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grandlinedreams · 29 days

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Well, since I have fallen for your writing pretty hard (it's a blessing really, because so far only your reader can be read as a he when it comes to the Fallout series fandom), my brain's been spewing ideas at me.

I'd love to see a genuinely jealous Cooper. Awfully and painfully jealous, where he's actually hurting and doubting himself, but is also angry. Not the kind of playful jealousy he felt towards Lucy, no. Something deeper. And angry at the slimy guy who's already stepped over any kind of boundaries when he's laid his eyes on what's his. But they need the information, they can't go forward without it, so the plan is for the reader (you knooow, that version of the reader from that particular fic of yours, where they are crafting ammo) to get close, flirt with him, go real sweet on him. But that guy's too touchy. Too close, too dangerously close. To getting his brains blown out of his skull by Cooper's gun, that is.

I absolutely love your writing ❤️

OUGH YES I EAT THAT SHIT UP EVERY TIME but also thank-you!! I do my absolute best not to gender reader bc it bugs me to do it unless I'm asked to and it's also just a whole lot more inclusive! 🥺❤️

ㅡ

Warnings: jealous!Cooper, some self deprication, mentions of pre-War Cooper, weapons maker/dealer!reader, touch of angst, Canon typical violence, Lucy just watching all of this like ??, skeezy informant dude do be skeezin', boundaries very overstepped (unwanted touch, lewd words), questionable alcohol,cursing, quick and dirty Makeout sesh at the end lmao

The place is a "bar" in the lowest sense of the term. A gutted out building that was undoubtedly a diner of some kind before the war, now with blown out windows but surprisingly, a neon 'open' sign that halfway works in places, spitting sparks that makes Lucy eye it warily. "Is this place...safe?"

You snort. "If you're lookin' for safe, you should've stayed in that tin-can vault of yours." You adjust the sling of your pack, now far lighter than it'd been when you left with Cooper, Lucy, and Dogmeat. "We need information, and the best informant we've got likes to hang around here."

Lucy still doesn't look happy about it, but she reluctantly follows as you step forward. The inside resembles the outside for the most part, the same kind of dismal grey of the wastelands ㅡ but it's busy.

Battered tables teem with scavengers and raiders alike, and you pretend not to notice them ㅡ your attention is on the man doing a piss-poor job of wiping down what's left of a counter. A radio crackles, a singer croons sweetly, but the pitch is made tinny for the way the man casually smacks the top of it when it stutters. A barely there glance up at you, silent prompt that you follow.

"Three drinks," you say without preamble, shoving a handful of caps forward. Your fingers drum, eyes roaming in feigned disinterest ㅡ and then nod when three short glasses are shoved to you. The liquid is of a questionable color, watered down amber ㅡ you sniff it before you take a sip.

"Tastes like shit," you say when Cooper approaches and you hand him his glass, followed by Lucy, "but it gets the job done."

Lucy eyes the glass. "What is it?"

You down the rest of it. "Poor man's excuse for whiskey, I think. Or might be deathclaw piss, who knows."

Cooper snorts when Lucy's nose wrinkles, but she downs it with a grimace that makes you snicker and pat her back.

"Atta girl, vaultie. Atta girl."

The four of you settle at a table, Dogmeat at your feet as you stretch out, catching Lucy's look. "What?"

"What are we here for?"

"Information, vaultie," Cooper cuts in, "we don't have shit to go on as far as following your dear ol' daddy, so we gotta get some."

"And the best bet is getting it from that sneaky bastard," you let your eyes drift so that Lucy follows, "over there."

The man in question has clearly seen better days ㅡ or what he can see through the thick, wild tangle of silver-streaked hair on his head, the matching mess of beard that spills from his chin to his chest. He's sitting with a handful of scavengers, oblivious to the fact he's being watched.

"Him?" Lucy's tone expresses her doubt. "He doesn't look likeㅡ"

You knock your knuckles on the table to quiet her. "The point of being an informant, Lucy," you say in a low mutter, "is to not look like a fuckin' idiot who's listening in on shit they shouldn't."

"So who's gonna go talk to him?"

You sigh, eyeing the two. Cooper is obviously out of the question ㅡ it's the grace of his hat and the fact his back is to most of them that allows him some anonymity, but you have no doubts near everyone knows who he is. Or at the very least, what he is.

And Lucy... well. She's been out here for weeks now, but there's still a naive shinyness to her that says she'll fuck it up immediately, even if she doesn't mean to.

"Me," you say, and Lucy blinks at the same time Cooper tenses, eyes dark as they study your face. There's a protest on the tip of his tongue, one you silence as you continue, "I'm the best bet we have of getting what we need."

Lucy glances between you and Cooper, sensing the rising tension ㅡ and Dogmeat whines and nudges at your leg. Your eyes lock with Cooper's.

"Fine," he rasps. "Do what you have to."

ㅡ

Cooper is pissed. Lucy can tell that, the way his eyes never leave you as you trek back to the counter, another couple of caps for another drink ㅡ not for you, her, or him. But for that informant, the way you gesture with a casual nod in his direction.

He watches as the drink gets sent, the informant looking up, and his gloved hands tighten in his lap at the grin the other man gives you before he waves you over. He hates the casual way you step, relaxed, friendly ㅡ flirtatious, almost.

Cooper is not stupid. Far from it, he knows better than to outright stake claim on you in a way that can be used against him by others ㅡ but you're a chink in the proverbial armor, a weakness he's both grateful for and wishes he didn't have.

It's unspoken though, that you're his ㅡ and the fact he can't stroll over and make a point of it annoys him. Especially with the way the man's hand drifts over your leg, meaty fingers on a thigh Cooper has touched in a more intimate way, spaces reserved for him and him alone ㅡ seeing this fucker paw at you makes his blood boil.

"Looks like they're doing a good job so far," Lucy says, watching a little less intently than Cooper, "do you thinkㅡ"

"Vaultie." Cooper's voice is low and sharp. "Shut the fuck up."

It's not Lucy's fault, not really ㅡ but Cooper's two seconds from putting a bullet in this guy's head, information be damned. In another life, the life he'd had before, he figures he wouldn't be so irritated. He'd been handsome, hadn't really had to do much to make his stance clear ㅡ but now?

Now he knows what he looks like, how he acts ㅡ and the softer lining of your relationship is still new enough that there's that kernel of doubt. That you'd take someone else if given the chance, someone who could give you far more than he can ㅡ because all he can give you is all he knows.

Death and destruction, picking apart things until there's nothing left. All he knows how to do is take and take and take ㅡ and while you've yet to be bothered by it, he knows it's just a matter of time.

He tracks that hand when it slides up your back, teeth clenched because now you look distinctly uncomfortable. It's hidden, but he knows how to look for it, better at reading you than anyone else ㅡ and it's quickly fraying restraint that keeps him from getting up and coming to your rescue.

You flinch at the next touch, barely there recoil ㅡ but it's enough to snap Cooper's threadbare patience as he stands, ignoring Lucy's look of confusion as he strolls over.

His foosteps are slow, feigned casual as he approaches, settling a hand on your shoulder. Again, casual, were it not for the possessive pressure as he drawls, "Sorry for the interruption, but I need to borrow my friend here."

He's hauling you up before you can protest, and he commends himself on choosing this option rather than the one he so desperately wants ㅡ one that would involve splattering the brains of that fucker across the back wall. Even so, he takes too much pleasure in the intentional hand on said gun when the informant opens his mouth to protest.

He hurries you away from the table, ignores Lucy and Dogmeat as he tugs you past the table and outside, around the corner from prying eyes.

"Cooper," you snap, "what the fuckㅡ"

You're silenced by the aggressive press of his mouth on yours, gloved hand still firm around your upper arm as he cages you against the wall. He dominates the kiss, nips at your lip, deepens it with the muffle of a soft moan from you.

His other hand wanders, up your thigh, side, back ㅡ all the places that piece of shit dared to touch you. "I know I said do what you have to," he mutters when he breaks away to nip at your neck, "but I have my limits, sweetheart. 'specially when some fuckface is touchin' what's mine."

You squirm. "Cooperㅡ"

Dark eyes meet yours. "You are mine, aren't you darlin'?" You nod, and he clicks his tongue. "Words, babydoll. I wanna hear you say it."

It takes a second for you to find your voice. "Yours," you say, "I'm yours, Cooper."

He smirks, leaning in to kiss you again. Less aggressive but no less consuming, only letting up to let you breathe as he presses against you. "Good," he rasps, "better rememher that because I don't intend on losin' you, nor do I like the idea of fuckin' sharing."

#ㅡanswered.#ㅡmine.#fallout x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader

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yellowharrington · 2 years

Text

-- good vibrations

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used)

warnings: basically just smut. rated R, minors dni. unprotected sex, creampie, sex toys, cursing, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, other sex stuff.

word count: 1.8k+

a/n: haven't written smut in a min but this idea came to me in a dream so here u go. enjoy sexy steve stuffs. sorry for the cheesy title also.

summary: you take steve to an "adult's only" toy store.

“Where are we going?”

Steve was starting to get a little anxious looking at the dark night sky pass by. You’d skipped the grocery store, the movie theatre, and the diner… all of your most frequented date spots. At this point, he had zero idea of where your plan could end up. “It’s a surprise,” you smiled slyly, your hand finding his and playing with the width of his finger. “It’ll be worth it. Promise.”

After another 20 or so minutes of driving, you pulled into the parking lot of a small, stand alone store. The parking lot had one lone vehicle, but was otherwise completely dark and empty. The pink neon sign on the outside, “Love Stories”, in a cursive font, made Steve’s pupils dilate.

“What are we doing here?” He sounded nervous, and a little worried. His long digit extended towards the sign in an accusatory fashion. “We’re not going in there.”

You pouted slightly, taking his hand in yours. “It’ll be fun. I’ve never been in one before. Maybe we’ll find something.”

The tantalizing look in your eyes went straight to his groin, as the pink light washed over your pretty features. He was painfully aware of the soft pad of your thumb rubbing over his knuckle, and the way your lips felt when you brought his hand up to your mouth to kiss it. A mark of your pink lipgloss now adorned his first knuckle. “Trust me.”

He sighed, putting his sunglasses on and looking around, nervous to spot someone he may know. It was a small town, after all. “Okay.”

The inside of the store was dimly lit, amber lighting greeting you as you stepped inside. The carpets were grey, cheesy jazz music playing quietly on the speakers. The cashier didn’t even acknowledge you, which Steve silently thanked her for. All kinds of toys hung on the walls, dildos and vibrators alike, making Steve blush crimson. You grabbed his hand, taking him through the first aisle of the store.

He picked up a tape, his eyes widening at the title. “Do you think her boobs are real?” He asked, pointing to the topless blonde woman on the front. You giggled with him, jabbing his side with your pointer finger and pulling him along. Steve wasn’t nervous, per se, but he was definitely out of his depth.

Once he could relax enough to take a breath, he seemed intrigued. “So… what exactly are we looking for?” His tone was hushed, like a secret, against your ear.

“Something fun,” you picked out a black bullet vibrator, pressing the 'test' button on the outside of the packaging. You pressed it to Steve’s arm briefly so he could feel. “Maybe something like this, what do you think?” He seemed confused by the sensation. “Would that… make you feel good?” You felt yourself brush up against him, his eyes going dark as he looked down at you. He was unbelievably horny, watching your devilish smile spread across your face, somehow still gentle and innocent. “Only if you used it on me,” you were whispering in his ear now, watching his head fall back and his lips part. Goosebumps erupted on his arms and behind his neck. His tongue slid across his bottom lip, wetting it, as he grabbed the small contraption from your hand. You were unbearably close to him, sharing body heat, needing him more than ever in that moment.

By the time you were at the counter ready to pay, Steve was rock hard. He was imagining you, writhing on his bed, splayed out as he used the toy on you. Soft moans, your hands on your tits, his cock buried inside…

But he was in public. And he couldn’t do that until you got home. So, his first objective was to get home.

Your hand was still encapsulated with his as you sped back to Steve’s parent’s house. He had a hand on your waistband, gently pawing at the skin of your stomach and preoccupying himself with the button of your jeans. You pulled into his driveway with a small squeal of your tires, throwing him one more excited look before dashing to his front door.

When you pushed the door open, Steve’s hands were already ripping your clothes off. He pushed your jacket down your shoulders, slipping his shoes and jeans off right in the front foyer of the house. Your t-shirt was next, slung around the bannister as you pulled Steve’s body up the stairs, toy in hand.

You felt your back hit the soft sheets first, with Steve’s body looming over you. His hair flopped over his eyes, as he pulled his own t-shirt over his head and discarded it to the side. “I want you,” he breathed, “so bad.” You began to undo your belt, shimmying your jeans down your thighs. “Me too,” was all you can think to say, positioning your head on his pillow. He admired your body for a second, drinking you in before turning away to close his door. His boxers were tight around his cock, grey cotton fabric outlining it perfectly.

He positioned himself between your legs, letting his torso sink into yours as he fully relaxed. His weight on your body was comforting and safe, as his lips touched yours in a soft but fervent kiss. You kissed right back, allowing your tongue to snake between his lips and lick at him. The moans he let out were arousing you so much, knowing he was aching for you.

His hands found yours, interlacing his fingers by your head, gently pushing you into the mattress, as he simultaneously kicked your legs open with his knee, rocking against the softness of your thigh. He was harder now, achingly so, the moans pouring from his mouth into yours like honey.

“Need you,” you managed to choke out, breaking the kiss and allowing your throat to be exposed. “Steve, please.”

He reached across the bedsheets, grabbing the vibrator you had purchased earlier. He pressed the button on the bottom, allowing it to come to life. You laid beneath him, expectantly, panting.

“What do I do?” He asked, breathlessly, innocently. You took his hand, gently guiding him to your clothed pussy. The sharp intake of breath forced Steve to stop, taking in the scene in front of him. Your back was slightly arched, absolutely filthy sounds pouring from your lips. “More,” you pled, pressing his hand in between your pussy lips, finally feeling some contact on your clit. “Shit,” he whined, pupils blown and cock leaking pre into his boxers. He pulled the bullet away from you, and you winced at the loss of contact.

The soft vibrations were making your head spin, your back involuntarily arching for more contact. It wasn’t like anything you’d felt before, but it was making you feel so unbelievably good. When you found the strength to open your eyes, Steve’s long fingers were pumping his cock. You watched intently, becoming wetter and wetter at the sight of his blushed cheeks, and concentration.

“So pretty,” he’s earnest, with a warm tone in his voice as he takes his fingers from his own body and dips them inside of you. Two, right away, given the juiciness you’ve accumulated so far. His digits fill you up, curving them slightly, to hit the sweet spot inside of you he knows will make your orgasm come swiftly. You let your hand take hold of the vibrator, pressing it harder against your heat. His free hand slid up your stomach, thumb toying with your bottom lip. You enveloped it in your soft lips, taking the whole length of it in your mouth sloppily. Your eyes connected with his, a flame behind them, lusting after the feeling he was giving you.

He was watching you intently, the soft wetness of your tongue making him throb. You stuck out your tongue, allowing him to replace his thumb with his pointer and middle fingers, giving you something to suck on as you toyed your pussy. His jaw dropped open, aroused beyond belief, never having witnessed such a provocative act. He was throbbing, aching, to fuck you, as he was gently rutting up against the side of the bed.

Your first orgasm came quickly and by surprise as Steve's fingers made quick work inside of you, knowing all of the right places to touch. He was watching you intently, happy to witness such deep pleasure erupt from inside, letting his fingers fall out of your mouth and graze across your hard nipples briefly.

You pulled the vibe from your clit when you came down, switching to your stomach. You brought yourself to your elbows, signalling him to come down to kiss you, before you switched positions onto your front, mouth towards his aching cock.

Steve stood from the bed, confused about the sudden change, but quickly understanding when your back arched to reveal the curve of your ass. Your mouth opened, tongue flopping out, a string of spit falling onto his light blue bed sheets. His cock slid into your mouth, wet and warm, as his head lulled back.

He was overtaken by the sensation, gently fucking into the tight suction of your lips. He moaned, guttural and aching for you, in complete bliss. “Feels so fucking good,” he choked out, barely able to contain his arousal. Your hand came to grip him, mouth working in tandem to twist and suck in a deadly combination. “Fuck,” he groaned, looking down at the sight in front of him. Your eyes flickered up to look at him, under thick lashes, watching you work, as his hands tousled themselves into your hair.

“Alright, Jesus,” he slid his cock out from between your lips. “Gotta fuck you,” he moaned, kissing your forehead before rounding the bed to place himself behind you. He flipped you over, roughly pulling you towards him to line himself up. His cock slid in easily, immediately lubed up in your arousal, engulfed by your pussy. “Hand me that,” he made a motion towards the vibrator on the sheets, clicking it ‘on’ once more. He held it to your clit again, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips. “Steve, oh god,” you felt a tight knot build in your stomach, your orgasm building once again. He lent down to kiss your neck, peppering kisses along your throat and chest as he pumped in and out.

“I’m… I’m-, Steve,” you opened your eyes briefly to grab his face, as he watched your orgasm begin to wash over your features.

Before you knew it, you were squeezing your pussy around him and letting a string of expletives fall out of your mouth. The pleasure was unbearable. His fingertips dug into your thighs, nails leaving imprints on the skin there, watching as you let the pleasure wrack through your body. His orgasm came quickly after, cum pumping into you he sloppily thrusted, heavy eyelids slightly open just to watch your tits bounce underneath him. You felt the warmth of his cum inside you as he pulled out, grabbing a loose t-shirt to cover yourself as not to drip on the sheets.

After gingerly pulling out, he laid next to you, chest heaving, completely spent. The air was thick and hot with your breath, prompting you to reach over and open up the window to let in some of the cool air from outside. His warm brown eyes found yours before he leaned forward to kiss you again, softly, while grabbing the back of your neck to pull your face into his. His breath was hot against your lips, voice raspy, “I’m glad I trusted you.”

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington fic #1k

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bettyfrommars · 2 months

Text

Welcome Back to The Nightmare Factory

Steve's Version Part 1: When the Night Comes

m a s t e r l i s t

Nightmare!Steve x fem!Reader

word count: 2.2k

18+ONLY, lurking monsters, night terrors, star-crossed lovers

Author's Note: Hi, I've missed you. Until now, we've only explored this world with Nightmare!Eddie, but it's time to throw Steve into the mix. Different reader, of course, and I plan to jump around to random scenes as this progresses; it shall not be a linear experience. Nightmare Steve is a biker Steve hybrid that will often cross over into the world of Hawkeye that I created for my biker!Steve au.

Also, you do not need to have any knowledge of the original Nightmare Factory or biker Steve to enjoy this xoxox

You didn’t know how long you’d been waiting on the bench under the bus stop awning, but the sun was sinking on the horizon and the air vibrated with the promise of rain. A drizzle dotted a few fine pinpricks on the sidewalk, yet you could feel a damp chill seeping in through your bones as if you were already soaked.

Across the street between monochrome, saltbox roof houses, stood an old brick building. A flickering neon sign out front had the outline of a purple hand on it, palm out announcing Psychic Readings in a mustard yellow that rivaled the melting sun beyond.

You looked down at your wristwatch, only to realize you weren’t wearing one, and then checked up and down the empty street. Just when the thought occurred to you that there were no other humans around, the flutter of a curtain in one of the houses across the way caught your eye.

Maybe the buses stopped running at dusk and you’d missed the last one. But then, how would you get…to wherever you were going?

“It’s never on time,” a voice next to you spoke up, making you jump.

You were certain that there had not been anyone sitting on the bench with you a second ago.

“The bus, it’s never on time,” she repeated. The woman had short, dark blonde hair tucked behind her ears, a spray of freckles across her nose, and a restless smile tugging up the side of her mouth. “There is always a lot of traffic at the factory on Fridays.”

“The factory?” You cocked your head, trying to understand.

The last offering of fuchsia in the sky flickered and was gone in a blink, erupting a sudden fear in your gut at the loss of light. The fresh blanket of cold made your toes cramp, as if they’d met with one of those icy pockets in sunless, concrete corners.

The woman kept the side of her face to you at all times, never turning to look at you straight on. You had this crazy notion that perhaps the other side of her didn’t exist.

The sight of a motorcycle approaching warmed your heart and your guts for some reason, and you hoped that the bus was not far behind. The rider inched to a halt at the curb in front of you, stomping one booted foot down to steady himself, engine grumbling. In the amber glow of the single streetlamp, you were able to get a look at him.

Wearing sunglasses at night, he raked a big hand through his head of thick, unruly hair, and reached up to light the smoke that was held between his lips. The lighter’s flame let you see the square line of his jaw and that the tattooed lettering on the knuckles of one hand spelled LOVE. He wore leather and denim, with a red shirt, and he tipped his chin to you before turning to the other woman on the bench.

Behind him, the neon psychic sign blinked furiously as the bus in question crawled into view.

”Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Steve said to the other one on the bench, exhaling smoke out the side of his mouth.

“Of course,” she stood to button her coat. “Beers are on you this Friday.”

“Remind Eddie if you see him, I might be running late again.” He hadn’t gestured to you, but somehow you knew that you would be the one to make him run late.

The bus rattled closer; it was filled with blue light and odd, dark shapes.

“Are you ready?” The man on the motorcycle tossed the smoke to the pavement and extended his hand to you. “Jump on.”

You got to your feet and hesitated, trying to figure out where you knew him from.

“But I’m waiting for—-”

At that, the air brakes on the lumbering passenger vehicle hissed, coming to a stop, and a cloud of fog billowed up around it.

“You were waiting for me,” Steve tipped his chin at you. "I made a promise."

At another glance, you saw through the windows that it was crowded in figures wearing black shrouds, shuffling forward at the sight of you. They were moaning with unspecified longing that somehow translated into the creepiest sound you’d ever heard. Gasping, you took his hand, and he pulled you close, urging you on the seat behind him.

“I got you,” he whispered.

On the bench, Robin filed her fingernails with an emery board, blowing a pink bubble with her gum like she hadn’t a care in the world.

You held onto Steve’s leather jacket to swing your leg over the bike, zipping your torso flush to his warm back.

Behind Robin stood an endless sea of the same shrouded creatures, clustered dead still in the night as if being actively born from it. Some had antlers, some had hunched backs, and others were impossibly tall and thin. Lining up front to back and shoulder to shoulder, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, collectively withering one long, low growl.

You hugged him frightfully close, squeezing your eyes shut to bury your face in the back of his neck. He smelled like warm summer rain, damp earth, campfire smoke, and a zest of vanilla spices. Safe, I'm safe.

He revved the throttle and told you to hang on tight, but you wavered, checking to find that the army of faceless ghouls were right there—they’d been yards away, but now they were within arm's reach, hovering.

But then you were in the wind, head forced back by the velocity, choking on a scream, whimpering unintelligible pleas into the leather of his jacket.

He shifted gears and it felt like you’d entered some type of warp speed, engine humming between your legs. Eyes shut tight, you swore you felt sharp swipes of skeleton hands at your back and heard the shrieking wails of defeat as the masses lumbered to catch up.

The flap of enormous wings sounded as a few took to the sky, but Steve shifted again, lowering his head. “Don’t look,” he begged. “Soon they won't be able to touch us.”

Back at the bus stop, the door to the bus squealed open, and Robin did not look up from picking a piece of skin from her cuticle.

“Good luck with the next one, Dickie,” she said to the driver who hulked in his seat like Mothman, one clawed hand clutching the wheel.

Dickie looked from Robin to the road ahead and back a few times, trying to understand what was happening, before sinking his wings with a sigh.

“Do you need a ride, sugar?” His voice was usually deep and bellowing on the job, but just then it came out in a comically high-pitched southern accent.

—---

The first time you met Steve, he’d been waiting in the corner of your bedroom.

Waiting for you to go to sleep.

But you were up late watching Ewoks: The Battle for Endor on the small, VCR combo TV that was perched on your dresser. The violet crescents under your eyes hinted to the lack of sleep you’d been getting the past few months. You’d been having a bad rash of nightmares, and if you didn't know any better, you’d think you'd been specifically targeted somehow.

This was not the first time you’d unknowingly had a movie night with shadow Steve, but it was the first time you’d felt his presence. He was nothing but a dust mote of a glimmer, but still, you stared right at him, and asked if anyone was there.

Had he made a sound? Had he accidentally snickered a bit too loud at the giddy Ewoks? Or were you starting to sense him though the cosmic barrier that kept you in different worlds?

It made his heart stall for a second, mouth agape, and a hand outstretched, ready to come clean. To let you know that he wasn’t just some creep off the street, that he was just doing his job—but of course you couldn’t see him. If he ever got the chance to explain it all to you, he’d let you know that the two of you were on different channels of reality. Like switching stations on a radio, he could tune into you, but you didn’t know how to tune into him.

So, there was no way that you could…

“Back again I see,” you hummed, turning to face the screen from where you sat propped up against the headboard in your pajamas. “Where will you be hovering tonight? On the ceiling or at the foot of the bed?”

Were you talking to him? As far as he could tell, you were the only two in the room.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, defiantly.

Did you really mean it, or were you trying to convince yourself?

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” but even as he stepped forward, he knew the effort was fruitless.

The sound of a barely audible whisper made you turn the volume on the tv down.

Okay, before you’d been bluffing, but that time you really heard something.

Flinging the covers off to jump out of bed, you spun around, wielding the remote out in front of you like a weapon.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing. No one. Just you and all of the nightmares you’d been having about paralysis demons pinning you down and sucking out your soul.

A horrifying thought occurred to you then that maybe they’d followed you out of your dreams and into the waking world.

You tossed the remote back onto your bed, spinning around to address the room. “If you have something to say to me, do it now. Don’t be a fucking coward and wait till I'm asleep.”

Your declaration was met with nothing but the garbled conversations on the TV.

It took a while for you to finally get to sleep, but once you did, that’s when the rattling on your closet door started. It was just a few scratches at first, coming from the inside, but then the doorknob wiggled.

Steve stepped out of the corner and walked—nay, floated.---around to the other side of your bed to act as a barrier between you and whatever was coming out of the closet. The beeping on his watch told him you were entering a deep sleep; he’d also draped an invisibility layer down just in case you did happen to wake up during the confrontation.

The closet door creaked, opening an inch, just enough for three long and meaty, hairy fingers to curl into sight.

“Wrong room, genius,” Steve said curtly.

The door propped ajar just enough so that one big, milk white eyeball could peer out. “Steve?” A garbled voice whispered. “I thought you were at the abandoned hospital with Hopper tonight?”

“I was,” Steve answered. “But now I’m here, asking you not to bother with this one.”

The big eye twitched, blinking a few long blinks. “Whatever you say, dude. I’ve got better places to be.”

Whispers tickled at your ears, as if someone was having a conversation nearby, but not close enough to fully comprehend the words.

You heard the name Steve.

So then you muttered it outloud: “Steve?”

Shocked, he spun around, staring at your parted lips. But then a snore escaped from the back of your throat, and he eased back.

“I won’t let them bother you,” was what he said, and you believed him. Whatever that meant.

—-----

The motorcycle began to slow, and you took the opportunity to check behind you, slumping with relief to find that the highway was empty. Lined with evergreens on either side, the road shot straight out behind the two of you into ominous, smoky oblivion, as if there had never been a town or a Psychic sign or a bus stop.

Steve knew he was cutting it close, his time with you would be over soon, but he wanted to take you out and show you something cool, maybe even impress you. He’d told you about the crimson-colored lake before, about how you could see Mermaids and all manner of sea creatures. It didn’t make sense that they were all in a lake, but still, there it was.

“Have you ever seen a mermaid in real life before?” He asked over his shoulder, shouting above the wind.

You hadn’t, not that you were aware of, anyway. Everything felt so real, it hadn’t even occurred to you that perhaps you weren’t even in the real world.

“Well, don’t talk to them, and don’t look at them for very long,” he warned. “They’ll bite your face off as easily as wink at you.”

You nodded, taking in that information.

“I want to show you where—-”

But then the road dropped off at an abrupt cliff edge that appeared to jut straight down into a sea of stars. It was like a reflection of the sky above.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—” Steve yelled as the bike caught air.

You were going down, falling into the ether of nothingness, and you couldn't tell if the blood-curdling scream you heard belonged to you or someone else.

You clung to Steve while you plummeted down through the infinite space of some unknown universe, about to crash and burn.

Was this it? Is this how you die?

In bed, your eyes flew open with a jolt, clutching a pillow to your chest like you might’ve once held onto a boy for dear life. The pillow smelled like warm summer rain, campfire smoke, and vanilla spices.

After a few blinks, you realized that was the first time you’d slept all through the night without being forced awake by terrors in a very long while.

-----

Thank you for reading, and much love to those of you who have enjoyed this world from the start. Now that I'm writing again, I'm working on a very special chapter for Nightmare Eddie as well that I can't wait to share with you.

#Nightmare Factory #nightmare!Steve #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fluff #Nightmare Steve #biker!Steve #nightmare!Eddie

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thatone-brightstar · 1 year

Text

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 3: Pin a Fox skin to the wall, call it decoration

Words: 4.9k

Summary: With a few drinks in, you both confess your feelings. But there's always something getting in the way.

a/n: I am the gift that keeps on giving! So here's the next chapter cuz I feel shitty just leaving it in my documents and you all have been so nice! Enjoy! xx

P.S. Reader is Latina in this, so there's gonna be melanin for daysss.

“How much longer do you think you're gonna be?!” Syd yelled at her phone through the noisy bar.

Everyone was on a different wave of conversation, ranging from sports to food to whatever new show they were hooked on. The buzz of chatter around them combined with the pulsing music and lack of food in his system was enough to create a growing migraine in Carmy’s head. He gladly took a swig of the beer in front of him to dumb out the increasing sensation as he waited for Syd to hang up on you. He thought their reaction to joining them would be one of distaste or discomfort but his first drink had been on Sweeps, who was glad to finally see him outside the perimeters of The Beef.

“I like what you’ve done to the place.” He said after finishing the second beer. “But you gotta lighten up, man. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Also you could use a tan. Try going out in the sun every once in a while!” He joked and a genuine laugh had left Carmy’s lips for the first time in forever.

“She’s on her way!” Sydney yelled to the table and everyone acknowledged it before returning to their conversations.

“Does she know I’m here?” He asked her over the noise, a bit concerned whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

“Yeah! I told her we’re all here!” She answered and of course she would tell you, because as far as they were concerned, nothing out of the ordinary had happened between you two.

His hand began to grow clammy and he took another hefty swig of the amber liquid to try and calm the nerves down. At least the music was loud enough to drown out the sound of his thoughts, he'd have to make due with that for now. The chatter transitioned into anecdotes about the stupidest things they had done as teens and they spent the next ten minutes debating whether Angel stealing single batteries from the family packs at Walmart counted as kleptomania or not. By his third beer, he felt his shoulders lose a bit of the perpetual weight that had been sitting on them since he had arrived back in Chicago; the music felt more bearable, his laughs lighter and his nerves almost down to a hum.

They had been lucky enough to get a booth table by the windows, the sight of River North’s night life was in full bloom behind the old stained glass and his eyes wandered to the new perspective he had been granted of the old neighborhood. Between neon signs and moving cars he saw you from afar. Standing patiently for the little human to move on the crosswalk light. You looked like a radiant ray of moonlight, with loose curls framing your face like a dark halo and even though he had found you absolutely beautiful with your paint splattered overalls, this was something entirely different, something that would have him losing his balance if he wasn’t already sitting down.

He watched you move your boot-covered feet closer towards the bar, and with each stride on the long skirt, the slit up your thigh revealed a glimpse of lovely tan skin with swirling designs he had known no existence of until then, but now wanted to discover more of. Golden rings contrasted against the black jacket covering your arms as you raked your fingers through your hair and turned towards the window where he had shamelessly been gawking at you. A small smile covered your previous serious features and you waved nervously before disappearing through the entrance.

He shuffled in his seat and wished he would have at least run some water through his hair before leaving, but looking around at everyone’s post work attire, he figured he’d be fine. A cheer of ‘Hey's was heard through the group as you approached the table and you made a little dance once you reached them. You scooted into the booth beside the edge by Carmy and threw a nervous smile in his direction.

“Sorry I’m late! Two fuckin Ubers canceled on my last minute. I swear I was about to start walking!” You yelled exasperated.

“Well you’re already two drinks behind so start catchin’ up!” Marcus said, calling the waiter over and ordering another round of beers and a double shot of tequila for each one.

“Oh it’s gonna be like that then, huh?!” You asked him with raised brows and a smile.

“Uhh, yeah!” He mimicked you in a pitched valley girl accent and the table roared in laughter.

They went around talking about their day and how Richie, as he does, had death threatened Fak for suggesting he should go to anger management classes. Your shoulder rubbed alongside Carmy’s in the small booth as you laughed at their stories and the friction along with your delicate perfume was making it hard to concentrate on anything at all. He took a couple of fries from the dish at the center of the table to keep his mouth occupied as he listened to Syd and you argue about the best contestant in a new baking show you were both watching.

The shots came with cheers, and as everyone took the small glass in one hand and a lemon wedge in the other, they went around the table to say something they cheered for,

“I’m thankful that I got tomorrow off so I can get as hammered as I want!” Cheered Sweeps and it was followed by a choir of Boo’s from everyone.

“I guess I'm thankful that I got a job that I actually like.” Marcus continued and the Boo’s turned to Aw’s.

“And I’m very thankful for you, bunch of idiots.” You finished shily and only Marcus, who was sitting across from you, noticed your eyes linger a little too long on Carmy.

Their little glasses clinged against one another and everyone downed the transparent liquid with a scrunched face.

The conversations broke into groups again, and he took his shot at catching your attention before anyone else. He gently bumped his shoulder against yours while he took a sip of alcohol for courage. From his side view he saw you had turned up to look at him and noticed you swallow hard scanning his features. When he turned to you, a soft smile covered your face and it was hard not to smile back.

“Hey” You whispered, bumping your shoulder back to his softly.

“You..um, you look really nice.” He said leaning towards you so you could hear him better above the music, and also so no one else would notice his words.

His breath ghosted over the skin of your ear and you were thankful for the jacket covering your already bumpy skin.

“Thank you.” You whispered, cheeks warm.

“Look, I’m sor-“

“I’m sorry for-“

You interrupted each other, then laughed waiting for the other to continue.

“You go.” You insisted.

He breathed in deep and turned his torso towards you to give himself a false sense of privacy in the crowded space. “I’m really sorry If I made you feel uncomfortable… back at the office.” He started and his eyes jumped between yours trying to decipher your thoughts through your expressions. “That was not cool and kinda creepy and I don’t want you to go because of me-”

“Wait-”

“You’re a great addition to the team, honestly one of the best, you’re good at calming Richie when he gets stressed and you're fast and precise, and you're good for me too-” He kept rambling, his gaze now focused in his hands.

“Carmy-” You tried to interrupt again with no avail.

“And I’d hate for you to leave cause I’m an impulsive jackass and I wouldn’t know what to do if I.. couldn’t see you.. anymore.” He finished swallowing hard, his eyes dragged slowly from his hands to your features and he grew scared of the confession that had left his mouth under the rambling.

All his words separately meant something different, they meant a thank you, a praise, a gentle pat on the back. But not like this, not all together, jumbled and tied with a string of revelation that there might be something more than what he was saying. He saw your chest raise with the motion of a heavy breath and your eyebrows were scrunched in concentration over his face. The background noise had been covered over by the thumping of blood rushing to his head and for a second his heart stopped at the idea that he had dug himself a deeper grave than he had wished for. He stared back at your eyes unable to look away, the ‘Fuck it’ from a couple hours ago now sour on his tongue.

“Do you wanna talk outside?” You whispered leaning forward so he could hear you, brows still knotted together.

You didn’t wait for his answer as you reached down to his tightly clasped hands and wedged your fingers carefully to get them to separate. You held on tightly then began to slip out the booth telling everyone you were gonna get more drinks for the table, before getting lost in the sea of bodies standing around. He let you guide him through the free spaces between the swaying crowd of drunks as he did his best to calm the growing anxiety in his chest. All he could concentrate on were your delicate fingers brushing softly around his hand.

This is what he wanted, right? This is why he had come knowing you would be here, to tell you how he felt, to clear things up, and since the cat’s head was already out the bag, might as well let the rest of the body out.

‘Let it rip’ his brother’s words danced in his mind and he smiled humorlessly at how they teased him with how easy it sounded to do so.

**********

Fuuuck. You had not planned this far ahead. At least not this early into the night. You expected to do this with maybe another three drinks in your system, when you could still hold a serious conversation without crying for getting rejected cause the voice in your head would slur that it was his loss and that you were still a bad bitch. It also didn’t help that you had smoked a bit while getting ready and the cloudy haze around your brain had not subsided. You were coherent, yes, which was important, however you were not very good with your self control and with the way your throat had closed up at the sight of his profile while he simply took a drink, god you knew this was gonna be hard.

His confession still swam in the swampy waters of your foggy brain as you pulled both of you through the crowded space. Your hand was tightly wrapped around what you could hold of his and when you finally spotted an exit, your heart leaped in your chest at the idea of how the conversation would go. The emergency door stood tall between the bathroom entrances, an inaudible creek vibrated through the metal as you pushed yourself against it and a cold breeze of air welcomed your face when you both stepped out into the alley. You expected a few smokers to linger around, but then again many who did choose to smoke did it in front of the place, not the side alley like rats; so you were alone. Great.

You finally let go of his hand, a cold absence replacing it, then leaned against the wall in front of the metal exit, staring at him. He took a cigarette from the packet inside his jacket and lit it, mimicking your actions by the door. He took a couple calming drags while both of you thought about what you were gonna say next.

You could play this two ways: One. Pretend like you hadn’t understood what he said at the booth and say the whole office thing had been a misunderstanding. A little gaslighting wouldn’t hurt, right? It was for your own good anyway, the both of you. The pessimist in you was sure Carmen didn’t know what he was getting into and he already had enough problems trying to get the restaurant off the ground to add yours to the mix.

And two, Tell him how you felt, fuck the rule. You had known him long enough to know he wasn’t the type of guy you established the rule for in the first place. He was nothing similar to the mutherfuckers you had met in your other jobs, he was nice and patient and cared more about others than he liked to admit; and for fuck’s sake if the bar was already on the floor, finding someone like that and also have him be hot, was not a common occurrence.

You took your eyes off your boots scraping the pavement to look at him. ‘Why is he so hot and so miserable?!’ you thought as you watched him with his cigarette, the gloss in your eyes making any source of light into twinkling stars. His eyes met yours and normally you would avert your gaze. Normally, however, you would not be in this situation and normally you would not be feeling this angry all of a sudden.

“You thought I was gonna leave?” You asked. ‘Solid start’.

“I thought I freaked you out.” He shrugged. “You walked out on me.”

“Yeah, and how did you expect me to react?” You respond a little more defensive than you intended.

“Look, I know it was fucked and I’m sorry, okay? I just-” He took another drag to calm himself down then looked back at you, ocean eyes harboring a storm. “I don’t know what happens to me… when you're around. You make my chest not hurt as much and I- It feels easier to breathe with you.”

You stayed silent, staring at him through hooded eyes and heavy breaths, trying to keep your mind clear because how could you concentrate on anything when he spoke so sweetly about you? You had to keep reminding yourself that this was for the best. Around you, the low rumble of the music vibrating past the walls could still be heard, like a distant world existing outside your current bubble of angst.

“Wh-what did you mean?” He asked after a long silence and he noticed the confusion in your blank stare. “When you said you needed to get me out your system, what was that?”

Carmy noticed the subtle change in your expression, how your shoulders tensed and you diverted your gaze to anything else but him. You wanted to shout that it meant exactly that, he was so deep in your thoughts that some days you had caught yourself shamelessly daydreaming about the two of you together, in any way possible. But the last rational part in your brain held your tongue from speaking, you couldn’t say it, there was too much at risk to do so and he was not helping with the way his words were making your chest swell. You were getting angry because this would be so much easier if he was just another asshole.

You shrugged looking at him. “Nothing, i-it just came out.” ‘Gaslighting it is.’

He exhaled a humorless laugh, his eyes still trained on you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” He said with a last drag of his cig before flicking it to the ground and stomping on it.

He raked a hand through his hair and shameful observation had taught you that this meant Carmy was getting stressed.

“Okay, fine! You wanna know?!” You finally spat with anger, “Because I fuckin’ like you, Carmen!” You raised your arms in exasperation. “Because you have no fuckin’ idea what it does to me when you look at me like-like that!” His gaze was fixated on you, head slightly tilted down and to the right, jaw tensed. His brows dropped lower in a scowl and a jolt of lightning traveled down your back at his expression.

“And why didn’t you say anything!” He yelled back.

“Oh, seriously?! What did you want me to say? I need two roast beef sandwiches, hold the peppers and FYI Carmy, I got a crush on you?!”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know then?!” He said in frustration, taking a step closer to you and the height difference was significantly more noticeable when he wasn’t shrinking into himself.

“You weren’t supposed to, that’s the fuckin’ point!” His shoulders fell slightly and the strength in your voice lowered. “I just... needed to get over you and you’d never know. Get you out my system with someone else and never have to mention it.”

Carmy tried to ignore the flashes of your rosy cheeks and short breaths, panting under someone else. ‘This is not the time.’ he reminded himself.

“So, what? You were just gonna leave me believing I did somethin’ wrong to you when you actually liked me?”

“I wasn’t gonna leave.” You whispered. The words get caught on your tongue and you take a deep breath before continuing.

“But the last time I liked someone at my job it… It didn’t turn out right.” You struggle to calm your racing thoughts, his eyes a distracting lighthouse guiding you back in. His brows knitted together. “I don’t wanna go through that again, Carmy” You said defeated.

“You don’t know if it’s gonna be the same.” His voice pleaded just above a whisper, lower than you were used to when it came to him or his cousin.

“I don’t think I can risk it.” You whispered back, doing your best to keep the tears under control.

You were both silent for a while, until Carmy began to shake his head slowly.

“No, no, no you don’t get to do that, okay? You don’t get to tell me you like me then immediately blow me off cause some asshole in the past hurt you.” He took the last two strides in your direction, his chest now so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

You pushed yourself against the wall from the sudden proximity. Your breath seized in your lungs as you felt both his hands cup the sides of your face and tilt it up to stare deep into the pits of your eyes. You swallowed hard at all the scenarios flashing through your head, the turn of events giving you whiplash. He lowered his forehead slowly to yours, your eyelashes fluttered trying to close, but your eyes were fixed on his. Carmy’s face was so close, you could feel the heat off his breath. The smell of tobacco that lingered around you and mixed with the smokey wood scent that seemed to cling to him after a long workday, had your head grasping onto the last threads of self control left in you.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop and I’ll do it, I’ll never touch you again or mention it, I promise.” He rambled, a soft desperation clear in his voice. “I won’t even look in your direction but please, please don’t ever think for a second that I would do anything to hurt you.” He whispered.

Even in the darkness of the alley, you could tell his irises had swallowed the last drop of blue, now so dark and glossy you could see your own despair reflected back to you. You swallowed hard to get rid of the cottonmouth and his eyes flickered towards your lips for less than a second. ‘God, why couldn’t you just say yes?!’ Your head screamed at you through the dissipating smog of weed and untampered emotions.

He had not only given you his heart on a golden platter, but had plated it himself and set the table for you, too. Now it was solely your decision if you wanted to take it or not, if you wanted to guard his heart next to yours for safekeeping or let it finish crumbling on the grime covered pavement. You stared at his features in contemplation and scanned your brain for all the ways it told you this could go wrong. And yet, even after a thousand scenarios came up, you held in protective arms the few ones that bloomed a warm excitement in your chest. You wanted to, even if it was just this once, to be fearless, jump into the unknown regardless of the outcome. You truly did.

“It’s not that easy.” You whispered, shutting your eyes to avoid the look of hurt haunting over his. His hands faltered their grip on your face and soon a cold rush of air replaced the warm contact.

You reopened your gaze to see him standing with his hands now resting on the brick beside your head, defeated. His stare was glued to his tattooed skin, not even daring to look directly at you anymore and you knew, he was withdrawing back to the depths of his mind where one goes when you’ve been completely shattered. You could see his jaw tense up, probably in anger and he was well in his right to be so. He had bared his feelings to you and you had massacred them all over the walls in less than five words. ‘It’s better like this.’ You tried to convince yourself.

“I’m so sorry Carmy, but I-I can’t-”

He cleared his throat then pushed himself back with enough force that it almost felt like he had pulled on an invisible string against your chest.

“No- uh, no I get it.” he sniffled “You’re right, it’s better this way.” He did his best to avoid your gaze, settling it on anything around the empty alley. “I’m gonna go buy the drinks and then head home.” He said walking back to the door.

You watched still from your position by the wall how he reached for the handle pulling the metal open. An immediate rumble of bass surrounded the once empty area as Carmy walked halfway in then stopped. He slightly turned his head in your direction, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“Don’t-uh.. don’t worry about.. this.” He said to you over the music. “I meant what I said about not sayin’ anythin’.” He rose his head to the sky for a couple seconds then back down. “So, don’t worry about it.” The gravel under his feet groaned as he turned to look at you one last time, “See you at work, chef.”

He was gone with a slam of the door. You stayed motionless, fixated on the space his body had occupied only seconds before. The ghost of his touch still tingled on your face and it took you an unspeakable amount of strength to not break down for the second time that day. It was already atrocious enough that you had committed what was probably the second worst mistake of your life by letting him go, but if you let yourself fall apart in a dingy unlit back alley of some bar, you have truly found a point lower than you thought possible. So with a very, very shaky breath and with the vast expertise as a teen with an overprotective mother, you pulled yourself together, sniffled back the tears and made your way inside ready to pretend like the last fifteen minutes had never happened.

When you reached the booth with your friends, a tray of five shots sat untouched on the table and a sour taste invaded your mouth to see the sixth had been downed and turned upside down at the end of the tray.

“Carmy said your mom called, is everything okay?” Sydney asked as soon as you were in earshot, the pit in your stomach grew again because even after hurting him, he still considerate enough to cover for your absence.

“Uh… yeah she’s fine. Just wanted to know when I’d be back.” You lied as you slid back into the booth.

With no hesitation, you reached for one of the glasses and downed it straight, no lemon. Syd gave a confused look to your expressionless face and even reached for one of the glasses to prove it was actually alcohol when you were laughing at Angel and Macus’ arm wrestling.

The liquid burned a distracting path down your throat and kept your attention diverted enough from the emotions you knew you’d have to figure out when the fog had lifted. For now, at least you would allow yourself to play with the idea that everything was fine and that your chest wasn’t shattering with every whiff of his lingering scent that permeated on your jacket.

The rest of the night was a blur of strawberry daiquiris, tequila shots, terrible karaoke and the guys competing over who could throw the furthest a traffic cone they found off the side of the road while walking you and Syd home, at almost four in the morning. They had dropped you off with a chorus of slurred ‘bye byess’ and kept walking in the direction of “Adventure” as Sweeps had called it. On your way up, the usual still stairs had become a workout to climb and Syd had almost landed on her ass on the second and third floor, before tripping on the forth and sliding belly first down half the flight of stairs. You did your best to contain the laughter after seeing her reaction to finally landing with nothing but a bruised chin and ego, but her surprised face was enough to have you slumping on the last step and heaving with tears in your eyes. After you both caught your breath, you reached towards her and held her hand until you were in the safety of your room.

You giggled drunk while changing into your pajamas and turned to Sydney, telling her about your foolproof plan of going home with a stranger to get Carmy out of your head.

“I don’t get it.. why not jus’ like, bang Carmy, right? And get it over with?” She said between hiccups as you both climbed into your bed.

“It’s jus’ not the same!” You whined, turning off the light. “He’s too good for that.” You heard Syd groan beside you and you’re glad the lights were off so she couldn’t see you rolling your eyes at her. “He is!”

You shimmied under the covers and stared at the glow in the dark stickers on your ceiling, the alcohol making them swim around the blank canvas like shooting stars.

“He’s sweet and kind and… funny in like a fucked up, kinda tragic way..” you giggle “and he’s so fuckin’ hot, Sydney! So hot! Every time he looks at me with those eyes I want him to bend me over the expo an-“ you feel a soft smack against your face and the plushness of the pillow drowns out your laughs.

Syd groaned in disgust at the image you planted in her head “Dude gross! Why would I ever need to know that?!” She said taking the pillow back from you.

You giggled again and turned to Syd’s silhouette, softly combing back the braids that rested on her shoulder to distract yourself. “I think I really fucked up tonight, Syddy.” You finally admitted in the darkness of your safe space and heavily intoxicated.

Sydney hummed in question and you knew you only had a few moments of clarity before falling unconscious. You took the end of one of her braids and used it to tickle under her nose to keep her awake a little longer while you failed to understand the many emotions in your head.

“I think he hates me now.” You said softly, a small tear sliding out your eye and quickly disappearing into the soft fabric of your pillow.

She scratched at her nose in frustration then slightly slapped her palm against your forehead. You laughed softly but continued to bug her.

“He could never hate you, he loves you too much.” She mumbled carelessly, readjusting herself and swinging a leg up on your hip under the duvet.

Your cheeks felt warm at the idea of love and even though you knew it was too soon to call it that, you couldn’t avoid the fuzzy feeling the word brought to your insides. ‘Oh to be loved’ you thought ‘and by Carmy of all people’.

“You can’t know that.” You said with a sniffle, caressing the tip of her braid now on your own nose. You liked how it tickled.

Syd sighed before lifting her head as best she could in her drunk and half asleep state and slurred your name “Please, that man has been tripping-over-his-feet in love with you since day one.” She paused to pull her hair from your hands and adjust the pillow under her. “You two are the only idiots who haven’t noticed.” Then laid her head back down with a soft smack.

A new sensation filled your chest, one you hadn’t really given a name to before because there hadn’t been a reason to. It was a warmth that spread from the crown of your head down to the tips of all your extremities as your friend’s words floated in your head. A slow smile extended across your face and with the last waves of consciousness you decided to put an end to all the doubt and talk to him tomorrow, the stupid rule be damned.

Capter 4.

Taglist: @pearlstiare and that’s it lmao

#carmen berzatto x reader #the bear & the fox #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy smut #the bear tv #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy x poc reader

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soldiersareyourprotectors · 13 days

Text

The night draped itself over the city like a heavy cloak, its darkness swallowing the streets in a sea of shadows. Marine Corporal James Garrison wandered aimlessly, his heart heavy with the weight of a recent breakup. His footsteps echoed against the pavement, each one a solitary beat in the symphony of his solitude.

Desperate for solace, James found himself drawn to the flickering lights of a nearby bar. The neon sign beckoned him with promises of oblivion, and he entered, seeking refuge from the storm raging within.

The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and desperation. James took a seat at the worn wooden counter, his uniform a stark contrast to the casual attire of the other patrons. He ordered a whiskey, its amber hue reflecting the turmoil in his soul.

As the liquid burned its way down his throat, James's thoughts turned to his ex-girlfriend, her memory a bitter reminder of love lost. He drowned his sorrows in drink after drink, hoping to numb the ache that gnawed at his heart.

But the alcohol provided little comfort, and James found himself sinking deeper into despair. It was then that he felt a presence beside him, a warm voice cutting through the haze of his thoughts.

"You look like you could use some company," the stranger said, his voice gentle yet confident. James glanced up, his eyes meeting those of a young man with twinkling eyes and a disarming smile.

For a moment, James hesitated, his walls of self-preservation still intact. But something in the stranger's demeanor spoke to him, offering a glimmer of connection in the darkness.

"I could use a distraction," James admitted, his voice rough with emotion. The stranger nodded, sliding onto the stool beside him with an ease that spoke of practiced charm.

They talked and laughed, the stranger's presence a welcome respite from James's inner turmoil. He learned that the young man's name was Alex, and that he was a regular at the bar, his easygoing nature a stark contrast to James's rigid military demeanor.

As the night wore on, James found himself opening up to Alex in a way he hadn't with anyone else. He spoke of his time in the Marines, of the struggles he faced both on the battlefield and off. And with each word, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of camaraderie he hadn't felt in years.

With the barriers of restraint crumbling between them, James and Alex shared stories and secrets, their laughter mingling with the music that filled the air. And as the hour grew late, James found himself agreeing to accompany Alex back to his apartment, the promise of further companionship too enticing to resist.

They stumbled out into the night, their steps unsteady but determined. James's mind was clouded with alcohol and desire, his thoughts consumed by the prospect of finally finding solace in the arms of another.

Inside Alex's apartment, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. They moved together with a desperate urgency, their bodies drawn to one another like magnets in the darkness.

As they kissed, James felt a fire ignite within him, burning away the numbness that had clouded his senses for so long. He traced his fingers along Alex's smooth skin, marveling at the warmth and softness beneath his touch.

But as the passion between them reached its peak, Alex pulled away, his eyes dark with hunger. "Can I try something?" he whispered, his voice a seductive purr in the silence.

James, lost in a haze of desire and confusion, could only nod in response. He was powerless to resist the pull of Alex's gaze, his own desires overshadowed by the need for connection and intimacy.

With a smirk, Alex began to undress James, his movements slow and deliberate.

Piece by piece, the uniform that had once been a symbol of James's strength and authority fell away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in the darkness.

As Alex donned James's uniform, the fabric hung loosely on his slender frame, the excess material billowing around him like sails on a ship. But as their lips met in a passionate embrace, a strange and powerful energy surged between them, igniting a transformation unlike anything James had ever witnessed.

With each kiss, Alex seemed to draw strength from James, his form shifting and morphing with every touch. Muscles bulged beneath the fabric, filling out the uniform until it stretched taut against his newfound power. The once-slender figure now stood before James, transformed into an imposing mirror image of the Marine himself.

As the kiss ended, James felt a cold chill settle over him, his own strength draining away like water through cupped hands. He staggered back, his limbs heavy and weak, as he realized the extent of what had just transpired.

Before him stood Alex, now bearing his likeness in both body and soul. He watched in horror as the stranger smirked, the once-familiar features now twisted with triumph.

"Thanks for the upgrade, Marine," Alex said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down James's spine. "Looks like I'll be taking over from here."

James tried to protest, to fight against the overwhelming sense of defeat that threatened to consume him. But his body refused to obey, weakened by the draining kiss and the loss of his essence.

With a cruel smile, Alex approached him, his hands tracing a path along James's weakened form. James struggled feebly, his attempts at resistance no match for the newfound strength of his doppelganger.

In a haze of lust and confusion, James found himself succumbing to Alex's touch, his body betraying him in the most intimate of ways. They were both consumed by desire, lost in a whirlwind of passion and longing.

And then, in a moment of perfidy, Alex's true intentions were revealed. With a swift motion, he bound James's wrists with rope, his movements deft and calculated.

James struggled against his bonds, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the trap he had fallen into. But it was too late. He was at Alex's mercy, helpless to resist as the stranger enacted his twisted plan.

As the ropes bound James's wrists, securing him in place, he could feel the grip of despair tightening around his heart. He watched in dismay as Alex reveled in the sensation of the uniform hugging his newly acquired muscles, a smirk of satisfaction playing on his lips.

The once proud uniform, a symbol of honor and duty, had become a twisted mockery in Alex's hands, a vessel for his newfound power and desire.

With a cruel glint in his eye, Alex leaned in close, his breath hot against James's ear.

"You see, James," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice,

"this uniform suits me far better than it ever did you. And I plan to make the most of it."

James's blood ran cold as he realized the depth of Alex's depravity. He was not content with merely taking on James's appearance; he sought to usurp every aspect of his life, to mold it into something twisted and grotesque.

"And you, James," Alex added, his voice dripping with anticipation, "you can't even begin to imagine how much I'm looking forward to being in bed with your friend Mike. Feeling our muscular bodies grinding against each other, our desires intertwining until there's no telling where one of us ends and the other begins."

James's mind raced as he considered the implications of Alex's words. Mike, his fellow Marine and closest confidant, was now in danger of falling prey to Alex's manipulations. He shuddered at the thought of what else Alex might know, of the secrets he could use to his advantage.

A wave of revulsion washed over James as he realized the true extent of Alex's depravity. He was not content with merely dominating James alone; he sought to corrupt and destroy everything James held dear, to leave him utterly and completely alone in his misery.

As the darkness closed in around him, James could only watch helplessly as Alex disappeared into the night, leaving him alone and defeated in his own skin. And in that moment, he knew that his nightmare was far from over.

#body swap #male body swap #muscular men #male transformation #stolen life #stolen clothes #stolen body

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saltsicklover · 7 months

Text

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 1 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 2 HERE and my Master List HERE

A request based off of THIS prompt, from the lovely @inkandarsenic

Romantic Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Platonic Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Fem!Reader

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 6k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, minor character deaths, labor, loss of a child in utero, abandonment, drinking, talks of God and destiny, swearing, general military talk and lingo, descriptions of food and eating, coughing fits, talks of violence, actual violence, blood, vomit and throwing up, mention of near death experiences. ANGST

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I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Six years before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

The Officers Club, better known as The Flight Line Bar sits on post in Miramar, frequented by the big brass and educators at Top Gun. The whole place glows with amber light from the buzzing light fixtures that hang from the rafters, dusty and hot to the touch. This half of base, on the far side of the air field has yet to be updated, evident by the chips in the glasses and the inconsistent flickering of the halogen bulbs. The wallpaper is peeling; discolored around the old neon signs that have slowly begun to fizzle out. If it were any brighter inside those four walls, one might be able to see the discoloration of well walked floors and one too many spilt beers.

Two loan pool tables sit in the center of the bar, their felt faded from use and tearing, flanked by a couple of dart boards, their cork crumbling from age. The patrons look about the same, old and wrinkled with age, lines worn into their faces that read closer to distinguished than wary. That's what the military does to a person, wears itself straight into the skin and makes a home there, the ghosts of lost wingman and battle buddies still looming in the whites of their eyes. Too many memories are stuck in the deep folds of their uniforms, worn in around the elbows and shoulders, the creases worn from friction- salute after salute.

It's really a hard to believe that people still frequent The Flight Line Bar. After all, there are so many better places for the students of Top Gun to meander into, just off post where they don't have to risk rubbing shoulders with their instructors- or heaven forbid, hit on their guest lecturers.

After all, It's all fun and games, flirty touches and smooth words until you're slapped with a SHARP report.

The students always figure out the good places to drink after class, shortly after their arrival after one too many moments spent inside the crumbling bar. The drinks are good in taste, better in price, but not worth it at the risk of saying just the wrong thing to just the wrong person.

The new recruits arrival happens like clockwork, and it's a ritual the newly minted Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson loves to witness. He has been watching the little ordeal for the last four years, with each new Top Gun class, even choosing to mark the date on his calendar after having almost missed an incoming class last year.

The new Top Gun recruits wander into The Flight Line Bar in gaggles. Most still clad in their uniforms if they had been lucky enough to get issued a drinking order. The wide eyed aviators would file up to the bar, uneasy looks on their faces as they took in the ranks drinking around them. If the Flight Line Bar was a small pond, the Top Gun inductees are guppies surrounded by some very big fish. One year, a young aviator even tripped over the base commander's seat and was met with a glare that even Cyclone would have been nervous to stand on the receiving end of.

The recruits each drink a beer, the brave ones chancing a second, before they're heading for the door. Cyclone loves to see the discomfort that would roll off of them the moment they crossed the threshold back into the parking lot. Some would even shiver, which always seems to pull a hearty laugh out of the Admiral.

This year, however, Cyclone is met with a very different scene before him when he himself broke the threshold of the Flight Line Bar. Having been stuck in a meeting with Admiral Kazansky, Cyclone ends up arriving later than the usual crowd of recruits. So, when he finally wanders in, he is met with the fleeting glances of some top brass, but no new eyes. He can't fight the way he almost deflates; after the shit day he managed to barely claw his way through, the one thing he was looking forward to were the wide eyes of the newest, freshest meat that Top Gun managed to recruit.

As if today of all days wasn't hard enough to begin with.

Instead, it looks like a regular Friday night, which wouldn't do the leg work needed to actually flip his day around for the better. But he's already there, the drinks are cheap, and he really, really needs a drink. So, he orders with a silent wave of his hand, the borderline elderly man behind the bar meeting the wave with a nod of his head. Cyclone plops down unceremoniously onto one of the rickety barstools. It almost sways under his weight, however it does creak weakly as he settles. His temple meets his knuckles as he lets out a deep sigh as the beer being set down in front of him. Cyclone can only manage a nod to the bartender before lifting the glass to his lips.

The question of why he still drinks here, in this lousy bar, floats through his head for a moment, but he doesn't put fourth the energy to grant himself with an answer. Maybe it's the cheap beer and half price shots. Or, maybe the fact that he doesn't have to fight off the happy hour drinkers or the five o'clock somewhere partiers that seem to be carried in with the wind. Again, he doesn't entertain the question long enough to form an answer.

Cyclone doesn't even have to glance around the bar to know the crowd this Friday night hosts. Top brass, tired officers, and disgruntled wives, each drinking their own bad days away.

The glass feels about a hundred pounds and it meets the bar top with a loud thunk, the amber liquid sloshing around inside. A bit of foam sneaks over the rim, running down the crack in the glass. Cyclone scratches at it with this thumbnail, wondering how the hell the bar is still getting away with using nearly broken glassware. The thought doesn't last long, not many seem to this evening, and he is bringing the impossibly heavy glass back to his mouth for another sip.

As he tips it back a little further this time, the sulking woman a few seats down catches his attention. If this were a normal Friday night, Cyclone might make bets with himself on just why a woman might be crying, in this bar, all alone. He might puzzle that she is a soon to be ex-wife, her spouse making the choice to cheat on deployment. Maybe she is a daughter, or a sister, or a cousin, her base escort hiding in some other corner of the bar, or of the base. But tonight is not a normal Friday night, regardless of the absence of the new incoming class or not.

The Admiral can't help but watch her lazily out of the corner of his eye. She brings a shitty bar serviette up to wipe at her cheeks, sniffling as the paper touches her skin. Cyclone should feel guilty about how much the sight comforts him. At least, he thinks, someone else seems to be having just as bad of a day as he is.

Then, she catches him staring, his beer lost in the space between his lips and the counter. His fingers are sticky against the chilled glass as he holds it there, still watching her. Cyclone doesn't look away, no point in it now. Then, she breaks the disillusioned bubble forming between them with a sniffle and a hiccup.

It's not a pretty sound, but then again, the sight of the woman in front of him isn't exactly pretty either. After all, it's hard to be pretty when snot is rubbed up over the tip of her nose, catching the light as she sniffles again. Her hair is akin to a nest, like her fingers have been making their way through it over and over again until it is more mess than style.

"I'm sorry, Admiral, Sir," Her voice is straining from holding back tears. There is snot dripping from her nose again, and she wipes it with another flimsy napkin. A half effort is made to sweep back the hair in her face, her well kept fingernails catching in newly formed knots as she pushes it back. The woman doesn't break eye contact with him, even as the sight of him begins to swim through her newly forming tears.

"Hey, kid, it's okay, don't worry about it," His eyes meet the fluttering neon sign behind her, not wanting to lock eyes with her again. It lights her in a halo of sickly blue and Cyclone can see the fizziness of her hair in it's light- it's a half distraction from the way she is still looking at him with those tears in her eyes. He can't stand it when women cry, not after watching his wife, June, sob through her entire pregnancy. It's really the way their eyes glaze over- that helpless look where he can just tell they are fighting with everything they are worth, deep down knowing that it might not be enough. Though, it warms his chest a bit to call her "kid", like he has always been meant to use the term.

The Admiral's brown eyes go misty, locking onto the chipped portion of his glass as the memory of his wife, six months pregnant, stuck in a hospital bed as hot tears carved their way down her face invades Cyclone's memory like a plague. He will never forget the crimson staining her cheeks from the exertion as she fought. And fought. And fought. The way her skin was more chapped than smooth from the constant flow of tears- the way the light would catch the shininess of her skin from the petroleum jelly that he lovingly spread over her weeping skin.

She didn't make it home.

Neither did their baby boy.

And now, as this woman sits a couple stools down, crying in a way that's anything other than gentle, corralling her sobs into the fence of her chest; her face that same color he used to be so used to seeing, that same damn sheen to her skin and Beau feels sick. His eyes snap down to her hands and he watches as her fingers push through the soggy material of the napkin, a sight that makes him grimace a bit. Gross is not the word to use to describe a crying woman, that is fact he has to remind himself of, but the way her fingertips slipped right through that soggy excuse of a napkin is damn close. Cyclone schools his mouth into a tight line, knowing that anything he might say could make both of their day's spiral downwards even faster.

"Admiral," Cyclone wills himself to look her in the face, but his pupils dance around, not locking in on one spot too long. The frizz of her hair, then over the puffy skin under her eyes, then back up to the buzzing neon just over the top of her head. Anything to keep from looking into the woman's eyes. He manages a nod in her direction, rewarded with a hiccup from behind her glass.

A couple more used napkins are tossed up onto the bar, adding them to her steadily growing pile. Her beer is cold, and she can feel it travel all the way down, chilling her burning insides with each swallow. Cyclone takes a drink of his too, waiting for her to continue her thought. He closes his eyes as he tips back the glass, the image of the crying woman in front of him replaced with one of June, and he's not really sure which is worse.

Thunk goes the glass again.

"Can I ask a favor?" Her tone is so sweet, yet so, so sad. He thinks of June, then he nods, his body doing the motion for the sake of his heart, even though his brain is screaming at him. He was taught a long time ago that there are people who don't just ask for favors, specifically strange women in bars, new recruits, and the big brass. But, the woman looks about the age his son should have been now and his chest constricts with the realization that he could have been sitting here drinking with him if things had turned out different.

"How can I help you, kid?" The glass is hitting the bar top just a little bit too hard again, the splinter in the glass growing a millimeter. It's quickly covered by the large pad of Cyclone's thumb.

"I- well, I'm supposed to be here celebrating my Mother's leg-legacy," Another sob-full hiccup breaks up her sentence. Cyclone waits patiently for her to finish. She wipes at the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.

"And, she really liked to shoot whiskey," The explanation is coming out too wet and not at all concise, but Beau is nodding along anyway. The woman is rubbing at her eyes again, this time with her fingertips. She carefully runs her nail along the underside of her waterline, trying to catch the new tears before they streak down her cheeks with the rest of them. It doesn't really work, or even if it does, Cyclone can't tell. New tears fill up the spaces the freshly wiped away ones once occupied.

Despite the unclear delivery, Cyclone gets the message. Ordering two double shots of Tennessee whiskey, his wife's favorite, Cyclone offers his best sympathetic smile to his new drinking companion. Then, as the whiskey is being poured and he is shuffling over to the bar stool next to hers. That one creaks and sways too, but he tries not to pay it too much mind.

"What's your name, kid?" There's that warmth again, breaking through the tightening feeling in his chest.

"Lieutenant Y/N "Monsoon" Mitchell," Monsoon raises her shot glass to Cyclone, offering him a nod. It's such an informal introduction but both are thankful for the lack of salute, the lack of military theatrics, tradition, that they are usually stuck to upholding. After all, what is tradition except peer pressure ringing through from years past.

Cyclone knows her, well, her name, this recruit- on paper at least. Suddenly he feels a bit worse for feeling less alone when he spotted her crying.

"Beau "Cyclone" Simpson," He raises his own glass, moving to tap them together. It's a risky move with the state of the glasses, each sporting chips in their rims and hairline fractures down their side. They share sullen, makeshift smiles, neither putting any sort of heart behind the expression. It's a knowing sort of thing, the look they share, one that says I won't say anything if you won't.

"To my Mama, Lieutenant Maria Davis, the best damn medic the USS Vinson ever saw," Monsoon's toast is simple, but she means every single word. Beau's mouth turns up at the corners, nodding to her in acknowledgment of a good job.

"And too my wife, June, and our baby boy, god rest their souls."

The bottoms of the glasses hit the table before the rim makes contact with their lips. The alcohol goes down with a burn, but it's a welcomed sensation. Anything feels better than swallowing grief and there's too much in the air right now. Cyclone chases the shot with a gulp of his beer. Monsoon doesn't. She rests the cool glass against her warm cheek, squeezing her eyes shut. It's a refreshing feeling, almost like she is being rinsed from the inside out.

The alcohol settles deep within them. She is buzzing, he is a bit queasy. Neither need to say a thing about it. It kind of feels like church- like a well spoken sermon where one sits in the pew the furthest from the crowed, tucked away in the back, poking holes in each lesson the preacher delivers. After all, it's not really God's plan, is it? More dumb luck than divine circumstance. Yet, they are both still there, sitting on stool that could give out at any moment as the lights above them buzz and the world feels a little smaller.

"I was watching the class today. You're a damn good pilot, Monsoon," Beau speaks after a few beats of silence, not quite sure what to say. Go with the truth, right? It would be rude to move back to his original seat, especially after the woman next to him just got control of her tears, so small talk is the next best option. She cracks her eyes open, trying to read the expression that follows the compliment. It looks genuine, if not a little proud, so she nods.

And then the world is a bit smaller, still.

"Thank you, Admiral, sir," She sets the glass down, gentler than he has done the whole night, "That means a lot, coming from such a talented pilot as yourself, sir."

And then Cyclone is chuckling, his chest vibrating. That feeling being the closest thing to godly he has felt in a long time, but it's more Zeus, more Jupitar, than it could have ever been God. Monsoon's words are so genuine and it catches him off guard. Most people who say something like that are trying to kiss his ass so hard that there they all but wear marks on the backside of his trousers.

"Are you getting excited to graduate? The ceremony is next week, right?" He asks, bringing his eyes back to the neon behind her. The light above them flickers, neither one acknowledging it. There is a sort of kinship between the way their souls feel and the state of the bar, where living feels like the flickering of a light, tonight.

"Sir?" The question comes with a tilt of her head, her fingers wrapping loosely around her beer. He watches the condensation drip down the glass, the water disappearing behind her fingertips.

"To graduate," he explains like it's the clearest thing, "To finish Top Gun,"

"Oh!" Monsoon almost chuckles, but her soul is too heavy. She settles on a small smile, as kind as she can manage.

"I don't graduate for another six weeks. Today just wrapped my seventh week here, but halfway done does feel good," He can tell she is holding something back with the way her eyes are pinched at the corners, the smiles on her lips straining a bit under her words. Monsoon looks like she almost doesn't believe the words that are leaving her own mouth, but when Cyclone catches her eyes again he can see that look again, I won't say anything if you won't.

"Oh," Beau's hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, all of a sudden feeling like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "In that case, you are one of the best pilots I've ever seen,"

The words fall from his tongue like they are the simplest thing in the world. His eyebrows are still raised as he downs the rest of his beer. He contemplates Monsoon's career in his head, attempting to think back to files he knows are sitting on his desk, but the alcohol swirls the statistics together in his brain.

"Thank you, sir,"

"Is your father planning on coming to your graduation?" The question is so simple, the next plausible question after toasting to her Mother's life. Monsoon bristles at the question, her expression becoming impossibly more tight, pinched.

"He's uhm," The foam in the bottom of Monsoon's glass is the most interesting thing in the room. Tears are flooding her eyes again, and she's turning back to the shitty bar napkins in the even shittier dispenser. Cyclone knows his question hit a nerve based on how she is frantically pulling napkin after napkin out of the dispenser; and the Admiral's guilt swims to the surface. He is sure that the horizon of it can be seen in his iris's, if Monsoon were to look past the evident sadness that has made a home there. He's pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, blue in color and perfectly folded. He offers it to her and it's taken with a slightly shaky hand.

"M.I.A. or AWOL?" Cyclone asks. There's a bit of humor to his question that neither of them comment on.

"He went AWOL when I was seven," She doesn't take her eyes off the popping foam in the bottom of her glass, "Then I suppose he went M.I.A. three years later, when he stopped sending birthday cards,"

Cyclone hates the way her shrugs are all noncommittal and vaguely unbothered. He would have killed for a chance to raise his child, hell, he would move the Earth if that meant he even had a chance to do something. The fact that a man would walk out on his family, on his own child, it makes him sick. There is still something else Monsoon isn't saying; the way she chuckles is almost wax poetic with the way she rolls her eyes. Cyclone raises an eyebrow at her as he gestures to the bartended for two more on tap.

"I was in Admiral Kazansky's office today," She chuckles again, eyes glassy and unfocused. Cyclone slides the new beer over to her. He brings his up to his lips as she breathes deeply, trying to order the words together in her head, words she can't believe she is about to say out loud.

"There's a fucking picture of my father on his desk," Then she is downing the beer in quick, deep gulps. It's half gone before she sets it back down. Cyclone's brain is working on overdrive, swerving the hazy clouds of intoxication, searching for the mental picture of the Admiral's desk. Monsoon is chuckling in quiet disbelief, picturing the damn photo on his desk, her father and the Admiral shaking hands during their time at Top Gun. It makes her sick, really, but she doesn't need to say it based on the way her face feels, all contorted and ugly.

"I didn't even want to be a fucking pilot," Cyclone doesn't know if she is speaking to him anymore, or if the words are meant for her half empty glass. Hell, the way she speaks them they could be meant for the universe, for Khaos, for the air itself. There's a chip on that glass too, in the smooth side if of it, where it tapers down. He watches as Monsoon rubs her fingertip over it again and again and again.

"What did you want to do?" The question is leaving Cyclone's lips before he can stop it, common sense kicking in too slow. He is kicking himself.

Then, her thumb is stopping.

"I wanted to be a RIO," The glass is lifted to her lips again, her eyes rolling at the mere thought, "I wanted to fly with my Dad,"

The laughter that leave Monsoon's lips is dry as autumn air. Her lips crack too, under the stretch of her half hearted smile- one that holds no joy, it's all lukewarm and apathetic. He watches the skin of her lips crack and separate- it looks painful, and Cyclone has to fight not to grimace at the sight. Blood slowly begins to leak through the new flesh wound, bright red as it crests over the fullness of her bottom lip. He remembers watching the same thing happen to Maverick in the back of a helicopter as the wind whipped around them. But then, Maverick wore a truly joyous smile, one that rounded out his cheeks with a rosy hue that went deeper than the wind burn.

Then it hits Cyclone like a ton of bricks- like pulling 6 G's in a fucking barrel roll. Mitchell. This girl in front of him, this broken, fatherless girl is Pete Michell's kid. As if Cyclone needed another reason to hate the reckless man.

Beau wants to punch Pete Michell so hard that the only thing the man can make out in his field of vision is stars. Either the ones in the sky as he is planted with his back in the dirt, or the ones that would no doubt sparkle behind his eyelids. He wants to watch as the other man bleeds from the nose, the lip, the inside of his mouth. Cyclone can almost see the way the blood would pool in the spaces between Maverick's too white teeth, turning them a sickly vermilion. He would take a little too much pride watching the blood drip out of the corner of Pete's mouth, or down the crest of his chin.

Hell, Pete Michell, bloody, is a justified sight in Cyclone's book.

But that wouldn't help her right now. So Cyclone takes a breath, calming the flames of anger, of Hades that often lick at his legs, at his hands, whenever he so much as thinks about Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.

He's a bastard, that much is for sure. And it doesn't seem that Monsoon needs reminding of that fact.

"Well, kid," Beau is hunting, hurting for the right words, "If it's not wrong of me to say- your talents would have been wasted as a fucking RIO, especially for that son of a bitch," That gets Monsoon chuckling. She wants to ask if her grandmother was really that bad, but she doesn't make the joke. Though the laugh sounds a bit strangled as it untangles from the dense pain in her chest, Cyclone is happy to hear it. Something small swells in his heart at the sound.

Somewhere, deep in the cavernous spaces of his soul, a broken part of him feels like a father for the first time in years, even if it isn't exactly proper and the woman in front of him isn't his kid. Cyclone feels like a father, not even in a pseudo sense of the word, but truly like a father, and the feeling warms him from the inside out. It overtakes his whole body, leaving him almost buzzing.

Now it's his turn to chuckle. It's sour with pain and longing, but it's still there. Like joy is trying to crawl it's way out, lukewarm and dripping wet.

"Well, Admiral, sir," Monsoon's voice is a little lighter now, sweeter maybe. Cyclone is watching as she's pulling her coat over her shoulders, "Thank you for the favor, and the drink,"

She's nodding her head in the direction of the half full glass still dripping with condensation.

"Thank you for remembering them with me, too," They share a knowing smile, it's a little broken but it is still warm. Again, it's one of those I won't say anything if you won't looks shared between the pair. They lock eyes one last time before Monsoon is turning on her heel, ready to head right out of the front door.

For just a second Cyclone wonders if Monsoon will shudder with relief in the same way the new Top Gun recruits usually do, or if something as simple as that will effect such a skilled pilot. He wonders if anyone will be there for her on graduation day, or if she will be stuck alone in the seas of families and friends- just like he was all those years ago.

I won't say anything if you won't. Yeah, that's not a chance he's willing to take.

"Wait," Cyclone calls after Monsoon, his voice a little too loud and not at all hesitant enough. Monsoon chances a look back, confusion written into the furrow of her brows. He becons he back with a wave of his hand. Cyclone pulls a business card from his front pocket. "I am going TDY, but I should be back for your graduation," The words don't make sense to Monsoon, and neither does the card that he's presenting her between his two fingers. She is cocking her head to the side again, eyebrows furrowed. Cyclone tries to not notice how much she looks like her father.

He notices anyway.

"Email me, remind me of the date, and I'll be there," He is presenting her the card again with a shake of his wrist. Then, she reaches out, grabbing it with nervous fingers.

"Oh, uh-" There are new tears forming in Monsoon's eyes at the words, the card now swimming in her vision. "Thank you, sir,"

"Oh, better yet," Cyclone plucks the card from her fingertips, a move that may have been considered crass but Monsoon can't help but find a little bit funny. Cyclone quickly scribbles down a phone number in messy loops of blue ink, the numbers taking up a little too much room on the back side of the card. Then, he blows on it carefully to make sure the ink won't smudge before handing the card back out to her in the same manner as before.

"Text me the reminder, so it doesn't get lost in my email," Cyclone's smile is so kind and there is a ribbon of hope, a glimmer, really, shinning through the lightest parts of his irises. Monsoon can barely hold back her tears at the sight, and so the card becomes the most interesting thing in the room, held between her shaking fingertips. "You deserve to have a parent there, kid,"

Those are the last words they share that night. They don't need to say anything else. After all, how do you explain the want to stand in as a lost family member? Beau would never admit just how much he's dying for a kid to support, to cheer on and celebrate. Monsoon knows the feeling too, the want to be a daughter who isn't seen as an inconvenience, a burden.

The next time they see each other, Cyclone is sitting in the front row at her Top Gun graduation, a small bouquet of calla lilies on his lap. There is a proud smile on his face and the moment Monsoon sees it there are tears in her eyes. She wonders if this is the feeling she had been missing out on, a father's pride, his love. She tries not to dwell on it, even as walks across that stage.

When the pair meet in the crowd, Cyclone doesn't hesitate to pull her into a hug, one that may not have been professional or regulated, but he feels a weight come off her shoulders the moment he pulls her in. He feels a little more whole too. The hug is short, quick, really, but there are tears in both of their eyes when they pull back.

Cyclone has so much pride for her, and God, Monsoon can feel it. From the way he beams at her to the way he shoves a camera into the hands of his battle buddy, tucking her under his arm. Both clad in dress uniform, posing for the camera as she holds the flowers against her chest to try and quell the beating of her heart. They both sport tears in their eyes, cheeks round and plump red as they smile too wide.

That photo makes onto his desk a week later, displayed in a beautiful mahogany frame.

USS Stennis. Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Four Years before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

The first time Monsoon calls him Pops, it's an accident. She got shipped out to an aircraft carrier somewhere in the Pacific. The tour is lonely. She doesn't know the team, the group who have been stationed there for the last six months, and they weren't overly keen on the 'new girl'. Monsoon made it through three months before she started to feel like a part of the team. It's a conscious choice, really, to keep working at fitting in. But in the end that team, those people, they aren't her family and they aren't going to remember her after she ships back stateside.

Emails to and from Cyclone kept her going, as he reassured her that life on the carrier isn't easy on anyone. He urges her to try and make better friends with those who hold a more permanent position on the vessel, so she does her best to take the newbies under her wing. If she wasn't welcomed, that was out of her control, but she can sure as hell make sure that the newbies are.

The plan starts off a little rough, the new sailors unsure of the overly friendly Lieutenant amongst the standoffish seasoned crew of the vessel. But days turn to weeks, trust is earned and the long days and nights onboard get easier to swallow.

Then, Cyclone gets shipped out to the carrier for a briefing. He can't help the rumble of excitement that tracks through him. He might get to see Monsoon, his kid, and he's going to do everything in his power to track her down on board.

There is too much joy on his features as he touches down on the carrier. Too much joy for the briefing he is getting ushered into. It drags on longer than necessary as they hash and rehash out plans for missions. He knows he should care, he really does, but it's not like people's lives are on the line this mission. It's all practice runs and jet maintenance, and how could anyone expect him to focus when his kid is on the same vessel and he is just fucking sitting there. Cyclone barely sits still, knowing the clock is ticking down on his time aboard and if this meeting goes on any longer than planned he is going to miss his chance to see Monsoon.

Around suppertime, Monsoon is heading to the canteen, desperate for some sort of nourishment. It has been a long day, trial after trial, and thankfully for her, she's fairing better than some of her other wingmen. At least she hasn't puked over the side of the carrier since her first week aboard.

She guides one of the newer pilots, Story, down the stairs from the flight deck, her stomach rumbling as they go. The new Lieutenant on board hot on her heels as they make their way down the stairs.

"I know, Story, but you're going to get through this," Monsoon's voice is low as they wind their way through the tight hallways of the lower decks. "You're a good pilot, there is nothing you can't do. So what if you need a little more practice. That's why we're out here, right?"

The younger man hums in agreement, disappointment scribbled all over his face. They are both coated in sweat, Monsoon's hair sticking to her sweat soaked skin. She craves a shower almost as much as she craves food. Her body is weighed down with flight fatigue as she drags her feet.

The halls of the ship begin to smell more and more like hot biscuits and butter the closer they get to the mess hall. Their stomach's rumble in unison at the smell wafting down the hallway. Monsoon is rounding the corner with her front turned towards Story, not bothering a glance in the direction her feet are heading. A second later, her back meets a hard body, a grunt coming out of her mouth at the impact.

Story goes white at the sight of his new friend running straight into an Admiral. Monsoon doesn't like the look on his face, he looks like he's just seen a ghost, or maybe prophesied a murder. So she turns around slowly, so, so slowly. Her eyes are scrunched as she turns. There is already an apology on her lips as Monsoon peeks to see just exactly who she just ran into.

Eyes go wide, and smiles break out over their faces.

The need for food, a hot shower, and sleep dissipate from her body as she looks up at the man in front of her, joy overtaking.

"Pops!" The name comes out a little too quick, catching them both of guard. Monsoon's cheeks flush dark with embarrassment, realizing what she just said and who she just said it to. Without warning, Cyclone is pulling Monsoon into his chest, wrapping her into a warm, tight hug, just the kind of hug a Dad would give.

"Hey Kiddo,"

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nestedneons · 8 months

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By Sandu

Prompt:

"Closeup architecture Minimalist night rain busy city scene floating granite ship space dock, azzuro amber forest, scifi wild, glass and steel industrial shiny metallic space station complex architecture into deep cloud environment, volumetric light, hot engines, huge air polygonal intake gates with shutters, living pastel color pods towering skyscrapers at cliff edge, jet era shapes, The 5th element，The Matrix，Craig Mullins，Syd Mead, eerie Sandu Baciu style, photography award, ultra realistic, wide angle, high detail, volumetric light at noon, Trending on artstation, Unreal engine hyper realistic photography award magazine cover -s 222"

By Sandu

Prompt:

Mid day street scene futuristic asian market neon signs light strips Blade Runner rain pastel neon AR displays full body robot on plastic transpatent pastel clothes elegant white shinny ski jet jacket wet android police decals and stickers in pastel ski jaket scifi pockets zippers, walking american flag in space shuttele cockpit cap concept art basic droid blade runner rogue one, bokeh giant logo on chest, mecha pulp art humanoid robot schematics prints elegant ultra sci - fi robots droids fashion design, ultra modern scifi look, custom gorgeous inca wood inlay pulp art style elegant eerie sandu baciu brush painting comcept art blade runner style --s 222

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settie · 2 months

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it's been a hell of a long time and i did these pieces like 10 months ago, but here i am posting more okay manga colourings

#colored manga #manga #manga cap #manga panel #colored panel #manga screencap #mangacap #manga page #neon sign amber

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nowshesdoingitallthetime · 8 months

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Cocktails, Cowboys and Back Alleyways

[a/n: hi… this started as just a silly little brainrot that grew into something much bigger than planned. a little disclaimer, english isn’t my first language and punctuation isn’t my strongest suit. this being the first thing i have ever written probably doesn’t help either. minors DNI]

tags: pinning, alcohol consumption, they make out in a back alley and I’m pretty sure that’s it.

[word count: 6792]

When agreeing to go out for drinks on Halloween with Matty, you didn’t think you’d end up dressed as a bottle of moonshine at 8pm walking around the streets of London waiting for an Uber but here you were.

Matty had called you about 4 hours ago asking you to come spend Halloween with him and the guys at the bar and with the promise of free drinks and seeing the guys dressed up in costumes, you had agreed to go a decision that had led you to scrambling around your apartment trying to put together a last minute Halloween costume.

After about half an hour of searching around your apartment you’d found an old costume in the far back of your closet from when you and your friend group had gone as different liquor types/brands from a couple years ago in your Uni days which you had thrown on in a hurry and to your surprise and relief it still fit you like a glove.

The costume itself was rather simple, a classic yet stunning amber mini dress that complimented your body in all the right ways, a classic denim jacket paired with a pair of cowboy boots and the star of the outfit, the feathered cowboy hat with the moonshine logo on top.

After getting into your Uber and giving the driver the address to The Shiny Collarbone you had texted Matty saying you were on your way to which he had responded with a “don’t know if I’m more excited to see you or what you’re dressed up as, see you soon darling get here safe” which had you a flustered mess.

You’d known Matty and the guys for close to a year now, but you still weren’t used to the flirting and the nicknames. A part of you secretly hoped the flirting meant your feelings were reciprocated, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up just to have them crushed by reality.

As the car turned onto the next street you saw the bright neon sign hanging above the bar at the end of the road, and you started to gather your things.

Once the car came to a stop you thanked the driver and exited the car and went out into the cold October air as you made your way to the entrance you checked your makeup once in your phone before entering.

Once stepping inside you were immediately greeted by the loud and lively atmosphere which brought you a sense of familiarity and comfort. While it wasn’t the busiest you’d seen it be, you wouldn’t consider it a quiet night for them either.

Having been a bar for over 20 years that had once started as just a small hole in the wall bar run by a group of friends had over time become a notorious and sought after spot to visit as well as being popular with the locals, a fact Matty was proud to share on more than one occasion.

As you scan the familiar room you notice George as usual standing by the DJ booth enjoying himself while pushing buttons that he’d shown you how to use many times before but you couldn’t for the life of you comprehend how he managed to make the music he did with them, no matter how many times he’s shown you.

What wasn’t usual about the scene in front of you, was the torn white half buttoned up shirt adoring his body and the messily scribbled word “werewolf” that was written in what was clearly Matty’s handwriting on the front of it, no doubt a last minute costume which you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at.

Looking towards the bar your eyes land on Ross tending to a group of girls by making them shots. Standing in what you believe to be a homemade mummy costume. he was covered in what from a distance appeared to be a mix of toilet paper and even stood from a distance you could see actual bandage gauze.

A part of you wondering where they had managed to get that considering you had seen the absolute state of their first aid kit, and to say they’d be fucked if something happened would be an understatement.

You eyes continue to scan the bar and the surrounding booths for Matty but you can’t seem to spot him and you can’t help but feel a small sense of disappointment even though you know for a fact he’s here.

As you start to make your way over towards your spot at the back of the bar, out walks the curly haired man in question carrying a case of whiskey no doubt to add to the display shelves behind him and Ross but as tempting as it is to stare at his straining biceps carrying the heavy case, your eyes can’t focus on anything besides the black traditional cowboy hat that sits on top of his greying curls and it has you stopping in your tracks and needing to take a moment to fully comprehend the sight of Matty dressed as a cowboy.

Once you managed to take your eyes off the hat you get a chance to notice the rest of his outfit and you debate turning back around for a solid 3 seconds to go outside and process the image In front of you.

In all his glory was Matty stood behind the bar wearing a cut off checkered flannel, the black cowboy hat, a back vest underneath and while not visible to your wandering eyes knowing him he’s definitely wearing his black cowboy boots on his feet to complete the look.

You watch as he starts turning back to most likely shout something to Ross and in that moment you make eye contact with him you watched his eyes widening, his mouth dropping and a small “wow” escaping.

The reaction causing your face to flush and after a couple of seconds you snap yourself out of the daze you found yourself in and resume walking over to your spot as Matty meets you there with a hug, pulling you into his neck which lets you get a whiff of the nice cologne he wore, complimented by a hint of the cigarette he probably just smoked and below that something you can only describe as Matty himself.

The scent had you relaxing in his hold and your shoulders falling causing you to completely melt into the hug. You both savor the feeling of being in each others arms, each one just as blind about each others feelings as the other. He squeezes you tight before he slowly pulls away looking into your eyes with a bright smile on his face.

“Would you look at that darling, it’s almost like this was planned.” With his brows raised, glancing up between your hat and his own causing you to let out a small laugh while lowering yourself into your regular seat and removing your jacket placing it on the chair besides you. An action that gave Matty an opportunity to get a proper look at your dress and he felt his heart skip a beat, to him you were breathtaking all the time, but this dress was something that had his head spinning and his thoughts darkening within seconds.

“Well you told me to come to the bar for drinks but that I wouldn’t be allowed in if i didn’t dress up so I figured this would be an appropriate costume, had no idea about your costume though. I have to say you clean up nice cowboy” which had Matty bashfully lowering his head with a small laugh, praying his hat would help conceal his blushing cheeks from your view.

You were feeling confident tonight, something Matty absolutely adored. He remembers at the start of your friendship when you had just started coming to the bar to hang out with him and the boys, and how shy and flustered you’d always get whenever he’d flirt with you.

But recently you had started to become more bold and Matty simply couldn’t get enough of it. You flirting back at him instead of shying away and in turn making him the flustered one was something he didn’t mind one bit.

If anything it made his feelings for you grow more with the thought of the slight possibility of you liking him back.

“Thank you darling have to say you don’t look too bad yourself, this dress is really doing wonders for you. Can I get you a drink miss moonshine?” The nickname caused the butterflies in your stomach to start to flutter and your smile brightens knowing he understood your costume.

You watched him make his way around back to the other side of the bar, and before you could answer his previous questions he adds

“Afraid we don’t have any actual moonshine though, so you’ll have to make do with something else darling”

with a mock frown now taking place on his features while shooting a quick glance back at your hat his expression quickly changing back into the grin you know and love.

“So what will you be having tonight darling?” He says as his gaze shifts to look back into your eyes, and you can see the amusement and happiness dancing around in his own. The same look no doubt present in your eyes.

“That’s so difficult I’m starting to get used to being spoiled and having you pick my drinks for me since you wont let me continue to order the “same 3 things”, so won’t you just pick something for me again Matty?” You said while giving him your best pout and Matty felt his heart rate pick up slightly.

Truthfully he’d do anything you asked him, but the second you brought out the pout he was close to being on his knees for you. Willing to do whatever you wanted as long as it kept you happy, but he kept his composure and replied with what he hoped to be a casual.

“Yeah because that’s boring! But you’ve liked the past couple I’ve made you try, don’t even try deny it! Except for that small mishap last week that Ross has a video of but you ended up liking it in the end! But I’ll see what I can do alright darling? But you can’t be disappointed once you get it okay? You asked for this.” He replied with a teasing glint now in his eyes and he started making his way around grabbing at the different ingredients for whatever cocktail he decided on making for you.

“Don’t say that! What do you mean he has video evidence? Don’t tell me you caught that on video.” You said with a slight bit of panic lacing your tone.

Last time you’d been at the bar during Matty’s shift, it had been one of the slower shift which in turn meant he had more time to spend with you so he had made you one of his special concoctions that he had been working on and perfecting.

While the aftertaste was lovely the amount of alcohol in it had come as a shock when you had your first sip which caused you to choke a bit. Something he had teased you for relentlessly, after making sure you were okay, the entire duration of his shift. Even after he had made you a new one containing a smaller amount of alcohol (something he had also made fun of.)

“Besides you wouldn’t give me something bad, would you?” You reply with a quick look of concerned, a look that caused Matty to let out a boyish giggle. You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of you it.

His laugh was something that never failed to bring a smile to your face whenever you heard it and honestly it might be one of your favorite sounds.

You lean slightly forward on the bartop your head now resting on one of you hands as you watch him slowly pour different types of liquor and syrups into the shaker, and you can’t help but let your eyes once again scan over his outfit and how it cling to his arms as he shook the shaker containing the mystery drink.

A look that doesn’t go unnoticed by Matty which had him raise his eyebrow and smirk, once you made eye contact and realized you had been caught checking him out you bashfully lowered your head blushing and turned your attention to the different labels of the bottles that had been placed in front of you.

When he saw your attention wasn’t on him anymore he couldn’t help but let his own gaze wander a bit. He wasn’t joking when he said the dress was doing wonders for accentuating your features. The way your dress hugged your chest had caused him to go a bit dizzy and his thoughts taking a darker turn and the fact you were now slightly leaning over the bar counter to get a close look at a bottle further away didn’t help his case in the slightest.

Shaking himself out of it, he focuses back on the task at hand of making your drink.

“What kind of professional would I be if I made you a drink I knew you wouldn’t enjoy? That’s how you end up getting no tips darling come on! Besides you really think I’d do that to you? I have a feeling you’ll really like this one actually, might even top the cosmopolitan you tried a couple weeks ago” he says while a look of childlike excitement washed over his face at the idea of you liking the drink he had made you.

Matty knew he was talented at what he did, but to get your approval was like when the teacher gave you a good star as a child.

He leaned down to grab a clean glass from underneath the bar and poured the drink he had made into it and eagerly passed it towards you over the bar to try.

“As if you have any struggles with getting tips Matty, I’ve sat besides you while you’ve counted them after a slow night. I can’t imagine what you must make on a busy day, must have something to do with the hair I imagine” you say while reaching up and tugging at one of his curls, the sudden move had his eyes widening and his whole body stumbling back a bit to try and avoid you gripping on his hair, something he’d had dreamed about you doing but in a completely different setting.

A setting that he should not be thinking about while at work, with you sitting directly in front of him no less.“Oi be nice! Those tips are part of the reason you get to drink for free you know” he says in an attempt to scold you, same way you’d scold a child, while pointing a finger at you to really sell it even though you could see the smile threatening to break out on his face while he tried to maintain the stern expression.

“Might actually want to start being a bit nicer to me darling or I’ll could start charging you” he continued with a smug look.

As he was finishing his sentence an arm got slung over his shoulder which caused him to jump a bit while Ross made his first real appearance of the night.

Making eye contact with you immediately while carrying a mischievous expression, a look you knew very well and you knew it’s about to get good when he gets involved in the conversation by stating.

“If this dickhead starts charging you for drinks you come straight to me, Adam or George and we’ll sort him out, alright love? Don’t let him feed his ego by thinking he can charge you as well” shooting you a wink and patting Matty on the back causing the shorter man to stumble a bit as Ross went to lean on the bartop beside him

“Oi what do you mean ego?!” Matty squeaked out dumbfounded and slightly offended while looking at Ross who was trying his best to hold back his laughter shooting a look towards you, completely ignoring the curly haired man at his side.

“What’s he trying to get you to drink this time then?”

Ross asked as he picked up the drink Matty had made and held it up towards the light to get a proper look at it as if to inspect and no doubt judge it.

“Please tell me he’s not made one of his own concoctions again, god knows the one last time was vile. I don’t know why you keep letting him do this to you love” he continued as he raised the drink to his face to smell it and gave it a small nod of approval before putting in back down on the counter in front of you.

“I’ll have you know she actually liked the one last time Ross! Just needed to tweak the amount of alcohol, and then she enjoyed it! Didn’t you darling?” Both men now with their full attention turned towards you.

Matty with an expectant look and Ross with a look of amusement and his brow raised almost in a challenging way.

You debated on if you should answer truthfully or go along with Ross teasing as a way to rile Matty up, deciding to be nice you went with the truth.

“It was nice, just a bit strong for my taste! The second one you made was much nicer though” you watched as Ross rolled his eyes and Matty lit up with a triumphant look, eager to rub the small victory in Ross’s face

Looking over the shoulders of both men you spotted a gorgeous woman, who you had noticed earlier eyeing up Ross as you walked in, was now making her way up towards the bar and deciding to interrupt before Matty could start gloating you added.

“actually now that you’re here Ross, would you mind making me one of those slushy drinks you do? The ones with the strawberry on the side?”

You watched as Matty’s expression turned from one of pure pride and happiness to a look of horror followed closely by a look of absolute betrayal, Ross on the other hand couldn’t fight off the smug expression and part of you thinks he wasn’t even trying to as you continued.

“You’re the best one at making them by far, and I’ve been dying for one all week.”

Was it a bit mean? Yeah, but you weren’t necessarily lying when you said you’d been craving one all week.

You also couldn’t shake off the giddy feeling of seeing Matty a bit jealous that you had asked Ross to make you your drink instead of him. With a wink and a

“I’ll get right on that love”

Ross walked off to make the requested drink and without knowing walking towards the woman now stood at the bar and you were now faced with Matty who looked like a kicked puppy with the biggest pout adoring his face. And you felt your heart break a little at him going.

“You’ve not even tried the drink I’ve just made you and now you’re sending Ross off to make you new one, and here I thought I was something special to you darling”

the look of jealousy and sadness didn’t get to last long though. “Don’t be silly Matty I only sent him over there because there’s a girl coming up to the bar who’s exactly Ross type, and I’d be a horrible wing-woman if I didn’t get him up there with her” you say while trying to discreetly point out the girl in question to Matty.

And just as you expected she was already in what appeared to be deep conversation and you could tell just from Ross body language that he fancied her as well.

“Ah aren’t you clever darling look at you looking out for our boy, enough about him though your drink will start to get warm soon and I think it’ll ruin the taste ‘cause it’ll turn all watery because of the ice” he said, his emotions doing a complete 180 after realizing you had just tried to set up Ross for a potential date.

He pointed towards the almost completely forgotten drink that was still in front of you both. And you wrap your hand around the glass and raise it in a cheers making Matty bite the inside of his cheek to try and stop the wide grin spreading on his cheeks as you brought the glass to your lips and take a sip, letting the flavors of the mystery cocktail explode on your tastebuds.

Once the glass touched your lips Matty looked like he’s about to jump out of his skin in anticipation of your reaction and thoughts on the drink he made you. He wanted you to enjoy it especially since he made it for you, with you and your preferences in mind.

Over the past months Matty had made it his mission to find out your likes and dislikes and when at the start you had only ordered the same 3 cocktails for months he knew he had to step in to try and get more information and that was how this whole mystery cocktail thing had begun in the first place.

“It’s very sweet but a bit tangy. The flavors all go really nice together, you’re right this was a great choice! This is why I always make you choose my drinks because I really like this! What’s it called so I can make sure you make it for me again sometime?”

And hearing you say you want Him to make it for you again has his heart stuttering and almost bursting out of his chest with pride.

“It’s called a Bramble darling, you like it yeah? I’ll make sure this won’t be your last one then.” Finishing his sentence with a wink.

You fall into a comfortable silence after awhile. Just looking at Matty tending to the bar and its patrons together with Ross who’s managed to get the girls number before having to go back to work as a sudden rush had started.

You always enjoyed watching Matty work, part of the reason you didn’t mind spending so many hours just sitting there and watching. There was something about how graceful he was, the confidence that just radiated from him like this was what he was supposed to be doing. The way he would be able to charm anyone who came his way like it was nothing. it really was no wonder you had fallen for him.

After awhile of just watching the guys mix and pour different drinks for the different people coming up to the bar, you felt your blood run cold and your spine straighten as you noticed a group of girls all practically drooling at him, and the worst part was you couldn’t blame them. You had practically been doing the same thing all night and as much as the thought hurt you, he wasn’t yours, no matter how much you wanted him to be you weren’t together.

The sadistic part of yourself forced you to watch the interaction continue on and you felt your stomach drop when you saw Matty turn his back to the group to grab something, and one of the girls took the time to scribble something (no doubt her number) onto one of the napkins and slide it over towards the spot where Matty would soon return to.

And just like you expected you saw him deliver the drinks to the girls and grab the napkin with a wink and you couldn’t help but feel your heart break just the tiniest bit.

Much to your surprise though, the second the girls were out of sight he tossed the number into one of the trash cans, shaking his head and make his way back towards your corner.

“Sorry darling we got busy for a second, you doing alright? You look a bit red is there anything I can get for you?” He asked concerned while his eyes scanned over your face to make sure you were okay

“I’m okay yeah, I’m just feeling slightly warm it’s probably just the drinks. I’m alright I promise” your words making him nod thoughtfully before he quickly glanced at the clock and going back over to Ross throwing a quick “be back in a second” towards you.

You saw the two talk for a second, Ross now looking at the clock and scan the bar before nodding his head. And watched as Matty made his way back towards you, rounding the corner to get out on your side of the bar.

Grabbing your discarded jacket from the empty seat beside you in one hand and taking your hand in his other.

He started gently tugging you out of your seat and wordlessly lead you outside and around the back of the bar towards the back alleyway. It was only when he stopped by the back door and placed your jacket back over your shoulders and leant back against the wall, you decided to ask why he had taken you both outside to which he responded with a simple shrug saying.

“Well you said you were feeling warm and I was dying for a cigarette haven’t had one in ages so I figured you could join me for my break, hope that’s alright with you darling, if not I can follow you back inside?”

He suddenly looked a bit worried thinking about how he had kinda forced you outside without even asking even though this wasn’t a new thing for you two by any means.

You had lost count at the amount of times you had been out back with him, to keep him company during his breaks. It was such a common occurrence that you hadn’t even questioned him when he dragged you out with him.

“No no that was a good idea, I’m glad you brought me with you. It was getting a bit stuffy in there, so it’s nice to come out here and just chat for you a bit. Besides feels like you’ve been more busy tonight, so getting a few minutes alone with you won’t be something I’ll complain about”

You watched as Matty lit up his cigarette, grey smoke clouding around him and in the dim light of the alley creating an almost halo effect around him and you can’t help but just stare up at him. The dim light sculpting his face and casting shadows that accentuated his strong jaw and full lips and you couldn’t stop the racing thoughts of what it would be like to feel them moving against your own.

What you didn’t know was that Matty was in the complete same boat as you, completely transfixed on your face in the dim lighting as well and how it the shadows danced around on your face and his arms twitched by his side as he fought to stop himself from reaching out and pulling you into him.

After a while of just standing in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Matty takes the last drag of his cigarette and stubs the bud out and throws it in the nearby trash can and as he looks back at you he can’t help but notice the slight shivering you’re attempting (and failing) at hiding and he slightly curses himself for not having brought his own jacket with him out to give to you.

“Are you cold darling? We can go back inside if you want?” You snap out of your daze and immediately rush out

“No I’m okay! Completely okay! Can we stay for just a little bit more? If that’s alright?”

And who is he to deny you? With a nod and a small “come here” he pulls you into him to try and combat the cold October air.

A move he really should have thought through because now, you’re both standing up against one another and he can feel your body pressed against him.

Even though you’re shivering he can now feel the heat from your body against his and the smell of your perfume has him briefly closing his eyes and just taking in the moment.

You watch his eyes close and reopen and for a moment you just stand there staring at up at him and you can’t help yourself from glancing down at his full lips again. The thought of them pressed against your own once more plaguing your mind.

Matty watched your eyes drop to his lips like he thought he had imagined you doing earlier but he had convinced himself that he had just imagined it but seeing you do it again now from a much closer angle there wasn’t a doubt in his mind at what he had saw earlier was real and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down towards you and carefully planting his lips on yours.

You froze for a solid 3 seconds before it hit you that Matty was in fact kissing you. He felt your body freeze and panic and regret shot through his body like he had just been dumped in a tub of ice thinking he might have misread the situation and possibly ruined everything with you.

As you felt him still and start to move back, no doubt with an apology at the tip of his tongue you quickly throw your arms around his neck, plant one of your hands in his dark curls and pull him back towards you and kiss him back with all the months of built up tension.

You pour every once of emotion into the kiss, hoping to convey your emotions and let yourself get lost in the feel of his lips against yours, the way his curls felt under your palm and the way his body seemed to fit perfectly against yours.

At the feeling of your hand in his hair, pulling him closer and the feeling of you kissing him back, Matty loses the last bit of hesitation and let’s his hand pull at your waist, pulling you so your bodies are tightly pressed together and kisses you back with just as much effort.

The feeling of both of your bodies pressed together has both of your heads spinning and getting completely lost in each other you don’t break the kiss until you both have to pull back to breathe. The break doesn’t last long and you both snap back towards each other like magnets, once again getting lost in the feeling of your lips molding together.

The back door slamming open is what ultimately has you both pulling apart with a gasp and you both snap your heads towards it, looking for the culprit who had interrupted your moment and in the doorway in all his glory stood a smug looking George Daniel with a smirk on his face.

“Sorry to break it up love birds but Ross needs you to come back in Matty. As always it’s lovely to see you sweetheart, loving the costume by the way very on brand.”

You watch the look of annoyance wash over Matty and he shakes his head at George going

“Alright, okay, tell Ross I’ll be back inside in a moment alright?”

You can hear the annoyance clear in his tone and George shoots you a wink and waves at Matty before going back in, no doubt to continue to work behind the DJ booth for the rest of the night.

You look back at Matty to find his eyes already watching you closely and you find yourself growing shy.

You find yourself looking down not being able to maintain eye contact, but you feel his fingers wrapping around your chin and tilting your head up to look at him as he takes a slow breath before quietly admitting

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months darling. I understand if this was just a spur of the moment thing, but in case you do feel the same my shift should be ending soon and I’d love to take you back to mine to watch a movie or something” and you can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips

“I’d really like that Matty” You say earnestly while looking up into his eyes before you confess with a cheeky “you have to promise me you’ll do that again though, because I’m not sure I can continue with just us being friends after that.”

Hearing you say that has a look of relief washing over him, the happiness practically radiates from Matty as he pulls you back in for another quick kiss before promising

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months, if you think I’ll be able to hold myself back you’re sorely mistaken darling.”

Once again leaving you a flustered mess which leaves him feeling proud before he continuing “I’ll kiss you as much as you want darling, as long as you promise to be mine yeah?”

You nod your head at that and you can’t help the way your heart nearly bursts out of your chest with happiness, so much so that you can’t even form any words but just start nodding your head yes again and bring him back down for another kiss.

Locking your lips together and you immediately feel like two puzzle pieces slotting into place and a sense of home washes over you both. The feeling so natural to the both of you and it made you feel like an idiot for never doing it sooner.

You pull away when you both are out of breath and he lowers his head to rest his forehead against yours. You both just enjoy the last couple of seconds before you pull to leave his embrace and tug at his arm as a way to pull him back inside giggling at each other like little kids.

Once inside you make eye contact with Ross who gives you a smug knowing look and from that alone you know George has already told him what he saw in the back alley and you hear Matty let out a tiny groan that lets you know he too has caught on to what’s happened.

Rushing you in the other direction away from the inevitable bullying from Ross and you both make your way back to your still empty corner. As you sit back down in your chair Matty preoccupies himself with making you another drink and you can’t help but just stare up at him with a lovestruck look in your eyes a feeling of disbelief still present at the fact he actually feels the same towards you.

The sound a texts messages frantically coming in shakes you from your little bubble and you watch Matty remove his phone from his pocket and let out a loud groan while throwing his head back towards the ceiling, the action has you raising your eyebrow in a silent question once your eyes find each other again.

“George’s already told the entire group chat about what happened in the alley.” He says with a groan and your eyes quickly look over at the giant who’s currently on his phone with a large grin on his face and just from that look alone you know he’s still catching everyone up on the new development between you and Matty

“Hann has already messaged me 4 times, I swear they really can’t keep their mouths shut sometimes” he says letting out an annoyed huff.

The mention of Adam has you straightening up a bit and with a quick glance around you turn back towards Matty

“Oh speaking of! How come Adam isn’t working tonight? I’ve seen both Ross and George but usually Adam is here to keep track of you lot?” you ask with curiosity.

Eyes flickering towards Ross who in the meantime has made his way over to George and as if they can feel your eyes on them they both look up towards you and Matty and shoot you a wink when making eye contact.

You roll your eyes with a small smile and shifts your focus back to Matty who now has a small frown on his face again as he looks at you.

“Why do you care about him when I’m here? Am I not keeping you entertained darling?” He asked with his now furrowed eyebrows raised, a flash of what you think is jealousy appears in his eyes for a split second as if you didn’t just kiss multiple times in the last 10 minutes in the back alley.

You watch as he crosses his arms over his chest in an attempt to look nonchalant and your attention briefly shifts to his arms again looking at the how the cut off flannel helped accentuate them and in turn making your head spin for a couple of seconds before you register the huff that leaves him while he stands before you and you quickly sit up to answer his question with a teasing

“Was that a bit of jealousy i sensed there Matty? I was simply wondering where he was. Wouldn’t say I was bored of you considering what just happened outside babe” you say looking up at him through your lashes to try and catch him a bit off guard and warm him back up a bit and it’s safe to say it worked.

He freezes for a couple seconds and his mind reels a bit at you calling him babe before the rest of the sentence registers in his mind and he lets out a scoffs “Me? Jealous of Hann? Didn’t realize you’d gone ahead and become a comedian overnight. Absolutely not jealous darling don’t know what makes you think that.” Which does nothing but confirm your suspicion of the claim of him being jealous.

A fact that had your stomach fluttering at the prospect of him being jealous.

You don’t get to enjoy the thought for too long, before he starts up again.

“Nah he and Carly were taking Baby Hann trick or treating tonight, so he’s off for the night to be with them” he says with a smile on his face thinking of his best friend and his family going around trick or treating, as much as he liked to make fun of him for being boring he couldn’t help but be proud of how great of a father Adam truly was.

“Oh I miss Carly I hope she’s doing alright, I haven’t seen her in so long! That’s adorable, I’ll have to ask how it went the next time I see him, will you please make sure I remember next time he’s here Matty? I’d hate to not hear about their first time trick or treating”

As Matty listened to you talk about his friends, the people who he considered his family, with such genuine interest and excitement he couldn’t help the wide grin that blooms on his face.

As he goes to assure you he will, a hand gets slapped on his back causing him to nearly jump out of his skin and with a hand over his heart he turned back to see who had disturbed their conversation only to reveal none other than John coming in to say hello and take over the rest of his shift like they had planned the previous day.

“Fuck man you scared the shit out of me, you can’t just sneak up on me like that Waughy” he fake pouts and you watch as the two men chat for a quick second before John shoots you a smile and a wave and walks towards the back to no doubt clock in and prepare for the night ahead.

“Do you still want to come back round mine to watch that movie darling? I figured we could make it proper romantic, maybe even build a fort like you’ve mentioned last time we had a movie night? Could do with a cuddle from you after working all night and I believe we have a lot of time to make up for” He ends with a smirk that has your stomach in knots and you eagerly nod your head.

The sound of cuddling with Matty in a fort while a movie plays in the background and now with the added bonus of getting to kiss him whenever you want, has you gathering your things and jumping down from you chair as you look into his eye and respond with a shy

“I’d really like that Matty”

“Alright darling let’s go home.”

#so this is a thing that happened #insane how this started out as a silly little idea and now it’s almost 7k words #it might be shit but i gave it my best shot #i’ve legitimately never written anything #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #bartender!matty #favorite writers

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cybersteal · 1 month

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𝕆ℂ 𝔸𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 // 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕪 𝔻𝕖'𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕠

got tagged eons ago by @blackrevell & @ouroboros-hideout and as usual it's taken me four hundred and eighty nine years to actually do it. my bad, chooms

Animal: Golden eagle🦅

Colors: Olive green🫒 neon yellow📀 & cherry red🍒

Month: August🌞

Song: Angel by SYCAMOUR🎶

Number: 61🎲

Day or Night: Night; specifically late evening🌃

Plant: Alligator Juniper🌳

Smells: Burnt rubber🏎️ cigarette smoke🚬 exhaust fumes💨 stale beer🍻 amber🟠 jalapeño🌶️

Gemstone: Fire agate💎

Season: Summer🏖️

Places: Bars & clubs🥤 mechanic's workshop🔧 restricted areas🛑 back-road rest stops🏜️ precariously high places🏗️ abandoned fairgrounds🎪

Food: Anything that's messy to eat🌭🍔🌯

Astrological sign: Sagittarius♐

Element: Fire🔥

Drink: Beer & cheap whiskey🍺🥃

no pressure to do this if i tag you - and feel free to do this anyway even if i don't! i ain't about to gatekeep this shit lmao lemme see all the stuff you associate your character with mmmmm - @pinkyjulien @meltingangels @nightcityace @lucky38-2077 @rosapexa @fereldanwench @wraithsoutlaws @netripper @alphanight1-vp @afterdark-vp @chooh2 @dreamskug @elvenbeard @vince-linder

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk v #oc: vice de'angelo #i struggled so much with the animal but then i saw the eagle and bro when i tell you it HAS A FEATHER MULLET #not really but IT HAS LIGHTER FEATHERS IN THE SHAPE OF A MULLET ON ITS HEAD #google it if you don't believe me 😂

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fishbrain-glubglub · 1 month

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She's Not Here

If anyone were to ask the BAU who the epitome of masculinity was, they would all immediately point towards their Unit Chief: SSA Aaron Hotchner.

The man effortlessly oozed masculinity. His solid 6’2” stature framed perfectly in his tailored suits made many mouths water at the sight, daydreaming about the body that lay in waiting underneath. Not a day went by where at least one person hadn't drooled over his stubble-peppered jawline, claiming it was sharp enough to effortlessly cut glass. His signature stoic aura only emphasized his classic alpha male status to any passersby familiar or not to the man. There was no doubt to anyone's mind that Aaron Hotchner was what every man dreamed to be.

But standing in only his boxer briefs in front of his bedroom mirror, all Aaron could see was everything he deemed wasn't manly. His hips were too wide despite being surrounded by well-toned muscle after decades of running and UnSub chasing. His jawline, while covered in stubble not yet shaven, wasn't as sharp as many of his admirers claimed it was. His shoulders, while looking wide and commanding in a sharp suit, felt narrow and small bared for his room to see. His chest bulged in all the wrong ways despite the faint twin scars bordering the bottom of each toned pectoral. Despite the decades of time Aaron had worked to achieve his current form, he could still see her poking through every insecurity he kept hidden, taunting him with the same dark chocolate eyes that sent even the most hardened UnSubs cowering.

A scowl glared back at him in the mirror as he crossed his arms defensively across his chest. The phantom ache of utter wrongness seeping from every inch of his skin began to rapidly bubble to the surface. No matter how hard he tried to quell her from resurfacing, she always managed to seep through the cracks, blasting a neon sign to reveal all of his obvious flaws to the world and to himself. He couldn't seem to shake the ghost of her presence no matter how hard he tried. It was days like this that he wondered why he even tried so hard to be himself, to be comfortable in his own skin.

A tiny flash of silver caught his eye in the mirror before two familiar lanky arms enveloped him from behind, pulling Aaron out from his mental spiral. A calming warmth spread against his backside before the caress of soft lips peppered his shoulders.

“Keep glaring at the mirror like that and it might just confess.”

A soft huff of laughter escaped from Aaron's lips as his gaze left his own and settled on bright amber hues eyeing him lovingly from behind. His arms never left their tight embrace over his chest, but his stance softened significantly. He let his shoulders sag and gently leaned back into the comforting embrace of his husband.

Spencer gave Aaron's torso a soft squeeze, beginning a gentle sway of their body's to a tune unheard by Aaron but calming nonetheless.

They stayed tangled in front of the mirror until Aaron's arm finally fell from their tense state across his chest, turning his back to the mirror and nuzzling his face into the crook of his partner's neck. His hands settled on Spencer's hips as Spencer snaked his hands up his husband's torso before settling around Aaron's neck. They continued to sway to an unknown tune in the comfort of their room hidden safely away from the rest of the world. Aaron was so lost in Spencer's embrace that he hadn't realized he had begun to tremble until he heard his husband begin to gently soothe him.

“Shh, sweetheart. It's okay. I'm right here.” Aaron felt one of Spencer's hands begin to caress the hairs on his neck, causing his already shaky resolve to fracture further. His arms tightened around his husband briefly, desperately trying to cling to any semblance of his hardened stoic mask as he could.

“Aaron.” Spencer's hand left his hair to cup his face, pulling Aaron from the safety of his partner's neck. He kept his gaze down and away from the growing concern in his husband's eyes and tried desperately to reign in his emotions.

Spencer was having none of it. “Aaron,” he repeated, rubbing gentle circles on his husband's trembling cheek. “Honey, please. Talk to me.”

Aaron instinctively shook his head, not wanting to voice his thoughts. If he said them out loud, it meant admitting they were true. He desperately clung to the silence, wanting to cling to his masculinity as long as he could.

Aaron felt his husband sigh. He closed his eyes, mentally preparing for the worst: Spencer telling him he couldn't be with someone so unmanly as Aaron. Spencer withdrawing and leaving him to deal with his internal turmoil on his own. Spencer telling him to suck it up and deal with it like a real man.

Deep down, Aaron knew these scenarios would never happen. Spencer had seen Aaron at his lowest many times over, had known his deepest secret longer than the rest of the team - save for Rossi who had known since Aaron had originally joined the FBI. They wouldn't have gotten married if Spencer hadn't been confident in their commitment to each other for the rest of their lives.

That still didn't stop Aaron's mind from jumping to the worst at every moment it could.

A gentle hand under his chin snapped Aaron's gaze to his husband's, finding nothing but concern and worry in the comforting amber eyes. Spencer's frown pulled his brow down in a way Aaron wanted to kiss away, instantly hating himself for putting that look on his face.

“Why don't you finish getting ready, okay?” Spencer's hand returned to his cheek, rubbing soothing patterns against the peaking stubble. “I'll be right here when you're ready.”

With a small nod, they untangled themselves from each other before Aaron walked over to his dresser, ignoring the mirror as much as he could. It only took a moment for him to slip on the thin shirt before turning back to their bed.

Spencer had already settled on his side of the bed, watching his partner with caring eyes. Aaron crossed the room quickly, turning off his bedside lamp before slipping under the covers and settling against his husband, holding him as close as he could without suffocating the man.

Aaron was grateful for the few moments Spencer allowed them to stay tightly embraced. He knew he would have to talk about it soon, but for a moment, he could lose himself in the embrace of the man he trusted everything to. He siphoned as much love and comfort he could before Spencer shifted, squirming his way out of Aaron's close embrace and forced their eyes to meet.

No words were spoken at first. Spencer had resumed the comforting patterns on Aaron’s cheek, providing a grounding presence to his inner turmoil. After a few more silent moments, Aaron closed his eyes and braced himself.

“She won’t leave me alone.”

Arms immediately wrapped around his shoulders, pulling Aaron close to the warmth of his husband’s chest. Tears he wasn’t previously aware of began to stream down his face as he took in a ragged breath, all of his pent up emotions flooding to the surface. It was as if the dam holding back all of his frustration broke at the contact. Silent sobs wracked his body as he felt the soothing hum of Spencer’s voice against the man’s chest.

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Spencer resumed carding gentle fingers through Aaron’s short locks. “She’s not here anymore, remember? She hasn’t been here in a long time. All I see is my amazing, strong, handsome, sexy husband.” A weak wet laugh cut through the quiet sobs. “I’m serious!” Spencer added with a smile in his voice. “Do you know how many men and women I catch eyeing you at the office? Hell, the amount of times I’ve caught Morgan eyeing you out of jealousy in the past two weeks and three days alone should be enough proof. That’s not even mentioning how many whispered conversations I overhear in the bullpen from JJ and Emily on what you look like underneath your suit on a weekly basis. JJ, who is perfectly happy in her marriage to Will, and Emily, who hungrily stares at every woman in a short skirt who walks past her desk. Rossi might seem like a neutral party, but anyone can see the smirk he hides in his morning cup of coffee when you open the door for a poor intern as they practically trip over themselves to follow. Garcia doesn’t even need an explanation. And don’t even get me started on the amount of LEOs I’ve caught eyeing you in your vest. It should be downright sinful to look as rugged as you do with your sleeves rolled up, gun in hand, commanding the scene with only a glare.” Spencer chuckled softly, scratching Aaron’s scalp. “That’s not even touching the amount of glazed over faces I spot when you talk. I’m sure you could get almost an entire room of highly decorated officers to do whatever you wanted with a single command. Any deity knows I would comply to your sultry voice in an instant.”

Laughter had rapidly replaced the sobs shaking Aaron’s body. He hid himself against his husband’s chest, covering his blushing cheeks from Spencer’s generous observations. “Spence,” he whined.

“I swear, Aaron, it’s a good thing you're married. Otherwise, you’d have people throwing themselves left and right at you. You’re the perfect male specimen. Hell, even I’m jealous of you, and I’m the one that married you!”

Aaron couldn’t hold back the eyeroll as he peaked out from his hiding spot. He felt his face split into a wide grin before replaying Spencer’s words in his head, his smile faltering. He glanced away, muttering softly under his breath, feeling himself tense all over again.

“Hey, hey. Don’t do that.” Spencer cupped his face with one hand and forced their eyes to meet. “What’s wrong, love?”

A sigh escaped Aaron’s lips before he whispered, “I’m not the perfect male specimen.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Aaron let out a dejected huff. “I’m not the perfect male specimen,” he repeated a little louder. “I can’t even-” His voice cracked. “I don’t have… I couldn’t…” Tears blurred his vision. “Haley had to… Jack isn't even-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Aaron.” Spencer propped himself up on one elbow, still cradling Aaron’s tear-stricken face with the other. “Whatever you’re thinking about stops right now. You, Aaron Thomas Hotchner-Reid, are that boy’s father. No amount of DNA tests or medical insemination procedures with sperm donors can tell you otherwise. You have raised Jack from the very beginning, and you have done it wonderfully. He is growing into such a bright and confident young man because you are showing him how. You are an amazing father, and I know for a fact that Jack wants to grow up to be just like you.”

Whatever argument Aaron had to counter died on his tongue as Spencer leaned down for a soft kiss. There was no heat or alternative motive behind the gesture. It stayed soft and gentle, soothing Aaron’s inner turmoil. Reaching up, he wrapped Spencer in his arms and pulled the man down to his chest, soaking in the love and care from the contact. They laid together, wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing gentle kisses until the last bit of tension left Aaron’s body. After one more press of their lips, Spencer scooted down his body, snuggling into his chest and resting his ear right over Aaron’s now calm heart.

“Now sleep,” Spencer muttered, already half asleep. “You need your energy to ward off all your admirers at the office and to take your husband on an extra long lunch break tomorrow.”

Aaron frowned. “What are we doing that requires a long lunch break?”

He felt Spencer’s sleepy mischievous smile against his chest “You’re going to prove to me just how manly you are.”

“Oh really?” Aaron couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “And how am I going to do that?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with a few ideas.”

As Aaron kissed the top of his husband’s head and settled in for the night, he couldn’t help but think of all the ways he would prove Spencer right.

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teriteriteriteriteri · 2 months

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Sane analysis of the descriptions of the two recent Myriad Celestia Trailers featuring Acheron. Below annotated are the description for the Acheron and Black Swan Dance video, and the Acheron backstory video:

The dual planets were intertwined in each other's tragic destiny, dancing an eternal rondo around a pitch-black great sun. In the beginning, one of the planets gave rise to humans. These people looked down, and named the land below "Izumo." These people looked up, and named the world above "Takamagahara."[1] One day uninscribed in the annals, the Yaoyorozu-no-kami descended from Takamagahara. These demonic beasts named Kami overturned the skies, burned the rivers and oceans, and shattered the land — People realized in horror that it was not an invasion for rulership, dominance, or plunder. The evil Kami came only to kill. As the planet stood on the brink of death, Izumo embarked on a Kami-slaying journey, exhausting the might of the entire country to slay the calamity "Sovereign of Revelation" and forging the very first Edict Edge using its bestial body. Giving the Kami a taste of their own medicine, the wielder of these swords can recite the mantra contained within the blade to master the divine power of Takamagahara, and use it to combat the evil Kami and save the masses.[2] From then on, Izumo started its long and arduous crusade, exchanging inordinate lives lost for the fall of one Kami after another, shattering countless mortal blades to forge the twelve Sentinels. In the merciless fight for survival, Izumo used the might of the Edict Edges to light up their uncivilized world of darkness in less than ten Amber Eras, building cities of dazzling neon lights. That distant Takama Divine Realm, once so far away, became so close within their reach — Yet history suddenly stopped there.[3] The existence of the two planets instantly evaporated, disappearing into nothingness. Nowadays, the past of the border planet Izumo can only be gleaned from the scattered whispers in the universe. Academics hold various views regarding its disappearance, but none can solve the mystery. Izumo's history should have been a long flowing river, but it was severed in one cut, and all its past and future voided on emptiness' other shore. Did it never exist, and was it no more than a fabricated story? Did its histories never occur, and it ran aground on the beach of reverse causation? Was it yet another appalling experiment by Dr. Primitive, or was it a sign of the Voracity returning from the end of the Cosmos? Only that pitch-black great sun knows the answer, yet THEY remain silent, never speaking.[1.1] Because everything that had happened will one day regress to the end, and everything that had ended is guaranteed to happen again. The universe undergoes an eternal recurrence under THEIR shadow,[1.2] and Izumo is nothing more than the footnote for an ellipsis.

Pinned comment below (although it's just a repeat of the last line of the next description):

The hobbling monk sings a dissonant tune, as those who hold the power of kami retreat towards divinity. Witnessed by the great sun, the land once known as "Izumo" stands bereft of its inhabitants — humans, oni, and kami alike — now vanished without a trace.

Notes:

[1]. Dual planets Izumo and Takamagahara part of a system whose star is a black sun. Izumo is the one with humans.

[1.1]. The black sun can be inferred to be IX, what with the capitalized THEY being used exclusively for Aeons, and the black sun being a black hole as the one we see Black Swan get traumatized by in the dancing video.

[1.2] However? Universe undergoes an eternal recurrence under IX's shadow? Not implausible, given that the total annihilations of the honkai might attract IX. But the recurrence part is what gives me pause. If IX thinks all is hopeless, why eternally occur?

Pioneer Diver of Dead Waters makes reference to an Orkron. We can rule Izumo out, so could this be the endonym of Takamagahara?

Perhaps unrelated, but the duel planet setup reminds me of LeGuin's The Dispossessed. But there one of the planets is actually a moon (I don't know how celestial bodies are classified). Just a parallel.

Black Dwarfs are theorized to exist. These would not be black holes though, merely burnt out 'normal' suns.

[2]. Yaoyorozu-no-kami, or simply Kami, described as demonic beasts, suddenly descended upon Izumo. Izumo is also the name of the person who forged the weapons that can kill the Kami. Can be inferred that the Kami are Honkai, through the Herrscher connections below. Honkai have different names across worlds: https://x.com/No9ah10_/status/1771043024904007706

Izumo slayed "the calamity 'Sovereign of Revelation' and forging the very first Edict Edge using its bestial body," implying a connection between Herrschers and the weapons forged from their cores. Sovereign = Herrscher, Edict Edge = Divine Weapon. This connection is further corroborated by the second video and description.

Here in the real world, Izumo is a Shintō religious center. (Mentioned in the wiki too; these people work fast.) Here for some more info: https://ancient-japan-izumo.com/

[3]. 'Uncivilized' is an interesting choice here, because the threat of honkai increases with the level of civilization. It's literally one of the first sentences in HI3. It is corroborated by the comics by the Pioneers, where Fu Hua specifically prevents CE exposure to PE technology for this reason. This is probably just pedantry, as civilization is relative, and the honkai has existed even during the time we would consider 'uncivilized', but it is noticeable enough to be worth pointing out.

Incredibly fast advancements in civilization could go a while without any real honkai interference, before facing a catastrophic event that instantly wipes everything out.

'World of darkness' is even more interesting. Is it metaphorical, referring to their primitiveness? Or is it literal, what with the black sun and all? This raises even more questions than it answers, but?

The dual planets were intertwined in each other's tragic destiny, and a dead song was scattered amongst the Cave Where Light Hid. The song had no beginning and no end, had no sound and no echo, came from no singer, and was heard by none. It thus uttered: Takamagahara endless like Izumo, for it was a paradise [1] perfect in its place. Yet the sky turned dark and the great sun pulled the tides [2], and the Kami left numerous trails as if migrating [3]. The Yaoyorozu no Magakami manifested and slaughtered without mercy, yet little did they expect their peerless authority to be stolen [4] and taken. Izumo broke seventy-thousand-and-thirty-three warrior's blades, forging the majestic Sentinels twelve in number.

The first was "Truth," forged with the slain Sovereign of Revelation. It allowed mortals to comprehend all laws and order, to dissect all things and to recreate miracles.

The second was "Sky," forged with the slain Eternal Zenith. It could turn the sky into walls and fortresses and pose obstacles for the Magatsu no Morokami's steps.

The third was "Howl," forged with the slain Almighty Thunder. It could summon lightning to tear the sky, and the soaring meteors and thunder dealt divine justice.

The fourth was "Mist," forged with the slain Everbreath. It could make winds break and shear the land, for gales to rage forever unceasing.

The fifth was "Frost," forged with the slain Heaven's Winter Cloak. It could freeze and still the very order of time, to create boundless frozen wastes and stretch one moment into eternity.

The sixth was "Fate," forged with the slain Spurned Sister of Mortality. It could make flowers bloom and cover barren graves, for life and death to dance in a cycle and dissipate.

The seventh was "Flare," forged with the slain Flamebringer. It could summon fires to burn down the very world, to torch the skies and to char the earth.

The eighth was "Thought," forged with the slain Wisdom Supreme. It could discern the past and future with the mirror of water, to tell truth from lies over years beyond reckoning.

The ninth was "Root," forged with the slain Father of Lands. It could command islands to float into the heavens, for mountains and valleys to burst before armies.

The tenth was "Form," forged with the slain Nether Lord. It could make the masses join in unity, for endless forms to ebb and flow as one.

The eleventh was "Bind," forged with the slain Omen Ward. It drove misfortune into a binding cage, for evil and demons to instantly vanish.

The twelfth was "Maw," forged with the slain Woes Eighty. It could corrode and age the very mortal world and make equal Kami and Oni, leaving an entity's four souls to be sundered in twain. [5]

Then the underworld was cleared out, the wars called to a halt, and the twelve blades broken and locked. In the emptiness the dead souls grew restless, and under the black sun two blades were forged as Bearers of the world's destiny.[6] One was named "Origin" and the other named "End," for all begun with humanity and shall end with Oni-kind. The sounds of lamentation ceased, and the dead flowers rose and fell. The losers returned to the void, and the winners… became null. The hobbling monk sang the song without a tune, for those who hold the power of Kami are walking backwards, towards divinity. Witnessed by the great sun, the land once named Izumo became completely devoid… of humans, Oni, and Kami.

Notes:

[1]. Takamagahara is described as a paradise, but also the place from with the Kami descended.

A once propsering civilization resided there, soon wiped out form the Honkai? Which then 'migrated' to Izumo?

[2]. This sentence I cannot make sense of.

Did the sky going black mean that the sun also went black, assuming it might not have always been so?

What tides did it pull? Did the star collapse into a black hole?

[3]. Left trails as if migrating is also a complete mystery.

Why 'as if' migrating? Why not migrating? Did they leave Takama, or enter Izumo, or leave entirely? The following sentence implies that they came to Izumo, but still.

[4]. Authority is a word very specifically used to refer to the power that the Herrschers wield. This paired with the direct parallels between the 12 swords and the 12 Herrschers, make a very good case that the Sovereigns are Herrschers, albeit not ones fighting for humanity.

[5]. Directly paralleling the Herrschers in order and ability. Crazy graph drawing the parallels: https://x.com/marisahonkai/status/1771067409988018236

[6]. 77,033 mortal blades -> 12 Sentinels -> 2 Bearers -> 1(?)

After the Bearers are forged, mention of "The world forged 77, 047 blades, but only one could save Izumo." That's 77,033 + 12 + 2 and a new blade. The final one. 'Naught' referred in the subtitles as 'Life'.

According to this comment, the mortal blade number is a reference to the Herrschers from GGZ: @duchong6213 If you listen closely, you can hear Honkai World Diva at 1:30 (dramatic ver.) 3:07 (slow ver.) "Izumo have 70,033 blades (ref GGZ total herrschers) and from them, they forged it again to make 12 Sentinel sword (ref HI3rd 13 Herrschers)." Cannot confirm, found referenced up until the 70th herrscher

From [2:48] and onwards:

Takama was surely as beautify as Izumo (before the Kami descended.)

Origin and End break each other.

Izumo forged these blades 'because of a lie. An end that never existed.'

Then she slashed the black sun with Naught, horns disappearing (oni-fication stopped?)

Possibly when she became an Emanator?

The slash from Pioneer Diver of Dead Waters and the slash here seem to be one and the same, further pointing to the fact that the black sun is IX. Then again, it might be a different one? Acheron can slash more than one black hole.

Questions remaining:

"Galaxy Ranger? No, I've made a grave mistake." Absolutely zero mention of Galaxy Ranger-dom in either account of Acheron's past.

The girl that tried to shoot her and presumably stood shoulder to shoulder with, thought…

However, Pioneer Diver of Dead Waters violently implies that Acheron's companion is Frebass (actually, it implies that Frebass' companion is Acheron, but I digress.) Frebass is a Nameless, so it's not a case of 'picking up the title of a dead friend'. They only journeyed for 30 days, so it might be a different companion.

WHO IS ACHERON AN EMANATOR OF????????? Torn between what everyone else is torn between: Finality and Nihility.

Who is the girl pointing the gun, the hobbling monk, and Ferbass?

Why is Acheron's memory so bad?

Why does she 'remember' us?

What the fuck is 'Naught'?

#hsr #sanest moment of my life #acheron #hsr theory #uhhhh

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