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midnightarcheress · 9 months ago

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woke up wanting to write something with my pretty boy kyle and this was born.

cw: nsfw. f!reader. gaz obsessing over the pretty college girl by his side. implied future stalking ig? unedited. part one | part two

someone catches Kyle’s attention on the plane.

his legs are on the verge of cramping and his breath is ragged, running to board his connection flight at the last call. after falling off a helicopter twice in the last operations, he developed an uneasiness of flying, no matter the aircraft, preferring taking the train over being miles up in the air, even if it triples the travel. but this time, he just wanted to get home the fastest way possible for a much-needed night of sleep in his own bed, instead of the barely cushioned military-issued mattress.

he hopped on the plane and made his way through the corridor, gaze fixed on the numbers under the luggage rack, attentively looking for his spot. he stopped by row thirteen, eyes darting between the number and the woman on the window seat. i could’ve sworn i marked that one when i booked? Kyle checks the boarding ticket again – row 13, seat A. it’s the right seat, why is there someone on it?

an annoyed sigh escapes his lips, gathering the energy to speak up and reclaim his rightfully bought seat. the problem is, he gets ultimately struck when the seat-thief notices him standing and turns to face him. wide eyes meet his brown ones, immediately softening at the sight of your tempting glossy lips and delicate fingers pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. pretty little thing.

“i’m sorry, is this your seat? it was empty on the first flight,” you say, an apologetic tone in your voice as you frantically close the book on your lap and shove it in a bag, “i’ll move back for you–”

“it’s alright, keep it.” he interrupts, throwing his carry-on in the rack and taking the empty middle spot beside you. he smirks at your appreciative nod and watches you settling again on the backrest, buckling the seatbelt at the shining signal hovering your heads and paying extra attention to the flight attendant announcements, even when no one around seems to care. sweet girl, so considerate to everyone.

the plane starts speeding on the runway, and from his peripheral he views your squeezed eyes and nearly white fingers gripping the armrest, breathing quickening during the gravity push of the take off. it takes a moment for you to release your tight grasp and exhale, making his hand twitch with an urge to soothe you, tell you that you’re safe.

he shakes the sensation and leans his head back, focusing on the one thing he can do to pass the time – sleep. but he can’t keep his gaze out of you, glancing to his left whenever you make a movement, no matter how small. the rapid keyboard tapping guides his irises to your laptop screen, catching a few words in a sea of what for him sounds like an alien language. DNA strand? allele? locus mutation?

he sneaks a look through your figure and his eyes land on the familiar blue logo on your hoodie, the same one he always sees on the walk from the market to his flat. uni a couple blocks from me. do you live on campus? or nearby? that neighborhood is awful at night, full of old blokes searching the pubs for a quick fuck with a naive college girl. but you seem smart, not the type to fall for their tricks, right?

the harder he tries to avoid your presence, the more you make yourself known, almost making him feel like it’s on purpose. the way your plump lips wrap on the water bottle, slight drop scaping on the corner and trailing down your neck, your flowery perfume filling his nostrils when you shift on your seat to remove the top layer of your clothing, exposing the low-cut blouse underneath and the soft roundness of your tits. is that for me, sweet girl? need a break from studying so hard? the sudden tightness of his trousers brings him back to his senses, stirring the thought out of his brain.

keep it cool, Garrick, he repeats over and over in his mind, ignoring the tent forming on his lap and praying to whatever god is out there that you won’t see it, even while standing up and brushing your legs on his knees to get to the corridor due the cramped space. however, he doesn’t miss how the guy by his side shamelessly ogles your cleavage when you step past him, making his blood boil and his fists clench – like he wasn’t doing the same exact thing minutes before.

while you're away, he glances at your screen again, noticing the constant message notifications from the contact ‘Marcus - DO NOT ANSWER’. already looking bad for you, mate. curiosity takes hold of him and he starts reading the texts, silently chuckling at the guy’s pathetic attempts to get your attention. what did he do to earn a cold shoulder, sweetheart? did he hurt you? didn’t he pay enough attention to you? i bet he couldn’t even fuck you the way you deserve.

he keeps skimming the messages until the grin tugging on the corners of his mouth fades into a frown when he reads ‘you’re gonna regret leaving me’. now, who’s this prick? think you’ll get away with threatening my girl?

his body stiffens when you come back, eyes darting back to the small telly in front of him when your hand brushes on his thigh while sitting once again. he hears your irritated huff when you skim through the messages, shutting the laptop with near violence. i can take care of him for you, love. you won’t have to deal with that by yourself anymore.

the pilot’s muffled voice coming through the speakers and announcing the landing shortens his daydreams about getting rid of Marcus. it would be a great way to keep himself busy while on leave, making sure to do it fast and secretly, of course, just to protect his sweet little thing. poor guy wouldn’t even know what hit him.

the pressure change on his ear is the telltale sign of the aircraft lowering its altitude, landing gear out to hit the lane and brake the machine. he turns to the side, watching again your knitted eyebrows and how your nails dig into the seat. this time he doesn’t contain himself and his hand gently lingers over yours, the softness of it sending lightning strikes over his body and almost making him cum instantly.

your glinting eyes find his face with a grateful gaze, lips mouthing a sugary thank you when the plane finally stops. he helps you take your handbag out of the rack with ease, using the situation to flaunt his muscles. i can even pick you up, darling. would love to feel your pretty thighs around my waist. you wouldn’t have to walk a day in your life.

his eyes follow the sway of your hips through the airport, heart almost bursting when you wave goodbye and flash him a timid smile. you think that’s the last time you’ll see him, he thinks this is just the beginning. a name and university? he’s used to finding people with even less information. see you soon, sweet girl.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x reader #stalker!gaz #gaz x you #gaz smut #kyle garrick smut #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod x reader #nyx writes ☾#midnightarcheress

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neonovember · 2 years ago

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Golden Boy

part three of three

warnings; filth, angst, lover boy, self deprecation, anxiety, mentions of death, smut, heartbreak, fluff, face fucking, oral (m recieving), piv (wrap it yall), 18+, explicit language, Richie, carmen being in love, the nickname bear, some very not so slef inserted heartbreak and love confessions

w/c: 6k

a/n: this request really changed from a drabble to a 3 part series holy fuck i need a job, but really this is actually so self fulfilling to be able to deliver your requests about a character i love we all love so much! it’s like we’ve created this aesome little community here :) i love this universe sooo much so be sure there will be drabbles connected to this series

BEAR COMES OUT IN LESS THAN A DAY! LET’S START AMPING IT UP

also if anyone was wondering how i’d imagine high school!carmen it would honestly be this one edit i saw of lip ages ago lmaoo

The dull rain of the shower resounded through your bathroom, the rest of your things had been delivered in the early Friday morning, and you rushed to enjoy the high water pressure Mae had boasted about before you moved in.

The steam has begun to fog up your mirror, and you wipe a hand across it, your reflection distorted between the streaks of your fingertips. Today was the day. You would finally see Carmen again and your body was racked with fear like it was the day you left him.

After you had come back from the Farmers Market, you had received a text from Sugar, and you spent the afternoon unloading everything to her about work, your move back and most importantly Carmen.

You and Sugar had grown close after you and Carmen had become friends, in fact, you had grown close to the entire family before you left for New York. And all it took was a phone call for you and Sugar to fall back into that familiarity once again, all you hoped was that it would be the same for you and Carmen.

Once Mae had finished up with work, the both of you, as promised shared a bottle of a wine and a blunt where she had squealed at your news of the dinner, and, despite your protests on the phone brought a rosy hued summer dress that she had begged you to keep.

It was left on a hanger on the door hook, and you stare at the gorgeous wave of the hem, and dip of the neckline that you had got you looking at Mae in doubt. She had screamed when you had tried it now, boasting about her amazing fashion sense and how utterly ruined Carmen would be.

You steered clear from feeding into her delusions, Carmen could be married for god's sake, whilst you were thinking if he would like the colour of your dress. He was not though, you had practically burned the entire timeline of his socials into your retina and there had not been a single indication of Carmen having a partner. But he had always been sort of secretive, and you couldn't hold onto the hope that Carmen hadn’t taken a liken to any one of the hundred girls that threw themselves at him.

I mean, it wasn't like he was waiting for you, right?

The heat of the shower spread through your body and you sighed in relief as the water loosened the soreness of your muscles that had begun to ache. You had a couple hours until the time Sugar and Richie had told you to come in, and you spent it leisurely, washing your hair carefully, and scrubbing your skin clean with the multitude of products you had accumulated the second you had more money to spend on just food, rent and utilities.

You forget to put a bath mat near the shower, and the cool stone is stained with your wet footsteps. You make quick work of drying yourself off before reaching for the same old bottle of shea butter you hadn't stopped using since high school. It was on its last leg, the worn label tearing apart, and soon enough you would have to cut it open to get to the last droplets. Old habits die hard and you had been a broke college student for a long fucking time.

After you've finished with your makeup and curling your hair so that it lay in soft blown out curls, you carefully and not so gracefully step into the dress. You don't own a lot of nice pieces like this, and you were forever grateful to Mae for coming in the way she did even despite your protests.

Because as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you realise you look pretty fucking hot. You put on the last of your jewellery, spritz yourself with some perfume, before sliding your feet into flats that wouldn't destroy your feet. You reach for your phone, the time flashing 6:30 and later than you had anticipated.

Stress fills you at the thought of coming late, especially since you really only knew three people there, but you force yourself to calm down with a breath, realising the beef was only a 5 minute drive from your place anyway.

The drive to the Beef was one that was filled with anxiety and glee, you couldn't help keeping the smile off your face as you passed through the familiar roads leading up to the family restaurant. Despite the familiarity of the streets, your mind always finds its way back to the most familiar place of all, Carmen. You wonder what he might look like all grown into himself, you've followed his many strides in the culinary world, even if you didn't understand a bit of the kitchen itself, but you were unbelievably proud of every award he had and numerous received. But that had been all online, to see Carmen in person was a whole different thing entirely.

It was an experience, to see the way he’d body moved, from the light touches of his fingers helping you play guitar to the way he glided through the kitchen concentrating on cooking you up new recipes he’d made.

He’d take criticism from only you, even if Mickey's loud booming voice intercepted your comments from across the kitchen island. You had to sniffle back tears at the memory of it, Mickey and Carmen were so incredibly close, you feel like a fraud having not been there for him when he died, how could you even call yourself his friend?

The truth was, you and Carmen had a horrible way of dealing with grief, you were battling with your own loss at the time, getting news of Micheal’s death only months after your own Father had died from a drunk driver. You had come back to Chicago for the funeral before running back to New York and stuffing yourself with your work. The pain had been too great then and the regret of leaving your brother and mother to clean up the mess had eaten you alive for years.

You and Carmen had a habit of stuffing your emotions into tight spaces. Your father, Mickey, the both of your absence in each other's lives, it was a grief you wore well.

In the knots in your shoulder, in the bags underneath your eyes, in the aching hearth of your heart, in the emptiness of your suppressed stomach. As well as you could anyway.

But the world keeps turning, and the view of the renovated Beef catches your eye as you shakily turn into the car park adjacent. You can’t run now, there isn’t a back door you can slip through and a plane you can catch to escape the reality of your past.

This was it, had this been what you had waited for?

You can feel your heart in your throat as you walk through the car park, the soft lantern lights hanging across the top of the restaurant in ribbons. The place had changed from the last time you'd seen it, the rotting wood replaced with pristine painted planks and the cloudy windows now crystal clear. It even had a name change, replaced instead with the unmistakable nickname of Carmen,

Bear

Sugar had texted you to meet at the front, and as you bite your lip in anticipation, you see a blonde haired woman shout back a swear before walking towards the front of the Beef, her eyes catching you through the front windows, shooting up in surprise and glee, before rushing through the doors.

“Holy fucking shit! You were always hot Bug but goddamn, you outdid yourself! How are you my love?” Sugar replies, reaching to gather you in her arms.

You press your face into the familiar scent of her, and you sigh in relief as your fears begin to dissolve, you weren't utterly alone here.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Carm is going to fucking implode when he see’s you” Sugar whispers with a grin, in which u shake yout head with a chuckle.

“Uh I don’t know about that, we haven’t really talked in, well, since High school” You reply honestly, you may have lied to Richie, but you couldn't escape Sugar’s bull-shit- detector gaze.

“You both were always so scared to make the first move, Mikey had to hold me back a couple times from just locking you both in a room and forcing you both to confess” Sugar replies with a grin

“Confess? What do you mean” You reply, and Sugar shakes her head with a chuckle,

“Don’t bullshit me Bug, it’s as clear as day. You both were inseparable then, and you will be inseparable now, everyone has their own timeline.”

You nod with a sigh, rubbing your eyes as you thought back to the call you had received asking you to join the design group in charge of revamping Madison Avenue. So much had changed since then, and it was about time that you faced what you couldn't 8 years ago.

“You changed him, ya know?” Sugar says, all of a sudden into the comfortable silence between you.

“Hm?” You reply

“I don’t know. Carm, he’s just, he’s distant, always has been. And then somehow, you became friends and there was this just change in him. He started to smile and laugh more, started opening up to us, because of you. Whether or not you realise it, you marked him in a way that was permanent you know? And when you left- well, it all went to shit, he was fucking destroyed and the only person that could help him was Mikey, and you, you get the rest of it” Sugar sighs, shaking her head as you stare at her.

“Sometimes, I’d bring you up, or-or we’d be talking about a new building, architecture or whatever, anything that related to you, and you'd just see him shutdown. He needs you hun, he doesn’t realise it but its like he’s fucking decaying without you.”

Anyone else and you would have shaken your head, but it was Sugar, and all the years you've known her she hadn't once sugar coated anything.

“It was always going to be Carm, Sugar. A million times over and it would always be him” You reply, a tight smile on your face as you try and blink back tears, and she nods with a frown.

“No crying, god I told myself I wouldn't cry” Sugar says, shaking her body as you laugh, sliding a hand in hers before walking into the Bear.

You aren't given enough time to investigate the changes to the restaurant, eyes glancing at pictures frames and stainless kitchen benches before stepping into a decorated back dining space, fixed with a long table covered with steaming plates of food and entrees.

The sound of your footsteps has the entire room coming to a halt, and you scan the many people seated at the long table, their eyes watching you with a look of surprise before recognition floods across them.

You can't recognise a single face, all unfamiliar to you but you get the strange feeling they know who you are, as they await for you to speak.

“Uh, Hello, um, you all probably have no idea who I am and this is kind of weird so-” You ramble nervously, trying and failing to introduce yourself to the many people watching your every move.

“Oh carino, you are gorgeous! You must be Carmen’s friend?” A short hispanic woman grins, making her way over to pull you into a hug, and the move causes the entire table of people to come over and introduce themselves.

You can’t stop keeping the smile off your face, as you learn about each of the amazing people around you who have kept your sweet boy company. They were incredible, and you don’t doubt they shared a bond you only ever built working together, piecing together where Carmen had spent his time, and recognising the glimpses of faces you had seen on the walls you had walked by.

You converse easily with Sydney, a young aspiring chef who had kept Carmen on his toes, but your mind isn’t exactly present. Your eyes are glancing every second at the door, waiting for the man you've been dreaming of since you were 18 to walk through those doors.

You hear a tumble coming from the back door leading to the alleyway behind the Bear, before the familiar voice of Richie yells out incoherent curse words. You aren't able to prepare yourself for the footsteps coming up the steps and into the entrance of the dining room before Carmen cerulean blues catch you immediately.

His eyes take their time with you, indulging in the peek of skin from the slit in the dress, before they trail up to your hips, snaking around your waist and blinking back at the dip of your cleavage. Carmen is undone, entranced by the way you hug and fill out the dress so perfectly, it does something to him he feels guilty about. Like the moments he would thrust up into the column of his fists after that one party where you leaned against him, or when he remembered the taste of your body wash.

Carmen is scared to move his eyes up to your face, fearing that he will be irrevocably gone if he does, but he does it anyway, because he's wasted enough time without you, and he can’t bear the seconds past him by without seeing the face he's dreamt of since forever

Carmen has to reach for the table near him, gripping the wood in his fists as he steadies himself when he sees you for the first time. He has to bite back his immediate response to let out a swear, his eyes trailing along every curve and line of your features he has begun to forget. The rush of memories, and feelings of you unleash within him like an unyielding current, breaking down every wall and shield he’s put up to stop it. It was fruitless, Carmen knew one day it would all come crashing down, because it was always going to be you, a thousand times over.

You let out a shaky breath as you catch his eyes fluttering over every single feature, you should feel self conscious but you don’t, you bare your entire self to him. You furrow your brow as you take in the honey caramel wisps of his hair pushed behind his ears. Your eyes catch the numerous inked sketches running along his arms and hands, you yearn to run your fingers along them, feel his veins jut out, they trail up his arm, like a stream and you have to swallow back the desire that had begun to unfurl at the vision in front of you.

He was utterly beautiful, his clean shirt contorted and stretched from the sheer size of him, the muscle and girth of his biceps and shoulders were so different to the lanky teenager you fell in love with. You feel a sadness at the thought of not seeing him since then, it had truly been too long.

He still wore his chef apron, though it lay untied and around his neck like he had quickly run into the kitchen to fix something.

You don’t know how you’re able to form the words, but you can hear yourself calling his name like a plead

“Hey Bear” You whisper, the tears at your waterline one whisper away from falling

And it��s the simple sound of your voice that has Carmen crashing and falling, swallowing back tightly.

“Hey”

You can make out Sugar calling everyone out to the front of the house, mumbling about flying pigs or whatever conjured up lie to leave you both alone. But it’s practically white noise around you, as your eyes remain forever on Carmen, like they always wore.

There's a silence that stretches between you two, and you feel the distance between you both from your fingertips.

“Thought I told you I’d punch your stomach if you cried” You say with a smile, tears falling down your cheeks and Carmen crumbles at your words, it's like his been hit by a freight truck, when you reminder of that day, but he still lets out chuckle, looking up at you with a grin.

“So I hear you're redesigning our very own Madison Avenue?” Carmen says, and it's like he’s been practising and rehearing the sentence over and over in his mind, it sounds more like a script than something he truly wants to say.

And you see through his bullshit, turning your head to the side as you look at him like he's translucent, and Carmen gives up before he is even able to start, what’s the point of faking it now when you could both see through each other.

“God, you're beautiful” Carmen says after a beat, the blues of his iris crashing and falling into a deeper depth as he looks at you. You blush, you never blush, you only ever blush for Bear.

“Carmen..” You whisper, the tears continuing to fall and roll down your neck

“Why didn't I tell you? God why didn't I?” Carmen says in a tight voice, like he's holding himself back, like he's holding himself from breaking, and you want to reach out and hold him instead.

You feel your heart drop, as you look up at him in anticipation, no no no??. You didn’t run half way across the state, you didn't spend years searching for Carmen in relationships and first dates, no- how? All this time. All this fucking time you could have spent with him, whether long distance, in New York, whatever, you would’ve made it work, hell you would have travelled endlessly for him.

“Why didn't you?” You breathe out. letting every tear and cry loose. And Carmen lets out a breath, your eyes communicating what your mouth could not for 10 years, letting your body shake with grief at the truth of it all.

Carmen feels his entire world breaking, he can feel the ground beneath him shake, he is consumed with you, you you you, and always and forever you.

“All this time..” Carm replies, shaking his head, laughing a little to himself as he stares at you in grief and love

“Yeah” You chuckle, before tears spill down your cheeks, and Carmen kind of breaks too, all the worries and missed time and love you would have shared out in the open between you. You both had been so foolish, so wrapped up in the fear of rejection/ruining your friendship you had ruined it all instead.

“I love you, I have loved you the moment I walked you home. I have loved you desperately, I loved you from afar, I have loved even when you didn’t know it”

“God Carmy, my sweet golden boy, I always knew it” You sniffle, and Carmen scrunches his eyebrows, grinding his teeth against his jaw as he shakes his head, undoing his apron so that he doesn’t get your gorgeous dress dirty, pulling you close to him. You reach for his hand, its size massive in yours, as you bring it to your chest

“You feel that? My heart beats for you Carmen, only you, forever you” You whisper, as you hold onto his hand tight

“I was just- I was so scared, so scared that I would ruin everything, our friendship, it was the one thing going for me and I couldn’t ask you, I couldn’t ask you to love me?” Carmen says, shaking his head like even saying the words felt stupid

“Carmen you are worth loving, I loved you then and I love you now. Sugar was telling me about how I changed you and you know what I was thinking the entire time? How everytime I think back to those years before my heart just aches. It aches because I have always been searching for you, Carm, my body yearns and reaches for you every day, you were the one thing that made me feel like I could make it out of here. That if I tried hard enough, if I had you believing in me too, I could really do it.

“And you know what Carmen? I did do it, I’m back in Chicago designing something that I believe in and I still feel so out of place. I feel scattered, like half of my body and mind is missing, and I’ve always known, even when I didn’t, that you kept that part of me. You held it safe, and I want it back, I want you back Carmen. I want my boy back.”

“It was always going to be you Carm, that’s the truth, I love I love I love love love you” You breathe out, your heart hammering against your chest as you let all the chips fall where they may, you each Carmens face, trying to decipher the look on his face.

You want to know what he's thinking, have you scared him? Does he not love you anymore? And it's like Carmen can tell the thoughts are consuming you because you can't think of them anymore, in fact you can't think at all except the feel of Carmen lips pushed up against your own.

They’re pillowy and soft, and it takes you a second before you kiss him back with such reverence that you swallow back each other’s groans. You don’t come up for air, you won't, you can't let him slip through your fingers again, Carmen can’t let himself lose you now, with the taste of you on his tongue, so sweet like he imagined you to be.

Carmen fears he might combust, that he might dissolve into a puddle right in front of you because you taste so good, he slides a hand up your neck pressing you closer to his chest as you grip his shirt in tight fists.

Carmen can feel himself smiling into your lips, and it causes you to let out a chuckle, allowing Carmen to press his canines into your lip, just a little, a nibble that has you moaning out loudly in a way that shocks you both.

You press your body impossibly closer to Carmen’s, until you can feel him nudge against the curve of your stomach, grinding down against him until he grip’s your waist tight, pushing you deeper until you both have to let go with a breath.

“You don’t know how long I have waited to do that” Carmen says, his eyes still shut, like he was savouring the taste of you that was on his tongue, on his lips, his skin, everywhere. Carmen wanted you everywhere.

“And how long I have waited to do this” You trail your nails across his chest, his eyes watching the mischievous grin on your face grow as you trail your fingers down his chest, resting on his belt before the sound of a yelp and a clap breaks out, causing you to retract your hand and causing Carmen to let out a whine.

The rest of the crew and Sugar come tumbling into the room, hootting with cheers and laughter like they had been pressing an ear to the door the entire time, which they probably had. Sugar makes her way over, hugging you both, and pressing a kiss to your cheek before punching Carmen lightly.

“You didn’t think I knew? God what kind of sister do you take me for??”

It’s all a blur of laughter and smiles and light shooting colours, Carmen keeps his eyes on you the entire time, and you don’t leave his side, holding onto him like he might fly away. And in all the commotion, in all the light and laughter and love Carmen sees Mikey. Sees him in flashes, the nape of his neck, the corner of his mouth pulling back in a smile and he swears, Carmen swears he sees him nod towards him.

You let it rip, bear, you did it, you did it.

And Carmen did, and he looks down at you in his arms surrounded by people he loved and his heart for the first time feels full. Carmen had written himself off to a life of fulfilment through his work, and whilst that was purposeful and important to him, he always felt like a piece of his life was missing, a piece of his heart, it was taken by you just as he had taken yours.

And now he can’t mask himself from his feelings, he can't watch you from afar anymore, he wants you beneath him, wants to bottle your laugh and drink in to cure him. He's broken and he doesn’t deserve you but god with the way you look up at him? It makes him question everything, makes him think he's enough, that there might be a chance he's more than the vile words he calls himself.

He want to get better for you, for the both of you, and its overwhelming, all these feelings he feels all of a sudden, it's like a switch has turned on and he can’t stop it, it washes over him, those memories from before, and you grip his arm with a squeeze, looking up as him before walking him out, guiding him with a hand until he follows you out into the alleyway.

“Sorry, it just was a whole lot at once, I haven’t even properly asked about you and now the entire kitchen knows you and” Carmen rushes out, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously

“You forget how well I know you bear?” Is all you say, and you can see the way he relaxes into himself, looking up at you with a nod. And it’s true, you know him completely and utterly, and it’s almost a relief, it almost makes Carmen cry because for the first time he doesn't feel like he needs to explain himself. Carmen feels like he has someone who knows him deep down, knows all his flaws, and problems and issues, and still wants him.

The thought is so foreign and strange but he stomach bubbles with the elated glee of the start of something, something you both know, deep down, was meant to happen whether it was now or in 30 years. You would always, always find each other, how could you not? When it felt like half of you had disappeared without them?

Carmen can’t help but a press another kiss to your lips, snaking his arm so that it rested on your hip, squeezing a little before you break from him

“The food in there looks lovely, but considering what has just occurred, do you want to go somewhere more..” You start

“Intimate? Fucking yes. I don’t need Richie watching me and Sugar breathing down my neck. There is so much..” Carmen replies, eyes having a bit of a faraway look as he thinks back to all the times he had wished he could confide in you but couldn't.

“Let’s make up for lost time, shall we?” You grin, holding out a hand that Carmen eagerly grasps, before practically running into whichever car is closest.

You and Carmen end up in a dimly lit jazz bar that sells signature shirley temples and tampalas that make your heart sing. You spend the entire night talking about everything, you both spill the entire contents of your guts to each other and you couldn't be happier, wiping each other's tears when the love got too much and your chest filled with gratitude at finding each other again.

You tell him you're only here for 6 months, and you leave the bar calling Mae to extend your lease. It doesn't take long for you both to slide into the familairy of your friendship again, spending every waking moment with each other, fulfilling every desire, checking off every firsts, exploring Chicago again with the one man who's been waiting for you for eternity.

It would have been cute if you werent fucking like rabbits as well, you were addicted to each other, chasing orgasm after orgasm like it was a high. You should have been thrown in jail with the amount of times you had nearly been caught, and Carmen’s office was practically a health code violation.

But the truth was, Carmen finally had something to come home to in the late evenings and you had something to say goodbye to in the early mornings.

The early morning sun drags along the horizon, it cuts through the shapes and cuts of the intricate frost that had begun to develop over the window, showering the room in its dull yellow through the linen curtains of your shared bedroom.

It had snowed during the night, and the city council had closed the roads, advising as many people to stay indoors if possible, causing you and Carmen to finally have an excuse to stay indoors and pressed against each other the entire day.

The only sounds you can hear in the early cold July morning are the shutters of shop doors opening and the simmering wave of traffic that would soon begin to spill into the city streets below.

That and the strangled sound of Carmens moans as you slide your hand across the slick length of him, heavy in your palm.

He watches you carefully, eyelids heavy as you blow on the tip of him, causing him to wince in desire. Your motions are slobby and wet, and Carmen is still half asleep from your sleeping position not moments before.

“Please…”

You bite back a giggle, looking up at him from your knelt position between his legs. You’ve pulled him to the edge of the bed, and he grips the white sheets in his fists as he tries to restrain himself from coming undone by the way you smile up at him.

“You want me to suck you off him? You wanna feel good baby, you gotta tell me you wanna feel good cause I can't hold back any longer

“Fuck..please make me feel good, you know how to do it, please h-honey” Carmen replies before knocking his head back with a groan when you take the tip of him in your mouth.

You and Carmen weren't exactly experienced at first, you both had never truly held a relationship long enough to progress to that stage, but it had only taken a month before you knew how to have him stuttering thrusting up into you with need and it had taken him 3 weeks to know how to make you cum 9 times a day. What could you say? You had waited long enough.

You don’t waste time as you circle your tongue around the red tip, licking the precum clean from the slit, groaning around him at the sound of his throat letting out strangled moans. You want to take him in entirely, but he was so thick and long you couldn't possibly without getting used to him again.

Carmen loved giving, he could spend hours with your thighs around his shoulders, but there was something special with getting your broody chef to come undone, to be reduced to a puddle at every lick and kiss from you.

You push him deeper, circling your tongue so that it drags flat against his length as you pump the rest of him that you couldn’t yet reach.

“Holy-sh-fuck babygirl, easy, easy” Carmen groans out, and as you flicker your eyes up at him, the vision causes you to sneak a hand down between your thighs.

Carmen looks down at you with furrowed brows, struggling to sit, grinding and jutting up into your mouth as his blonde hair lays across his forehead sweaty. His cheeks are a rosy crimson, and his tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth biting down when you catch his blown out almost-black eyes.

You ignore his protests, pushing him further down until you feel him in your throat, constricting the space until it has him groaning out in pleasure. Carmen can’t help thrusting up into your throat, quickly apologising before you shake your head, reaching for his hand to grip your hair, begging him to use you however he wan’t. It’s too much for Carm, he feels like your puffed out cheeks, the tears eager to drip down your cheeks, the rut of your hips trying to find any friction causes the very tight bind to nearly snap in him.

“Fuck, don’t- not gonna last long” Carmen heaves out, gripping your hair until the veins in his arms and neck begin to juttt out.

You continue bopping your head down onto him, gathering the spit and cum and hollowing out your cheeks before taking him out and then in again. Carmen can’t take his eyes off of you, his chest heaving up and down as he watches you entranced.

“You don’t want to cum huh? Am I not making you feel good? Fuck my throat Carm, show me how you want it and i’ll show you how I do” You groan out, looking up at him from under your lashes and it causes Carmen to groan out, before gripping your jaw in his hand, and dragging your tongue back down his length.

Carmen is careful with how he fucks into you, but it’s reverent and heady and full of need, and he finds himself gripping your hair, watching you bop down on his cock until it bumps against your throat, and he feels that tight warmth that surround his sensitive tip.

He’s a mess, a jumble of incoherent swears and half moans of your name as the slick heaviness against your tongue shealths up and down, the mess of cum and saliva dripping from between your lips.

“S-so fucking, so good, all mine babygirl, you’re all fucking mine” Carmen replies with a growl, as hes thrusts into you grow sloppy, and you press your nails into his thigh, breathing through your nose as Carmen loses himself in the warmth and feel of you, chasing his release without a break.

The tight band deep in him snaps when you constrict around him, and catch his heavy gaze, he screams out your name, jutting up into your throat, slick shooting down as he holds you head against him, and you milk him dry eagerly, taking every last drop he gives you.

You swirl your tongue around him, gently taking him out of your mouth as he winces at the over stimulation, you look up at him, opening your mouth and poking your tongue out, and you don’t miss the low fuck he whispers at the image of you swallowing every last bit of his mess.

You aren’t able to get up yourself before Carmen is dragging you up to him, wiping and kissing away every tear before swallowing you with a heated kiss. Carmen can taste himself on your tongue, manoeuvring your bodies so that he lay against the headboard, with you grinding up against his lap.

“Need to feel you fill me up Carm, I need it so bad” You groan out between your heated kiss, and Carmen grips you against him, his cock hardening again at your words, he always wanted to please you, it was his dying quest, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you like it was nothing.

You line yourself up with him, before sinking onto his length, the both of you breaking apart from your heated kiss to suck in a breath, Carmen leans into the croon of your neck, biting the skin there lightly as the feel of you tight around him gets too much.

You have to grip him, pressing half moons into the contorting muscle of his shoulders and back as you get used to him, before sinking further down with a groan. You felt impossibly tight, walls velvet and soft like caramel as they glided up against him with its slickness.

“You sure you can take it all? Hm darling?” Carmen whispers as he leans over in your ear, so that you slide further down his length, and it glides across a sensitive spot in this new position that causes you to rock your head back with a groan.

“Oh no baby, no no no, eyes on me hm?” Carmen reprimands you, sliding a hand so that he can see the dazed look in your eyes.

“We have the entire day, locked in this house from the snow, and I’m going to fuck you stupid doll” Carmen replies with a grin, before easing out of you and thrusting back into you hard, causing stars to appear in your vision, the white hot pleasure of the beginnings of your orgasm gripping you.

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joels-darlin · 1 year ago

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Pain

Pairings: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of periods, mentions of extreme pain, nausea, fluff, comfort, pet names, soft!Joel

Summary: Joel comes home from patrol to find you not in the greatest physical state.

Word count: 850ish

Author Note: Idk about this one but I’ve been feeling like rubbish cos it’s also that time so wanted to write soft!Joel for comfort. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, enjoy <3

AO3 Link

It was unusual for Joel to return from patrol a dark and empty house. Those days long gone now he had you; his better half. Your presence lighting up every room you walked into which he was thankful for.

Confusion and worry washed over him as he closed and locked the front door. Usually you where home by now either cooking in the kitchen with music on or often in the sewing room, wrapping up extra work you brought home from the small alterations shop you managed in Jackson. Those where the two places he would check first.

The sewing room was empty your desk as you had left it from the previous day - cluttered but well used. Spinning around he padded to the kitchen and was once again greeted with another empty room. He knew you where around after spotting your worn out coat hung up on the rack near the front door. Something felt off.

“Darlin’…?” He called out into the emptiness, no response. His heart was racing now. It was the faint light on the landing that caught his attention next, you must be in the bedroom. In anticipation he near sprinted up the stairs - cracking the door open slightly to look in.

There you where, doubled over in bed arms crossed over your lower stomach, a heating pad clutched against you. A grimace of pain etched across your usually peaceful and beautiful face, making his heart lurch. He noticed a paleness to your soft skin.

Moving across the room he perched on the edge of bed next to your frame, laying his hand gently on your leg. Looking up he spotted your usually clean night stand which was now littered with out of date pain relief, an empty cup, water bottles, his eyes landing on the last item; expired sanitary towels. It dawned on him then, your particularly awful monthly periods. It all made sense now. Leaning over he kissed your forehead, brushing a piece of stray hair away. Bringing his lips to you ear briefly whispered “Sweetheart…?”.

You weren’t exactly in a deep sleep more just resting as the second day of period pains had hit like a train. Having to leave the shop early and retreat to bed with the trusty heating pad and expired painkillers. A feeling of guilt as well as pain panged in your stomach not having the opportunity to greet your love as he returned home. You had heard the keys in the lock earlier and him calling out for you but had no energy to move or speak.

“Hey…m’feel awful”. Trying to move so you could sit up to see him.

“No no stay, I’ll come to you” he said softly. The mattress shifted as he moved from your side of the bed to his own before lying down, wrapping his arm around you gently.

“Sorry Joel…the house is a mess, I-I couldn’t make it to the market for food - barely made it back here” you spoke after a few moments.

Joel’s face softened at your words. Even though he knew you enjoyed cooking there was never any expectations of dinner being on the table when he comes in from patrol. It was just something you had always done for him. The mess downstairs he would sort later no problems.

“Oh darlin’ don’t ever apologise for that, no expectation for you to do anything especially in this state” he cooed softly bringing the hand on your waist up to caress your cheek lightly. “Even if your cooking is damn amazing” you chuckled softly at his words, mind briefly drifting back to when he nearly burnt the house down that time. Joel had insisted on cooking a 3 course meal for your anniversary a couple of months back - lets just say you went the canteen to get scraps later that night.

“m’what are we gonna do with you huh” he cooed, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. You sighed at his touch shrugging in response.

Laying in the warm abyss of your bed you continued to ride out the waves of pain and nausea, some bearable others not so much. It was somewhere between the early hours of the morning you had finally drifted into a slumber snoring softly beside Joel; your frame wrapped tightly in his strong arms.

He couldn’t sleep yet, just sat observing you. The movement of your chest rising and falling as you slept mixed with the warmth of your skin against his feeling like home. Lifting his hand to lightly caress the skin of your cheek, careful not to wake you, then reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Joel felt the tiredness of the long day starting to overcome his old and weary body, leaning down placing a the slightest of kisses; one on your forehead the other on the tip of your nose. Before pulling back to take one last look at your sleeping form.

“Night baby girl, let’s hope tomorrow is a better day”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you

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schemmentisjacket · 7 months ago

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Chapter 4 - First Day pt 1

Authors Note: Little something something about non binary queer new teacher coming in, leading to Melissa finding the one.

Alarm blared pulling you from the depth of sleep, throwing on a pair of boxers and a sports bra, you headed from your bedroom into the room down the hall that you had converted into a gym room. 20 minutes of yoga to wake yourself up and relax your muscles, you moved into weights. Today was your first proper day of school with the kids. It was the first day you’d be going in properly dressed in your teaching clothes and a little bit of you really wanted to impress Melissa. It felt like there had been the start of some subtle flirting, especially after the outfit comment on Friday you really wanted to impress her.

You’d dropped her a message about the hockey on Saturday and then exchanged a couple of messages on Sunday when she told you about some great stuff she’d got at a famers market.

You’d also been talking to Jacob about introducing him to one of your friends, Ant.

They were planning to meet up later this week at a cosy gay bar you often frequented.

You snuck in an extra few reps to get a good pump in the biceps and shoulders. It was upper body, but you did a set of squats too. It wouldn’t hurt to add them today as well.

You cooled down with some stretched and rolling before jumping in the shower. The rainfall in the ceiling let the water cascade down your chest and back, skin glistening in the natural light that came through the big windows in the bathroom, the frosted glass to the walk in only hiding your body from the outside, not the light.

You towel dried off and headed into your closet to pick out your outfit for the day, before grabbing a quick breakfast downstairs. Teeth brushed and a quick hit off cologne completed your morning routine. Before you knew it you were out to the car with bag over one shoulder.

Melissa was leant against the hood of her car talking to Barbara as the black Jeep pulled into the carpark, pulling into a bay across from them.

She watched as Charlie stepped out of the car, black leather boots with a silver chain. Tailored black tapered trousers with a subtle check led to a fine knitted sweater in deep navy, a grey shirt collar buttoned poking up from beneath.

A short charcoal wool coat topped off the outfit, accessorised by a smart leather backpack.

Black leather gloves. Always with the gloves. She’d heard Barbra mention it briefly during a chat in prep week, but they’d just said it was ‘poor circulation’ and Barbara hadn’t pushed further.

‘Nice backpack, your first day?’ Melissa heckled over, eying them from head to toe as they walked over, trousers clinging to their thighs showing toned quads. Her brain short circuited briefly imagining how they looked from the back.

‘Yes Ma’am.’ Charlie replied in that low tone, ‘Dr Flinn reporting for duty and looking forward to it.’

‘At ease.’ Melissa laughed, hand falling on their arm, a soft smile on both their faces.

Barbara eyed them again. She had seen Melissa go through a few dates over the years post Joe but never really open up fully to anyone.

They all headed into school together, Charlie said they’d go ahead to drop their backpack off in the classroom and that they’d catch Melissa and Barbara up.

They shucked off their jacket and hung it up on the rack near their desk, set their water bottle on the desk from their backpack before heading to the teachers lounge.

Ask they walked into the room they noticed Melissa looking towards the door, her face lighting up seeing them, before a light blush came across her cheeks. Without their jacket on she could see way their jumper hugged their shoulders and arms, god they looked so strong. The way their bicep flexed as they lifted the coffee pot. They were still using her cup she’d said they should keep it for now, she didn’t want to ‘fight them with those guns’.

The way they threw an arm around Jacob giving him a side hug as he came into the room, immediately jumping into a conversation. God they looked so strong. What if they just took her by the waist, pulled her against their chest, peeled off their gloves and ran a hand across her jaw and into her hair. Brought her closer. Their breath mingling…

The trill of the bell broke her from the daydream.

(Below are a few scenarios I want to share between the two characters. All of them will happen but which should I use for the reveal of whats beneath their clothes.

A. There is an accident and they remove their jumper revealing themselves to Melissa (potential for this to be hidden from other characters for now) as they care for her. Also leads to Melissa visiting their house.

B. When Jacob and Ant go on their date Charlie is there doing a side gig, Jacob messages Melissa and other teachers (or just melissa) and again a reveal happens. Again potentially just melissa and Jacob could know for now.

Also Should Jacob and Melissa be living together like in the show?)

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #melissa x other #melissa x reader #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic

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prairiesongserial · 4 months ago

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24.9

Imani delivered the bottled water and nodded through the multiple thank-yous offered by the men in Row 4. She was already thinking about how she was going to squeeze in the last five minutes of her break. Maybe she would cut up the stairs to the dining car and get herself a pastry, if there were any left.

She was stopped again in Car 8. It was packed with families and couples, all vacationers with luggage overflowing from the overhead racks. Skis rattled in their cases. One thing Imani appreciated about being stationed in Europe was how well they vacationed here. It was only the end of August, but Europeans took nuclear winter and made lemonade.

Imani would have liked to go on vacation. She could quit her job with the Foreign Office and move to Stuttgart permanently; her stewardess role wasn’t bad work. But she tended to think like that when she was hungry.

A boy sitting in one of the aisle seats held up his hand to flag her down. As Imani came to a stop next to him, the boy asked in extremely carefully enunciated German how long it would be before they stopped in Switzerland.

“One hour to Basel,” Imani said. She glanced around. “Are you meeting your parents there?”

The boy smiled and nodded in a way that implied he didn’t entirely understand the question.

“One hour,” he parroted back. “Thank you.”

Imani didn’t remember seeing any solo child travelers marked on the manifest. Odd. One of the nearby grandmothers had given the boy half a sandwich from her supply. Imani made a note of his seat number. She’d check the manifest again when she had a minute.

Imani was still thinking about how much she wanted a cherry danish as she passed through Car 9, then into Car 10. She credited her training as a spy for her unchanged expression as she walked directly into a standoff between two of the Vatican’s cardinals and a man in a gray suit.

Context clicked together. The man in the gray suit had dark skin, rings on his fingers, short locs, and a scar under his left eye. Imani had never seen him in person before, but there was a photograph of him pinned up in the Foreign Office, behind Darvish’s desk. The photograph had been taken at the Austrian State Gala last May. Darvish had been there undercover as a translator, and had ended up witnessing the attempted assassination of Anastas Radulov, the Bulgarian ambassador. For once, the incident hadn’t been Canada engaged in empire-building, but two special agents of Hemisphere Russia: ‘Vanya’ and his partner ‘Yuri.’

Imani could now, with a rising feeling of dread, place the man in Car 7 who’d felt so familiar.

She continued through the car to the opposite door, her pace unbroken as she passed through and climbed the stairs. She entered the dining car and took a seat at an empty table, to stare out the window.

Imani pictured the scene between the cardinals and Vanya in her mind, recalling everything she’d noticed while passing down the aisle. The two cardinals had been on her left, seated in the two rows closest to the door to Car 9. Vanya had been on her right, also seated. One cardinal had her hand on a firearm, obscured under the red robe, while Vanya drummed his fingers over the back of the seat in front of him–he did not appear to have a weapon.

The arrival of a stewardess had interrupted their conversation. They had fallen silent as Imani passed between them, tension ratcheting up in the second-long stretch of time during which neither party could see the other.

Russia and Italy were in competition over something. That much was obvious. They hadn’t expected to meet each other, otherwise Vanya would have been armed, and the Italians would have had a plan for quietly and efficiently killing him anyway. There would not have been an awkward standoff, but a brief altercation which Italy would have won.

Whatever that had been in Car 10, it was an embarrassment. It was like running into your boss at the market, dressed down for the day off, and feeling compelled to make small talk at the fishmonger’s stall. Personally, Imani had several facts about smallmouth bass prepared for just such a situation, and she always dressed business casual when she was in D.C.

Without more information than she was likely to get, Imani was not going to learn why both Russia and Italy wanted either her persons of interest or the British princes. Probably the British princes, as the more likely political targets. Yuri was seated just one car away; even if Russia wasn’t actively targeting the princes, they were certainly watching.

Imani had to remind herself that it was outside her area of concern if John Graves or Valerie Lecter happened to be assassinated. Her concern was tailing them, although she wasn’t necessarily prepared to tail them if they were kidnapped by Hemisphere Russia. Russian was not one of her languages. The Foreign Office would almost certainly assign someone else to take over.

Most likely, one of the factions would swoop in, kill or kidnap the British princes, and Imani’s work wouldn’t be interrupted by much more than a little gunfire. Then again, Lecter and Graves were bleeding hearts who would do pretty much anything for someone they considered a part of their group, banished heads of state not excluded. Maybe Imani should call home, get Cataldi ready to move some people around. Italy was hard to infiltrate, and the Italians were the more likely party to win the standoff, considering Vanya and Yuri’s track record. Vienna and Helsinki had both been shitshows.

Imani asked herself, again, what the fuck Hemisphere Italy wanted with two British princes. Italy was not expansion-minded. Italy was a black hole. You could go and tour the countryside, enjoy the gelato and technological marvels in Rome, and allow yourself to be charmed by the religious iconography. The Vatican was very private about the rest. As the story went, the Pope and his cardinals had refused to join Hemisphere when Constantine was first meeting with Canada about coalition-building. Then suddenly, one day, the Pope was all-in. He called it “Vatican 3”.

Locally, in Italy, there was no Hemisphere. Only the Vatican. Imani personally found it damned creepy. In the States, you knew what gang you paid your taxes to.

Javi, one of the other stewards, sat down across from Imani with a crinkle of paper. A cherry danish. Imani seized it and took a giant bite.

“That bad?” Javi asked in German.

“Just thinking,” Imani said, also in German. She chewed her danish. She liked sweets. She’d never had anything that could be considered candy or pastry until after she got the fuck out of Rhode Island. Imani liked things that were the opposite of home.

Italy’s presence might have been coincidental. After all, the train was headed to Milan. But Russia and Italy having a tense conversation while the other half of Russia was seated about five feet away from a third major political faction–that was reason for concern. That was competition. It had to be.

Destabilizing England was a decent political play. It was freshly incorporated into Hemisphere, its new queen a handpicked Canadian operative. Imani personally thought Canada had tipped their hand a little too much with that installation, proving to every other international operative that it was easy to install someone on England’s throne just by claiming blood relation to the last king or queen. Maybe that was what Italy and Russia were after–a ticket to the throne.

Imani polished off the rest of her danish in four efficient bites, and stood from her seat. Javi stared up at her.

“What’s on fire?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Imani replied. She liked to think her tone suggested that she was handling a situation reluctantly but discreetly, before any of her coworkers had to know about it. In a way, she was doing that twice over.

Javi shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, good luck. Call me if you need backup.”

Imani nodded. She had no intention of ever doing so. Javi was a good steward, but he would have made a bad Hemisphere operative. She left the dining car out the opposite door from where she’d come in, on the end closer to Car 6. Her next step was clear: regardless of what Italy and Russia wanted with them, she needed to check on her problem passengers.

She passed through the cars efficiently, using the same gait she used in the halls of Hemisphere Central when she didn’t want to be stopped. It was a purposeful stride that tricked most people into thinking you were moving somewhere with an official purpose, even if you were only going to the fire escape for a cigarette. No one got in her way in the aisles, nor did anyone mistake her for a secretary.

It took twenty seconds for Imani to walk from one end of Car 6 to the other, completing a swift head count of her problem passengers as she did. One of them was missing. Graves was still seated with the princes, and Cassidy had moved to sprawl out in a seat across the aisle, but their orange hair made them easy to spot. Lecter, on the other hand, had vanished completely.

Imani’s hand was curled into a fist around the paper that had once held her cherry danish. She squeezed it tighter, crushing it into a rough ball with edges that dug into her skin. It was possible that Lecter had just gotten up to use the bathroom–but if that was the case, surely she would have run into him, or seen him on his way back. She paused for another few seconds at the door of Car 6, giving him one last chance to reappear, but nothing happened.

It was probably nothing. It had to be nothing. But Lecter and Graves had been involved in so many national and international incidents up until now that not having eyes on both of them made Imani profoundly uncomfortable. If both shoes weren’t together on the ground where she could see them, one of them was about to drop.

“Pardon me, miss? Fraulein?”

Imani reluctantly turned her attention to a heavyset, middle-aged nun who was anxiously fingering a crucifix.

“Will there be a drinks cart before Basel?” the nun asked. She was very flushed.

“Sister Carlotta is at the time of life,” another middle-aged nun contributed, adjusting a slightly crooked pair of glasses. The glasses settled into a different, but no less crooked, state of crookedness.

Valerie Lecter was unaccounted for somewhere on this train, and Imani was fifteen minutes late with the drink service.

24.8 || 24.10

#story

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skwigelfskwisgaar · 7 months ago

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He could see his breath. Sweden, 1984. Cold winter blanketed everything in white. He was wearing a thick wool sweater his mother picked out for him, knitted in a creamy color to bring out his sparkling blue eyes.

Cold. Numbing cold. And blinding white snow. It pained his eyes. Still he marched on. Pride bloomed in his chest, his heart swelling in joy after he studied for music class and successfully remembered everything they had covered.

It was the first thing he felt. Pride and joy.

Each step he took it brought him closer to home. The snow under his feet gave way easily, promising relief from winter's grasp and the blinding snow.

He had been looking forward to school. He had been such a good student. His mother had promised sweet bread and spiced mead for him to try. He would be like the warriors of Valhalla. Drinking mead, eating a feast of his choice. He was so excited to show her his grade in music class. He finally remembered the terminology and the scale! He struggled with it badly before -

He took a small hand out to turn the doorknob.

Skwisgaar's heart thumped in his chest. He knew where this was going and he screamed at himself to stop before the all too familiar sight played again.

He flung opened the door.

"Momma, I'm home!"

Skwisgaar smiles as the smell of lussekatter rolls fills his nose, and his mom's special stew. He was so happy that she found them a home. She was tired of moving just like he was. Unpacking and packing up was always a hassle.

He quickly took his shoes off and walked over to the kitchen to see Serveta in an apron saying "Kiss the Chef", pulling out the rolls from the tiny oven in the kitchen. She placed them down on a cooling rack before going over to kiss Skwisgaar on the forehead.

"Skwisgaar? I'm in the kitchen!"

... what? The kitchen? It felt like the very day he first saw his mother's very active lifestyle, and not... whatever this was.

A deep confusion set in the adult Skwisgaar's mind. Was this not the day he first walked in on his mother? What was going on?

" So tell me? How was school?"

"I did it! Just like we studied yesterday. I remembered all the words and passed the test in music class." He looked at the table set up and smiled big - his mom had prepped her stew, his sweet rolls were cooling down and she had gotten some fruits and jams to eat afterward. And right in the center was the bottle of spiced mead.

"I knew you would get a passing score. Go and wash up, put your books away, and come down to set the table. Afterwards, we can watch some television."

In his mind, Skwisgaar's confusion gave way to hurt. To anger. To questions he knew the answer to.

Serveta took off the oven mittens she had and began to take off her apron, leaving Skwisgaar to walk up to his room as he hastily put his books away. She had a plain blue dress shirt on with buttons down the front, and a pair of white jeans on. She looked like she walked off one of the American fashion magazines she liked to gawk over in the big market.

" You think I'm going to let you drink your first glass out of a cup? You must be mistaken." Serveta pulled out a set of glass ...teacups? Skwisgaar had seen her and his grandmother use them when drinking glögg around this time of year. The glasses were in a bath of water in a pot in the sink, and as she dried them he noticed it was hot water they had soaked in.

Coming back down, his mother dried her hands and stepped aside as he washed his own hands and quickly set the plates and the glasses down. This was after his first growth spurt, the first of many that made him the tallest member of Dethklok. He remembered how awkward he felt and lacking in grace it all was. Watching how to move himself because his body's new height was changing so frequently, he couldn't keep up and adjust.

"If you're drinking glögg, you're going to do it properly."

"Like you?" Serveta stopped, a questioning look on her face. She responds, "Yes? It's meant to be taken like a tea. Hot and steaming." She takes the mead and sets it in the pot, before finally sitting down.

Skwisgaar paused as Serveta finally took the bottle of mead and poured it into the glasses. Rasing the glass up to her face, she took in a deep breath and blew a bit on the top of the liquid. Passing one of them, he took it, a genuine wonder in his face and touch, never blinking. As if the glass would vanish if he blinked.

As they ate, that pit of anger grew. Fury rose in him. What was this weird ... dream? Nightmare? Deep down, he knew what it was. Quit lying to yourself.

It was the childhood desires he ruthlessly buried in the snow. It was the yearnings of a child that he left behind with her that first time he was forgotten, ignored, accused of being selfish for wanting a mom. For wanting his mom to care. The childish want for companionship from his family that he numbed with each high, each couch he slept on, each step he took away from her and the disasters that befell him and his first few bands in Gothenburg.

Back in the murky glow of the kitchen, dream Skwisgaar asked the strange version of Serveta about her day, as she served food and he tore open a roll, still warm to the touch.

"Traditionally, your grandmother made me wish for something for the first glass of the season."

"I wish this was real. That you actually cared."

Skwisgaar had glued his eyes to his mother before she spoke, now boring holes into the glass in his hands.

"Make a wish, Skwisgaar."

The words came out before he realized what he said.

He looked back up and watched as his small hands poured out the glögg, right into the rolls. "Then I wish you stopped hurting me."

"Oh, Skwisgaar," she replied, back in her normal red strapless dress, "wake up and stop wishing for useless things." He looked at her as she rose, he face disappointed and annoyed. That was the woman he knew.

You're not useless. You were distant, but not useless.

She hands him her glass, before dusting her dress and patting his shoulder. "Then drink mine. I don't need it anymore." She walked away, her heels loud as she took each step away from young dream Skwisgaar.

"Don't you have a wish?" He asked.

"It came true years ago. You are not in my way, anymore."

He drank her glass, as the ache in his chest became less and less until he couldn't hear his heels anymore. All he felt was anger.

Fury.

- - - - -

He jolts as he wakes and tosses the covers off. He touches his chest, his arms and then his head. No sweater, long hair. Adult sized.

After making a mental note to never touch whatever Pickles was handing out last night, he got up and texted his mom to make sure she was fine before he washed his face. It was something his grandma did when she dreamt of him or his mom, before passing away. She'd make an effort to go out and find them, always believing dreams were omens. An old habit he kept.

This burning coal of anger simmered deep in his gut, and he figured that with sleep efrectively ended for the day, he might as well grab his guitar and play.

Isn't that what he did anyways? Just put to song what words could never describe?

His phone flashed.

"Hej, momma."

His mom was calling.

Confused, he picked up regardless.

"Skwisgaar?"

"Hello, stranger. You never text. What's happening, Skwisgaar?" Serveta quipped in her usual way.

It brought relief he didn't know he was seeking to hear her usual tone, her self coming through in unfiltered annoyance. Tension rolled off him. There were some background noises of what he assumed was possibly the lumber mill for firewood, or maybe she was in the city. There was chatter and vehicles and the sound of water.

".... I was checking in to see if you were... uh, if you were okay."

"I was headed to the market. Isn't it... four in the morning where you are?" Huh, so it was.

"I'm ... busy. With recording. And planning... tour stops."

"Skwisgaar, I know when you're lying. You and my mother always reached out when you had odd dreams."

He sighed. The rage was simmering low in his gut bow, not boiling and flowing through him like it did earlier. Oddly enough, Serveta was cooling him down a bit. Was this what moms did? If anything, he only saw how they made his bandmates uncomfortable, at best.

"Am I not allowed to call you anymore, mom?"

"I was not expecting it."

There was a pause. He was always such an awkward person when speaking to his mother. Always the awkward teenager that she let go back in 1988.

"Uh, I'll visit soon. We can make plans later this month."

"...thank you. For asking. And I'll have some glögg and lussekatter ready for you."

"... do you think you could make some of that stew?"

"That was your grandma's recipe. I'll have to search for her recipe book, but I can." With the promise of a visit and the excuse of being needed for Dethklok stuff, he hung up the phone and collected his thoughts.

With plans to visit her at some point in the future, Skwisgaar brushed his hair and grabbed his guitar after he dressed himself.

She may not have been the best mother, but she was his.

Pickles was able to get over his mother. He was able to heal, and finally tell her off. He could maybe do the same. Or at least try to mend things. Maybe it would work out better.

Murderface was able to keep his grandmother happy. Even if it meant spending boatloads on scooters and medical expenses, he could see that Stella did care and appreciated Murderface. She and Rose were tied for most visits - considerably impressive, given her limited mobilty.

Toki had been in contact with Anja on several occasions. He didn't pry on that particular aspect of Toki's home life, but she messaged him frequently. He also made sure that she had access to him with her own Dethphone, although she seemed more confused than thankful for it when the exchange happened.

Nathan had his mother visit him frequently back when they kicked out Magnus. She was the woman who made sure her kid and his friends had food to eat besides beer. She made sure they knew a mother's touch, helping them with chores and being at their first few venues to give them a ride back. It was maddening at first, to him anyways - his mother was rarely around and having one this ... present was stifling. It nearly suffocated him. Over the years, though, he really came to appreciate Rose Explosion.

He left his room, ooting to stop by the kitchen to grab coffee. As it brewed, he pondered on the women who shaped this band, who raised his bandmates.

If they all managed to get along with their mothers, couldn't he?

#metalocalypse #skwigelf talks #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwisgaar rp blog #ooc:#drabbles #this was sitting in my drafts for mother's day #and. well #i forgot it existed

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recitedemise · 11 months ago

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𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀. Nestled along the coast of Waterdeep, it is both sunlight and the insistent cling of salt that Gale's grown to find exceedingly soothing. It is the bastion of his comforts, outfitted with a grand assortment of a thousand enchantments. Charmed, it is far larger on the inside than it appears on the outside, and nestled in its rooms wade about a million secrets. A wizard's tower, after all, should be as much an enigma as the mage themselves.

Entryway.

Upon entering Gale's home, one would be welcomed by a sectioned off room, the house separating its guests from the rest beyond this point. It is nondescript, all deep woods with the warmth of a far away fire, sure, but plainly put, is not what one expects from a wizard's home. There is a mirror by the door, and before it, a little end table with an aging candelabra. There is a thick, fine drape that rests snug at the arch walling off the tower's entryway, and there is a plush, old rug sat in front of the door. Framed, there hangs a painting of a garden by the right-most wall. The decor is dated, speaking of an aesthetic veering on 'dark academia' and here, there is an enhancement Gale placed to thwart those not explicitly welcomed--hold person, in the rug, can hold you still.

But at least the shy smattering of hanging plants can keep you company.

The first floor: Entry way, living room, kitchen, and washroom.

After exiting the entryway, one would at last enter a hall, short, that leads to a cozy and admittedly half-cluttered room. Here, there is a coffee table, some leather seats in a shade of hemlock-green, and a winding staircase--fit with a red stair runner-- that goes, up, up, up (again, enchanted, some time manipulation steeped in the runner to shorten walk-time). In fact, should one look up, one would think Gale has furnished twelve floors at least, the ceiling like a pinprick with rich deep-gold tiles. It's evident this floor's hardly used, however, beyond the kitchen that is sat snug and half-walled off from the adjoining living room. The seats seem seldom used, not a crack or wrinkle in their delicate upholstery, and the cups lines in Gale's kitchen never used beyond the one. There's several books splayed about, a knitted blanket Morena had made him some decades ago--purple, his favorite, shade, of course--thrown about the sofa, and a myriad of paintings lined on the walls. There's a hanging light in the fashion of some brassy armillary. In the built-in shelves in the paneled walls, there rests even more books with some decanters of whiskey. There rests a wide circular window fit with an alcove right at the center wall, too, with a darling view of the waters with some hanging candles.

Beside the living room, the kitchen--again, very frequently used--waits, charmed with a fire that seems always to burn (safely, of course). At all times, something fragrant lingers within it, be it darling, spice-fruit tartlet or a succulent rack of ribs or lamb. Here, the fashion is a touch more rustic in nature, more dark-red bricks and taupe woods. Over his oven--black iron, a simple cast wood stove--rests an overhang of herbs, dried and half-self grown with the pots by his open windowsill, and the other half purchased from the ladies at the markets. He's a sizable coldbox charmed with a suspended chromatic orb of frost (it pulses, giving perpetual cool to the contents inside), beside countertops filled with all manner of jars. Gale makes his own jams, his favorite being a delightful, tart raspberry, and it with its fruity sisters and brothers rests bottled up with delightful cloths. Gale spends much time in here, and it's plain to see he lavishes it with love. Always, there is something delightful set up by the island counter that looks off into the rest of the living room--like a cake stand piled generously with something exquisitely vanilla. With a door nearby, Gale would explain it leads to his little pantry of hundur sauce. There, one will find, too, his notable collection of both red and white wines. An evening with Gale Dekarios is an evening with a five course meal.

The washroom set off by the staircase is humble, a tap of flowing water charmed to flow and stop when you so wish it. There is an ornate mirror, some suspended flowers there for a spot of freshness, and lit candles for ambiance. The small of something earthy and not too overbearing hangs everywhere, steeped in the towels and the wood of the little medicine cabinet.

The second floor: Two bedrooms, with their own personal bathrooms.

Here, you will find Gale's bedroom, and beside it, a spare. To note, no one ever uses that guest room considering, well, one would need guests to start off with. All the same, no would-be over-night stay would find themselves wanting. The guest room, adequately sized, opens up to face a wide, stained glass window-modestly so, just to allow some shades of gold to lick along the floors. A thick curtain dresses it up, its color a burgundy wine that pairs well with the dark woods and surge of white in the bedding. The best itself is a four post one, no veils yet to hang off of them. The large dresser is empty save for some spare things Gale has put in for Tara (spare collars, for example) and a couple of blankets he's never once used. It has its own bathroom as well, its tub charmed to, again, spill water and stopper it whenever you so wish. It's everything you need should you ever stay here, but admittedly, stripped just a bit of any personality.

Gale's room, however, is ride with personality. Here, you will find all manner of trinkets and wide-eyed wonders. It's dark wood again, and lived in, is effectively cluttered. There are books strewn everywhere, laid out on the floors despite two of four whole walls filled completely with tomes. He's a window at the one wall, opening to the scene of the city clamoring just beyond, its windowsill decorated with cups of wine, tea tins, and some pots of terracotta for when he deigns to play gardener. He's a large armillary in a state of perpetual spin, aligned with the real-time turning of the stars. His bed is large, a bed tray usually atop of it with smattering of peeled fruit and his read for the morning, sheets a dark, rich brown with the bedposts taken in dark-green curtains. There's a bed for Tara, too, laid there by one of his growing stacks of ancient reads. His carpet is patterned, a sliver of white to help brighten the space, with some cat toys strewn here and there and an armoire that's charmed much larger on the inside. Beside his bed, there rests Gale's private bathroom. It's impressive, tiled beige with dark woods that border on chestnut black. He's a whole array of bath salts, lotions and creams and shampoos and conditioners, everything combining to capture ascent of sage and jasmine sweetened just a sliver with a persimmon hue. His tub is actually dipped into the floors, a standing shower merely an overhang spout in the space beside the tub. There is incense here, too, that wafts at times with the hot steam of his usual luxurious baths--Gale, let it be known, a sucker for a spot of finery.

The third floor: Dedicated solely to Gale's office and study--dressed up with a terrace. Inside the study, Gale keeps his inheritance and riches.

Going up the stairs this floor has no landing. In fact, it's only a passing door before one continues traveling up towards the rooftops. The door is unassuming, something old and ancient with brass knockers as handles. However, belying its normalcy is the swell of magic and light that glows from crystals within.

This room is what we are most familiar with: it is, as we have seen in game, Gale's study. And yes, it is by and large, Gale's most favored room--kitchen notwithstanding. Here, Gale's study is less a study and more a keep of ancient texts. His walls are littered with them, the copious amount of shelves not enough to cradle their wealth. Stacks of loose tomes can be found crawling up, up, up for the ceiling everywhere, and each one, he'll tell you, is one he's read once before--evidently not faking it like every other bookworm. He knows where each one seems to lay by heart, even the four hundredth manual in an uninspiring shade of brown. He's a crackling hearth, one he's charmed to run forever on and on, with a single chair and a sofa-too-many. He's a statue in a wait-high sizes dedicated to Mystra. He's spent more hours than he'd confess to kneeling before them, a memory he's no rush to indulge in again with any delight, both scrolls and flowers wreathing it like humble offerings. He's a piano he's manipulated to play when he desires, something of a tune that runs very soft and relaxed. At times, Gale himself will even pluck away the keys, the piano chair before it housing some rough compositions.

In this study, one will find a door, locked, to what houses whatever is of Gale's inheritance. Beside that door, one will also find the double doors to his brilliant terrace, outfitted with plants, a rug, and sun-warm sofa. Here, Gale likes to idle away his time, Tara in his lap and some wine on his tongue. In his year in solitude, he would rest here often, looking over the lullabied waters and its quiet ripples... Half mad, half yearning, and entirely wistful.

One can find some empty bottles of wine here with a heavy heart.

The fourth floor: A smaller room, something like an observatory.

Humble but absolutely dazzling, the top floor opens up to a darling observatory of sorts--not a proper room, no, but a mere floor with a railing that looks down to the lower, three-most levels. Here, the ceiling--again, those rich tiles of brown and gold--rest above your head, wide and unobscured of even a hanging light. Instead, there are candelabras set up about this book-littered room (with pillows, too, and a nice rug set up for casually laying) that flicker and whisper with its crackling song. Laid down on this floor, one would look up to that so-bare ceiling...and when Gale so whispers it, says those magical words, the ceiling seems to suddenly disappear, replaced with a ripple of the view of the stars. Here, Gale can trace the course of the twinkling cosmos. Immediately, the shine of the stars come to pale the combined wash of the candles, the atmosphere impossibly drusy and gauzy like silk. Gale likes it up here, relaxing in the majesty of the moon. Sometimes, he will find Tara flapping her wings here, a little trapdoor to the rightmost wall for her to come and go from when she desires. They will cuddle up together as she speaks about her nightly escapades of feline devilry. Gale, in a nest of pillows, will patiently listen.

#HEADCANON.#THis is...SO LONG. This is just describing Gale's 'tower'.#ANd yes... I DO want to add pictures. Maybe once I make it properly in Sims or something #cuz you know I play Sims... A LOT.#I am in love with an observatory floor just for Gale to admire the skies...#So much magic in this house. Perpetually lit fires #tea charmed to always stay warm and ready for consumption #tubs with faucets that can always run as warm as you like (and Gale--to Shadowhearts admission--always smells like a dowager #so YES gale has a LOT of fine creams and shampoos and all that jazz. Man likes to bathe forever in his tiled tub with a a book #i know it.)#We are exploring beyond that little study and terrace we saw in Gale's romance scene. I am talking about a PROPER HOUSE!#Gale's home is so...well dark academia. How typical.

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