let that happen,” Virgil replies, his voice quiet but his eyes sparking with amusement. He jumps to his feet. He glances back again at Remy, who shoots him a finger gun.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, wondering if he sounds as hopeful as he suddenly feels.

Virgil looks at him for a moment, and Remy can’t quite read his expression before he nods. When he and Roman disappear back down the hallway, Remy sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

…

Present.

Remy follows Roman through the entryway, smiling faintly as they pass pictures hanging on the walls. There’s one of the four of them taken last year: Roman, Patton, Logan, and Virgil. Another one of Logan at his undergraduate graduation, accepting his diploma. Another one is of a younger Virgil and Patton mid-laugh while Patton holds a ukulele. Another is clearly of Eye of the Storm during one of their concerts. Virgil has his eyes closed, his lips against the mic. The stage light form a halo around him, and slightly behind him Remy sees himself. Even back then, he looks absolutely smitten as he watches Virgil sing.

Remy hasn’t even realized that he stopped walking until Roman stops mid-stride and glances back at him. He walks back to stand beside Remy, following his gaze to the picture.

“That was your first big concert,” Roman explains. “I’ve always been proud of my brothers, but… seeing Virgil up there on stage in front of hundreds of people?” Roman shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “He looked so happy, y’know? And he deserves that.”

“You all do,” Remy replies, looking at Roman out of the corner of his eye. He steps past the eldest Sanders, crossing into the living room. “But, uh… while we’re on the subject…”

Roman arcs an eyebrow and follows him. “We’re on the subject?”

Remy rakes his fingers through his hair again. He feels restless all of the sudden, barely able to stop himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet against the hardwood floors. “I… wanted to talk to you about Virgil.” The second the words are out of his mouth, Remy wants to take them back as Roman’s eyes flood with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” Remy holds up his hands. “It’s more, um…” He blows out a breath. Just spit it out, LaBlanche. But the words lodge in his throat instead.

Roman is looking at him with a mix of concern and uneasiness. He crosses his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t seem like nothing, Remy.”

Remy leans against the arm of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric. He stares at Roman’s tattoo on his forearm. “I wanted... I want to ask Virgil to marry me.” His gaze flickers up to meet the eldest Sanders brother’s gaze. “But… not until I know what you think.”

…

Ten years ago.

The hospital smells a little too much of Febreze, as if they’re trying to mask the sharp sting of bleach and antiseptic. The bright fluorescent lights reflect glaringly against the blue and white linoleum tiled floor. Remy stares, unseeing, at the pattern between their shoes. Their hands are clasped in front of them as if it will stop the shaking.

They just try to breathe.

They distantly hear a nurse and doctor chatting indiscernibly as the two pass through the small waiting room. It’s almost empty at this hour. Remy doesn’t know exactly what time it is, but it was a little past midnight when they’d called for the ambulance and that was… two hours ago? Four? Six minutes? Remy doesn’t have a clue.

They blow out a shaking breath and presses their fingertips against their burning eyes.

Remy almost thinks that they could handle it if it was just the bruises. The split slip, the swelling eye, the shoe prints against his ribs. Remy thinks maybe they could handle that. But the lack of bruising on Virgil’s fists—he didn’t even try to fight back—the complete emptiness in his thousand yard stare… he wouldn’t even look at them…

Remy’s head jerks up instinctually as they hear the automatic door swish open. Roman is wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt and Remy suddenly feels like they might just burst into tears. They’re on their feet as Roman makes a beeline for them and the words start pouring out their mouth before they’ve even really processed them.

“Roman. Thank God.” Their voice wavers and they swallow hard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. He-he won’t look at me, and I’ve tried everything and you always know what to do, especially with V, and I just… I just… I’ve never seen him like this before, and… and…”

They’re babbling—they know it—but they think that if they stop talking then they won’t be able to speak at all past the lump hardening in their throat.

“Remy,” Roman says, his voice sounding incredibly soft all of a sudden. “Rem, you gotta breathe.”

Remy shakes their head quickly. “I don’t know how to reach him.” Their voice breaks towards the end.

It’s not until they feels a firm grip on their shoulders that they realize they’ve closed their eyes. When they open them, there’s something grounding in Roman’s firm gaze that is boring into them. “It’ll be okay,” Roman tells them, still impossibly calm. “We’ll get him to come back to us.”

Remy nods absently and leads Roman back to Virgil’s room. A nurse is talking idly to Virgil whose gaze looks miles away, unfocused on the plain light blue sheet covering his feet. Remy is distantly aware of Roman asking the nurse some questions, of a doctor that politely breezes between the two in the doorway to discuss some things with the nurse and check Virgil over. Remy isn’t really listening, leaning instead against the entryway and staring helplessly at their boyfriend sitting on the bed.

Virgil’s crumpled form in the alleyway is seared permanently behind Remy’s eyelids. Eye of the Storm had had a concert earlier tonight—a small venue, a hole-in-the-wall, really—and a few minutes after their last set, Remy had realized that Virgil was nowhere to be found. When they’d asked one of the bouncers, he’d told them he thought he saw Virgil step out the back door. Remy figured Virgil had stepped out to get some air and calm down a little from the rush of nervous energy that performing always gave him. He’d probably be back in a minute or two, and Remy hadn’t wanted to overwhelm him if he needed a minute to himself.

But that minute turned into fifteen. And Remy couldn’t quite help the pit in their stomach. And they figured that at least checking in on him wouldn’t hurt.

They should have checked sooner.

“If you both could give us a minute to check over Virgil here and step out into the hall, we can let you know when it’s clear to come back.”

Remy had nearly tripped in their rush to Virgil when they’d realized that he was the motionless heap under the streetlight. They’d called his name, their heart lodged in their throat. There hadn’t been a response. It wasn’t until Remy had gotten close enough to touch their boyfriend that they’d had confirmation that he was breathing. Shallow, with a pained hitch every now and then.

Remy had said his name again. Virgil had blinked slowly. Sluggishly. He wouldn’t look at Remy.

“Of course, doctor. Do whatever you need to. We’ll just be right outside.”

Remy had tried everything. Saying his name. Squeezing his hand. Tapping his cheek. Cracking a stupid joke. Cupping his face. Kissing the top of his head and trying not to think about why his hair reeked of copper…

“C’mon.”

Someone did that to him. In the back of their mind, Remy had that knowledge simmering just beneath the overwhelming worry. Someone put their hands on Virgil and inflicted pain. Intentionally. Their hands curl into fists in their pockets for a moment.

“Remy?” Roman steps in front of him into their direct line of sight. “You with me?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, sorry.”

“Come on.”

They reluctantly follow Roman out the door into the hallway. They glance at the cock on the wall as they push through the double-doors back towards the waiting room. It’s nearly three in the morning. Weird. They don’t feel that tired.

Roman, on the other hand, evidently does. He makes his way to the small table towards the back of the room and tugs a Styrofoam cup off the top of the stack and tests the weight of the coffee container before pouring the cup about half-full. Remy watches him, and then the question is tumbling past their lips before they can think to stop it.

“How did you do it?”

Roman looks startled at the question, freezing for a moment with his hand partially outstretched towards the small basket of coffee creamers. The eldest Sanders glances over his shoulder back towards them. “How did I do what?”

Remy thinks about how starkly the dark bruises and angry red blood had looked against Virgil’s pale face under the dull glow of the yellow streetlight. The sudden rush of helplessness threatens to choke their throat.

“All those times…years ago, how did you come home and see them like that?” They pull their hands out of their pockets even though they’re shaking for a different reason now. Their jaw clenches. “All I want to do is go out there and find them and beat them up.”

Roman goes perfectly still. He turns to face Remy, forgetting the coffee entirely. His eyes are a little wide. “I know it’s not fair, but that’s—there’s nothing you can do, Remy.” And that’s…well, that’s not what Remy had been expecting. Roman doesn’t even seem… angry. “You just have to let it go.”

“Let it go?” Remy demands incredulously.

“Yes,” he insists and it brings Remy up short. Because there’s something haunted in Roman’s eyes. A distant echo of the look in Virgil’s when they’d found him in the alley earlier tonight.

“I…” Remy starts, but the words die on their tongue.

The ghosts behind Roman’s gaze gives way to a weighted resignation. It occurs to Remy very suddenly that Roman had only been fifteen when they’d left home. He’d been a child, too.

“All you can do,” Roman tells him, “is be there for Virgil. Patch him up. Help him feel safe. That’s it, Rem. Let everything else go.”

…

Present.

Roman blinks at him. “Oh.”

Remy barely hears the one word response over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He swallows hard. His grip curls even more against the fabric on the arm of the couch. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know what Roman’s expression is. He thinks he’s afraid to know.

“You know,” Roman says, “Virgil is capable of making his own decisions.”

“Right. Of course,” Remy replies quickly. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. They’re shaking a little, and the last thing he wants is for Roman to see just how afraid he is of Roman’s answer. “But… Look, Virgil thinks the absolute world of you, Logan, and Patton. We both do.” His gaze flickers back up. He’s surprised as the softness in Roman’s gaze as he meets it.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Roman jokes lightly, but Remy shakes his head.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “At every point, long before I even met Virge, it’s been you three that have looked out for him. And… and you’ve always tried to make choices with his best interest at heart.”

“Rem—”

“So it’s not so much that I’m… I dunno. Asking permission.” Remy takes a breath. “I actually want to know if you think it’s… a good idea or not. Because I don’t… want to mess things up.”

God, he’s not used to feeling this vulnerable around people that weren’t Virgil. He finds himself babbling to fill the silence, as if the more he talks the more he can delay Roman’s judgement.

“And I mean, I want what’s best for Virgil. More than anything, I just… I want him to be happy. And-and I want to be someone who can make him happy, y’know? I love him. I really, really do. I just, I want to know that other people who have his best interest in mind also thinks that it’s a good idea to get married because… because I guess I’m kind of biased, so maybe I’m not really thinking of his best interest?”

“Remy.”

When did he start pacing? He’s walking away from Roman towards the fireplace. “I mean, my parents were divorced. You know that, I don’t know why I’m telling you that. I guess just… I was always kind of skeptical about marriage because of it, but I know that I don’t want anyone else but Virgil. But if neither of us exactly have a strong example of marriage in our lives, is marriage even the best idea?” He sighs, then turns on his heels and looks back at Roman. “Remember when Virge first told you that we were officially dating? Do you remember what you texted me?”

Roman opens his mouth but Remy can tell that he doesn’t remember, exactly, and pushes on. He keeps pacing. “You texted me, ‘keep him happy, okay? Please.’ And I told you I’d do my absolute best. I… I don’t want him to be unhappy. He’s had enough of that in his life. And God, Roman, you’ve given everything to fix that.” He waves a hand in Roman’s direction from across the room. Roman looks taken aback.

Remy swallows past the lump in his throat. He stops walking suddenly, standing in the middle of the living room and looking at Roman.

“So I guess I’m asking for brutal honesty. Do you think it’d be a mistake to ask Virge to marry me?”

…

Nine years ago.

“Remy. I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

They’re standing outside the apartment building at some time past four in the morning. The late fall air is bitingly cold, especially this late at night. Remy tucks her nose into her scarf and shoves her hands deeper into the pockets of her leather jacket. Roman rakes a hand back through his hair. He’s still jittery, and Remy can practically see the thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles per hour.

Virgil and Patton had finally fallen asleep leaned against one another on the couch at somewhere around two in the morning. For a while, Remy had wondered if any of them were going to sleep that night. She still remembered the blind panic in Virgil’s eyes when she’d first arrived after telling him to turn on the news. The way his hand had fisted in her shirt, the sound his breath had made wheezing in and out of his lungs. Roman had arrived the next morning with Patton—Logan a few hours later—his jaw clenched and his eyes somehow both terrified and determined.

Much like they still look now.

Roman runs a hand over his mouth, looking out across the empty street. “You three going to Europe is the best way to get Virgil out of dodge.” Roman swallows. “Thomas is right. Virge is the only one at risk of getting taken back, and he’ll be safer if he’s abroad.”

Remy nods her understanding. Roman whirls suddenly. There’s something unsettling and raw just beneath the surface of his dark eyes. “You have to keep him safe.”

“I will,” she says without hesitation.

“I mean that,” Roman says, steel charged through his voice. “My brothers and I… we would do anything to make sure Virgil is safe. And right now… right now, that means sending him where our parents can’t get to him.”

Remy doesn’t know what to say. She nods quietly.

“We’re doing this to keep him safe,” Roman repeats, as if he’s trying to convince himself of the fact as much as Remy. “But Virgil… I need to know that someone has his back, Remy. I need to know that someone is going to be out there protecting my little brother because if something happens, I… I won’t be able to be there.”

In the past two days, Remy had seen a lot of unsettling things. Virgil trembling in her arms in the throes of a panic attack. The barely-noticeable tremor in Logan’s voice when he told his brothers that he’d prepared for this. Patton’s unusual, quiet distance and the way he’d tense any time one of his brothers so much as walked out of his line of sight. But through it all, Roman had managed to keep it together. Aside from the occasional flicker of… of something, a shadow, that Remy couldn’t quite figure out… Roman had dove head-first into damage control and problem-solving as if it was second nature.

But now. Standing out here without the close, watchful eye of his younger brothers tracking his every move and clinging to his every word like it’s a lifeline… Roman seems just as scared as the rest of them.

“We’ll keep him safe, Roman.”

“I’m counting on it. Because if you don’t, and he gets hurt…” Roman squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and takes a breath. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do at this point. I really don’t.”

…

Present.

There’s a weight to the moment of silence that follows Remy’s words. He looks at his Chuck Taylors against the light hardwood floor, at the late morning sun filtering in through the blinds at the far window leaving strips of light against the couch on the opposite wall. His gaze flits back up to Roman, who’s looking at him steadily with an expression Remy can’t quite decipher.

Roman slips his hands into his pockets. “For a long time, the four of us were all we had,” he begins, carefully. Remy feels suddenly rooted to the spot. “My brothers were my whole world. We built our lives with and around one another. Letting people into that life always felt like a risk. And it always… took time to let people in. That was especially true for V.”

Remy nods quietly, glancing down. He remembers those first days, weeks, months of hanging out with Virgil. How they’d mostly consisted of one-sided conversations and jam sessions until slowly, Virgil started to crack jokes back at him, or laugh, or answer a question with more than a monosyllabic response.

“And I think because of that, we’ve always been… protective of him. You know that,” Roman says, waving a hand. “I know you know that. But… I want you to know that Virgil has never let just anyone in. You were probably the first. And that says something: something about you, and about how he feels about you.”

Remy glances back up. There’s something impossibly soft about the way Roman is looking at him right now.

“And I see how you are around one another,” Roman continues. “The way he gravitates towards you, even in crowds. The way you seem to know just the right thing to say to ease that tension in his shoulders. The way you look at him when he sings on stage, and the way he looks at you when he isn’t sure about something. I know it was you who first really pushed him to pursue the band.”

Remy lifts a shoulder, trying to not let his hope lift with it just yet. “It was his idea.”

“But you were there to actually get him to pursue that dream.” Roman sighs, his lips pressing into a grim line. “And I know that you’ve been there for all the ugly, too. The panic attacks and the nightmares and the flashbacks.”

Remy nods slightly. He doesn’t know what to say. Virgil had needed him during those times. He wouldn’t have thought to do anything else.

Roman takes a step forward and Remy holds his breath. Here it comes.

“I have done my best to always be there for my brothers. That won’t change. But I know that I’m not the only one they can rely on anymore. At every step, Virgil has chosen you and leaned on you and you have been there, Remy. You bring out the best in one another. He’s good for you, and you’re good for him.” Roman’s gaze is as gentle as it is unwavering. “It’s ultimately up to Virgil, but you both have my support.”

Remy swallows past the lump in his throat and nods. “I… thank you, Roman.”

Roman smiles at him—warm and twinkling with pride—and pulls Remy into a sudden hug. Remy hugs him back, releasing a slow, steadying breath even as his heart is flipping in his chest. When Roman pulls back, he’s beaming.

“So,” he asks, “have you picked out a ring yet?”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sleepxiety #romantic sleepxiety #remy sanders #sanders bro au #tw cursing #tw violence #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw hospitals #please heed warnings #not just in the tags but at the top too #sflkjsfkljsdklfj i hope this is okay #*covers my eyes and presses post*

746 notes · View notes

lostinfantasies38 · 5 years

Text

5 Questions for Writers

Thanks for this wonderful writer tag @serial-chillr ! Tagged by @pikapeppa, @theaiobhan, @fandomn00blr

Sorry this took me so long to answer. I had to scour all my work to answer a couple of these.

1. Do you have a favourite character to write? Who and why?

Shit, this is hard. I love writing so many characters, but Alistair and Sirra are my favorites.

Sirra is unique with her dwarven perspective, and that tends to bleed into the rest of her life. She isn’t hardened by any means, but her worldview is admittedly different, though she always tries to save as many lives as possible. The last thing she ever wants to be is the callous Carta bitch Orzammar labeled her. But she is scrappy and feisty, an absolute badass in battle, and Ancestors help anyone who touches her friends and family.

Alistair is fun to write because he is sarcastic and witty, a fierce warrior who will wreck shop on the field, but he’s so insecure. His uncertainty and need for validation make him approachable and real. I have so many feelings about this man - it's absurd.

2. Do you have a favourite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

GIVE ME ALL THE TROPES!! I’m not sure if I have a favorite, per se. I love them all and I am liberal with them, as anyone who has read my work will attest. But I do love “friends to lovers,” “they were roommates,” and everyone’s favorite, “there was only one bed.”

Obviously, now that I am looking at these, I think this speaks to my need for fulfillment in proximity within my own life. There is intimacy inherent in sharing space with someone on the daily like ‘friends’ and ‘roommates’ and anytime you share a sleeping space with someone, even platonically, you form a bond. How far that bond progresses is up to both parties, but it doesn’t remove the foundation that now exists for something more to grow upon.

I write the things I lack, the things I want, the things that make me happy. Because let’s face it - we all live vicariously through our characters.

3. Share your favourite description you’ve written?

Fuuuuuck, this is hard! I am a very descriptive writer. But probably my Varric prompt that @somniaran sent me. You have to read the whole thing, but it’s too long to post here, so I’ll link it. Titled “Careworn.”

But here is a portion of Alistair’s memory of the fight with the Archdemon, from my Alistair/Rylie Trevelyan WIP. In this story, Elissa made the Ultimate Sacrifice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lips crashed together and he pulled her as close to him as their armor would allow in a desperate final plea with each other. Elissa leaned out of the kiss and stared at him with her pale blue eyes that reminded him of whitecaps on the ocean – washed out sapphire ringed with gray, wholly unique and captivating.

“Goodbye.”

Alistair opened his mouth to argue with her again, but her thumb pressed against the pressure point in his neck that Zevran taught her during her assassin training. His knees buckled and his vision darkened from lack of oxygen. When he sank to the ground, Elissa finally removed her thumb, staring at him with a heartbroken expression before spinning on her heel to face destiny.

He was so weak that he could only watch as the Archdemon lifted its head in a final challenge to the woman barreling down on it. Alistair raked a hand along the gore-covered stone towards her and yelled hoarsely when she snatched a nearby sword. She slid under the dragon’s neck with sword tip raised and cleaved it in half. Elissa rolled out from under the mighty Archdemon and without hesitation slammed the blade through its head with an anguished shout.

Blinding light and heat filled the center of the tower, rapidly expanding to encompass the whole of the building. Alistair could barely see her in the white-hot halo, but his tainted blood located her directly in the center. She was the center. She was the light. A high-pitched keen rent the air, growing in intensity until it abruptly stopped. All sound in the city was extinguished and an eerie silence descended. The light shattered without warning and the shockwave of searing heat sent him flying across the tower, knocking him unconscious from the force of his landing on the stone.

4. Share your favourite dialogue you’ve written?

I have so many favorites!! But most of them are spoilers of WIPs and I don’t want to give too much away on them. So here is my favorite snippet from Sun Touched. Apologies if you are reading the story on AO3 and already know this segment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who are you? I specifically told Carroll not to let anyone cross the lake. We are dealing with a delicate situation here. You must leave immediately.”

Sirra bristled and took a bold step forward. “No. The mages are obligated to aid the Grey Wardens during a Blight. I didn’t come all the way here to be denied men for the scourge that threatens us all.”

The Templar narrowed his eyes, but didn’t speak. He simply appraised the dwarven woman whose fuse was as short as her stature. “The Circle is lost. Abominations and demons roam the halls. We were overrun and not prepared for such an onslaught. We’ve barred the doors to keep them out and are waiting for reinforcements from Denerim for the Right of Annulment.”

Alistair groaned and Leliana gasped at his pronouncement while Sirra huffed impatiently with her hands on her hips. "Oh, for the love of all the Paragons! What does that mean?”

Alistair snorted softly at her dwarven curse and murmured in her ear. “The mages are probably already dead. The Right allows for the Templars to kill everyone inside to prevent abominations escaping and any mages that might be alive from becoming possessed.”

Sirra reeled back in shock, staring at the older Templar, as fury bubbled within her. “They are mages! They have magic! They can’t all be dead! You locked them in there and left them to their fate like cowards!”

A hush descended on the room and he opened his mouth to refute her and regain his authority, but she cut him off with a slashing motion of her hand, glaring at him in defiance. “I’m going in and I will save them, which is what you should have done! And when I return you will aid me against the Blight or so help me, you won’t be begging the Maker to spare your life, you will beg me. Is that understood?”

“I assure you abominations are nothing to scoff about.” The Templar closed the gap between them and stared down at her imperiously, attempting to intimidate her.

Flicking her throwing knife into her palm, she tossed it casually in the air, catching it by the hilt with ease, a murderous glint in her dark gaze. “Do I look like I’m scoffing to you? I have confidence in my abilities. You really should thank me for doing your damn job, but if that’s below you then at the very least, get out of my fucking way. I have people to rescue.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I have a few AU ideas, which would allow for some interesting scenes/scenarios, but I’m keeping them close to my chest right now. I don’t know that they will ever come to fruition, but if they do, I want them to be a surprise.

Thanks for tagging me, friends! Tagging forward to @bigfan-fanfic @ginnyq @darlingrutherford @ranawaytothedas @somniaran @jacklyn-flynn and anyone else who would like to play!

#writer tag #tag game #dragon age

11 notes · View notes

neko-kaiyo · 5 years

Text

Snowgirl (Newsies OC Week 2019 #1)

Ummm, okay so I don’t actually write a whole lot, but yeah anyways, I’m using my OC Yoko, originally she a mistwolf and usually magical, but that does not apply and Kitsune was her sister, they come from a family of assassins who immigrated from Japan to New York, they were called the Hoshi Clan, and they were found out and any and all children or ones who were considered children were thrown into the refuge and treated horribly. Kitsune caught the flu and never recovered, she died in Yoko’s arms. Yoko was released a few days later. So that’s some background. Anyway, enjoy my shitty angst.

(also italics are character thoughts~)

Snowgirl

TW; Near Death, Hypothermia, Cursing(?) Mentioned Death of a Sibling, Someone gets punched in the face (non-graphic), some slightly suicidal thoughts (implied and vaguely said)

Yoko’s first winter since being released from the refuge wasn’t pleasant.

Everything ached, her bones, her head and her heart. Not only would this be her first winter out of the refuge, but this would also be her first winter without her sister, Kitsune.

She had spent nearly her entire life in the refuge for something her family did, she had nowhere to go since everyone she loved was now in the dirt. Yoko shivered as the bitter wind slashed through her threadbare clothes, she was wandering the streets aimlessly. Eventually, she drifted into an alleyway, seeking shelter from the angry wind biting at her.

Maybe… she thought If I have no one… will it be okay if I go? Yoko looked up to the stars for an answer, finding them half-hidden by the evening light.

Her feet carried her down the alley and back finding the darkness in the shadows all too familiar and entrapping. Her heart was a weight in her chest, hopelessness fogged her soul.

She wandered. And wandered.

And finally… she gave up.

The snow was almost plush but still stiff and sharp under her collapsed body. Yoko knew she most likely was developing hypothermia and must’ve had frostbite on every bit of herself. Well, it was a little more than likely, the tips of her fingers were both white and blue, she figured the rest of her hand and arm was the same. And yet she still couldn’t muster up the determination or will to live. The strength to stand and move. Soon enough the ability to stay awake would be taken from her as well.

The realization hit her that tonight she may die, but maybe she’d see Kitsune. Right, Stars? I know I came from somewhere bad, but I’ll still be able to see her once more…? The tears slipped past from her eyes, she thought her tear ducts would be too frozen to do that, but warm salty tears trailed down her face and she cried, not for the life she’d be losing but for the unknown. Crying made her tired, despite the creeping frost.

Soon… just a little bit longer before I can sleep...

At least… that’s what she thought.

Once again Jack had to go out and drag Race back into the warmth of the lodging house before he decided to take a hike over to Brooklyn. “It’s poker night!” or “I gotta bet on the races while I still can!” would be the idiot’s excuse, when everyone knew he wanted to see his lover, the one and only king of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon.

“Racetrack Higgins, you’ve reached a peak of stupidity!” Jack exclaimed, nearly facepalming.

Said blond protested indignantly (even though Jack was somewhat correct). “Me? Noooo.” Race drawled sarcastically, then added in a deadpan. “Besides, wanting to see my boyfriend is stupid?”

“No, hiking across the bridge from Manhattan to Brooklyn in several feet of snow is.”

Race nodded slowly to Jack’s point. “Fair enough.”

Just as Jack was about to launch into something that may have been grumbling about the cold (and Race’s idiocy) he paused hearing something.

“Lose brain function?” Race asked. Jack sent him an unamused glare and shushed him.

He could hear labored, uneven breathing and crying. From his experience, that was never good. Jack glanced at Race momentarily before they set off toward the sound.

What they found was, to say the least; Frightening.

A young girl was lying half-buried in the snow, the light fall of snowflakes making piles as she made no move to brush them away. Her wild mess of golden curls was splayed out around her head like a halo framing her icy blue skin. She had the most vivid viridian green eyes that would sparkle in sunlight but were dull behind her fluttering eyelids.

“Dio mio.. (oh my god)” Race breathed, concerned for the snowgirl.

“Jesus, she’s gonna freeze! We’ve gotta get her to the Lodge!” Jack yelled, already pulling off his rather sad excuse for a jacket and scooping the girl into his arms, cradling her close to his chest, hopefully providing some form of heat. He used the jacket to shield her from the wind and onslaught of snow.

Race ran ahead of Jack to give Mush a heads up that they practically had a human icicle. Meanwhile, the girl had started to murmur incoherently and was teetering on the edge of consciousness, Jack had heard that you needed people like this to stay awake, so he talked to her, telling, almost pleading for her to stay awake. So many kids would freeze to death on the streets, just falling asleep in an alley or on a doorstep and just never waking up again. And this girl wouldn’t be one of those kids if Jack had any say in it.

The minute Jack entered the lodge, girl in his arms, she was placed on a bunk and wrapped with as many blankets as they could spare (Jack was unwillingly trapped in the blanket burrito, but skin to skin contact would help so he dealt with it). Mush rubbed warmth back into the girl’s arms and neck and chest.

Little by little the color returned to the girl, a slight blush filled her cheeks from either the cold or heat and there was no purple in her lips anymore, only a soft pink. But… The girl didn’t wake up that night.

No one knew who she was but Jack and Race and others who had done time in that prison mislabeled “The Refuge”, saw the signs.

A group of newsies had convened in a conversation about “snowgirl” as Race and Romeo had dubbed her since no one knew her name.

“Maybe she came from the refuge?” Jack wondered aloud.

Racer nodded grimly. “She got the scars for it..”

“That terrible..” Elmer murmured, looking back sadly at snowgirl (the nickname caught on). Crutchie nodded in agreement.

Romeo copied Elmer. “She’s pretty.”

“Romeo!” several of them groaned or chided, slapping him with their caps.

Eventually, they dispersed into their own bunks to settle in for the night. Mush and Jack took the responsibility of checking her throughout the night. There wasn’t much of a change other than a steady rise in her temperature.

Snowgirl was still unconscious by the time the morning bell rang and everyone started their day and got ready to carry the banner. Jack, being the leader and “responsible one” (for the most part) stayed back to look after her in case she woke up.

A few hours of the day passed. Jack came and went to check up on her, and at some point settled at her bedside to draw (Sante Fe and Crutchie). Movement startled him back to the real world and he saw the most vivid shade of green. Viridian.

The waking up and coming too was a bit chaotic, nothing that Jack couldn’t handle (he had no handle on the situation but somehow he made it through with only one punch in the face from a terrified girl).

Thankfully he got her to talk a bit. She told her story in bits and pieces, Jack understood that she’d need time to trust, but he welcomed her to a place where lost people could find a loving home with some minorly crazy brothers and sisters.

As it turned out snowgirl had a name. Her name was Yoko. She was strange and it took a long time for her to open up, but she grew to love everyone, she was happier than she could ever believe. Some days she wished to meet Kitsune again, but that could wait, she hoped Kitsune wouldn’t mind waiting. Yoko talked to the stars every chance she got, she thanked them for looking after her sister and thanked them for leading her to the newsies.

Tags:

can think of anyone else who would be interested cause it ne my first time doing this so uhhh

@tea-and-theater

#should be asleep #But instead I'm writing this #and posting at the last possible minute #oc #yoko #newsies #writing #my shitty writing #newsies oc week 2019

3 notes · View notes

post-itpenny · 5 years

Text

Changes

Some mafia AU. Tagging both @clownsgobeepbeep and @grotesquegabby since your characters are mentioned. Also, we get to learn a little about what Magpie used to do for the mafia.

Vespers had heard many a story about Aunt Magpie when she still “worked.”

Magpie has been one of the best contractors in the city. Vespers recalled hearing how she could send a bullet clean through a man’s ear canal from a hundred yards away. That she once had to take out her target in a room full of police, successfully doing so without getting caught and using only a safety pin and a slice of grapefruit.

She was who they sent to take out anyone who needed discretion. High profile members of other gangs, influential people of the city, cleaning house amongst their own ranks. She could create a weapon out of anything and could kill anyone with anything in as quiet and efficient a manner as possible. She was their angel of death.

But the aunt Vespers remembered from his childhood always came home exhausted, bloody, and sad. She had at some point started to hate her job no matter how good at it she was. She was miserable, just as miserable as she was now.

Vespers took one step into the antique shop and flinched at the sight of his aunt. She stood behind the counter gripping a cup of tea, her eyes red and puffy, her white hair had been hastily thrown into a bun. He doubted she had been getting much sleep. Magpie had been devastated upon hearing the news that her brother planned to allow Maggie to be arrested, relieved when she learned someone had sent a lawyer to get her out (someone had also paid for her hospital bills and Vespers suspected that one might not have been the D’Vitts.), but Maggie had been expected to resume working as if nothing had happened. Considering her injuries work wasn’t even an option for the next several weeks. Maggie had been angry and frustrated as she fumbled through one or two jobs before suddenly announcing she was leaving.

When they heard she now worked for the Bluebloods it came as both a surprise and a slap in the face.

Magpie was terrified for her adopted daughter, Peregrine insisting that Maggie not even be allowed to come collect her belongings made it worse.

Vespers ran his hands through his hair as he stomped upstairs into the small apartment his aunt used to share with Maggie, going into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea. He couldn’t help but notice a bag sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. He wondered if perhaps his aunt planned to try and bring Maggie some of her belongings but shook his head at the thought. After the bridge stunt the Jester crew had grown quiet, message received.

Almost.

Jack himself had been spotted the next day directly across the street from the shop. The sidewalk was crowded so taking him out was a no, but ever since Magpie was nervous to leave. Peregrine arranging so there was someone guarding the place 24/7.

Vespers gripped the edge of the countertop as he waited for the kettle to boil. He was so angry at Maggie for abandoning them, especially when Magpie needed her the most. But at the same time, could he blame her?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a small but crowded restaurant two men sat talking. Their conversation was hushed, one clearly nervous of being overheard. But there was nothing to fear, families sat around them and the occasional group of coworkers taking a quick lunch. The business they discussed was safe.

Neither man noticed the woman who sat in a nearby corner. No one ever did.

It was something the old woman had taught Maggie, you aren’t noticed if you are not noticeable.

She sat hunched over a cup of tea and a pastry. The redhead looked rather down and out with one arm in a cast and sling, one foot propped up. Not much of a threat at all really.

She took a sip of tea, and listened. It didn’t matter how loud the restaurant was, that was just a matter of tuning out the background noise. So she listened to the nervous man give information that was never meant to be said and Maggie took mental notes that she would have to write down later. She was thankful this job was so easy, Maggie could walk now but too much was painful and she still had another week or so to go in the cast. A small pin could be seen peeking out from under the sling that held up her arm. Black wings on either side of a halo that was designed like thin rays of light. The star at the center a series of broken half circles.

She shifted uncomfortably at the thought of the thistle tattoo that was between her shoulder blades. She was relieved Blueblood didn’t make her get another tattoo, but she was conflicted as what to do about her old one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vespers was heading out on a job with three of his men. Not having Maggie there to be lookout made him nervous. Her ears had been vital and without her tracking if the police were coming would be a lot harder. His easy days of having a window to get out of trouble were long gone and he didn’t like the change.

He stepped out the antique shop and headed towards the waiting car. Not noticing a little boy slip out the door behind him and go the opposite direction. All Vespers could think was how close this job was going to take him to the edge of D’Vitt territory. Coraline said she was planning to cash in his favor at a later time but the suspense of it still made him uneasy. The thought of possibly running into Stella D’Vitt did not put him at ease either.

Vespers slid into the car with a grumble, “I do not make eyes at him.”

One of the crew looked back at him from the front seat, “sorry boss what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything, now turn around and drive.” Vespers snapped.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was early evening and a little boy with large glasses entered a tea shop. At one table by the window sat someone who had been expecting him.

“Hiya Atlas how have you been doing?” Maggie asked with a warm smile.

Atlas passed her the bag he had been carrying and climbed into the empty seat at the table. “I’m alright Miss Maggie. Aunt Magpie told me to tell you that there are two sets of clothes, your hair brush, and- and, I’m sorry I didn’t write it down.”

“Its alright bud. I mean I’ll know when I open it yes? How about I order you a sandwich ok?”

Atlas nodded, “do they have grilled cheese?”

Maggie smiled, “I’m sure they do. Now what book are you currently reading four-eyes?”

Atlas chuckled, “mom says you shouldn’t call me that. But I’m reading Sherlock Holmes! It's about this detective and his doctor friend and they solve all kinds of cool crimes and-”

Maggie smiled as she listened to Altas rattling on about his new book. He was so smart and didn’t deserve half the stuff he had to go through via his parents jobs. Vega and Joseph wanted him to go on to university, to get out. She didn’t blame them one bit.

“So can I ask a question?”

Maggie blinked, her thoughts pulled back into focus. “Yeah sure kid what's up?”

“Mom said you and your new boss argued lot whenever he visited. Why work for someone you don’t like? Don’t you like my family anymore?”

Maggie cringed a little, “it's not that Atlas I’m honest. I’m still friends with your parents and Vespers, I care a lot about your aunt. But I didn’t have a place anymore and my new boss is a jerk he really is, but it's good pay.”

“Why is he a jerk? Does he ki-”

“Not here, you know better,” Maggie insisted. “Now I need you to do me a really big favor and take this to your aunt.”

Maggie passed Atlas a small envelope, he could soft yet rectangular contents inside. He gave a firm nod, feeling a sense of pride knowing Maggie trusted him enough to be delivering money.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The job went well, they had a close call but the new lookout had proven himself.

Vespers sighed as he entered the manor that served as the family home. He had to shoot at close range and was saddened to see the blood and gore all over his suit.

Juno walked by and gave a smirk, “you look like hell. Hope your boyfriend didn’t catch you like that.”

Vespers grimaced, “I don’t know what your talking about.”

Juno laughed as she walked out the door. Where she was going Vespers had no idea and quite frankly he didn’t care. He went up to his quarters, getting cleaned up before going into the moth room.

It was a section of the sitting room of his area of the house. A tall glass enclosure filled with branches of mulberry leaves, lamps, and a dish of water. Dozens of moths flitted about while growing caterpillars munched away on the provided leaves. On the floor were several empty cocoons, Vespers collected these silken treasures and packed them away. He would send them to be made into silk thread he could then have made into whatever he wanted. He admired the lovely wings of her precious pets, their lives so short but their beauty something even the most stunning of ball gowns could not compare to in his opinion. He sneered, far better than sharks, or the smile of someone related to someone with pet sharks.

Vespers shook his head as if to chase away the thought, he really needed to get some sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maggie entered the cheap motel room she was currently renting. It was far from glamorous but it had a bed and a shower which was what she needed. Maggie was in fact aware of what was happening with Magpie, the plan now was to send as much of the money she earned that she could spare to Magpie who would then go to a realtor and buy a place as far out of the city as possible. Maggie had left her savings with the older woman and while Magpie very much did not like who Maggie now worked for she was not about to turn down an opportunity to get out once and for all. They had arranged things with Joseph and Vega to help with everything, even allowing Atlas to act as go between Maggie and Magpie.

In the bag Atlas had brought was indeed two new sets of clothes and a hair brush. Maggie also found a set of bobby pins, a few packets of tea and-

Maggie gave a small sob. At the bottom of the bag was a brand new boa.

It was beautiful with shiny black feathers that were so soft to the touch. Maggie cringed at the thought of Magpie going into either of their savings to get this for her, but the money could be replaced quickly thanks to her higher paycheck and the sight made her feel just a little more like her old self again.

#mafia au

5 notes · View notes

green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

Text

Son of the Sea

Pairing: Selkie!Steve x Female!Reader Summary: After losing your crew- your family- and waking up in a town you’ve never been to before, you find yourself going through life in a bit of haze while you recover. Your only solace is the sea, which you spend any time you can spare staring longingly at. That is until a mysterious, handsome blond makes a sudden appearance in your life. This stranger isn’t like the other townsfolk. Unlike them, he seems to understand, if the spark in his eye when he looks at the ocean is any indication. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only, smut, vaginal sex, unprotected sex Word Count: ~8,566 A/N: This is the first Monster!Character one shot for this Spooktober season! If you’d like to be tagged in other Spooktober stories, check out this post! Send me Spooktober requests for Monster!Character fics you want to see!

Masterlist // The Monster Series Collection

As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair To view the salt water and take the sea air I heard an old fisherman singing a song Won’t you take ma away girls me time is not long