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wannabehockeygf · 3 months

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Snow's Falling - Matthew Tkachuk

So... I did a thing, and I wrote an entire Tkachuk mini-fic instead of working on my other WIPS (sorry LOL) Word Count: 10k

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x fem! reader

Tags: Fluff, texting, self-discovery, don't know what else

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Notes: This takes place a few years back, when he was still on the flames (alberta girl by heart I couldn't bring myself to write about Florida), I'm gonna say it's around 2020-2021 (ignoring covid ofc). This was going to be smutty but I decided against it halfway through writing. (***) is kind of like a chapter/long time skip, (---) short time skip. AND LETS JUST IGNORE HIS BIRTHDAY IS ACTUALLY THE SECOND WEEK OF DECEMBER! THIS IS NOT PROOF READ! My eyes hurt so just lmk if something is wrong. Also it might be repetitive because this is basically just an idea dump lol.

ratthew grow that hair out again I’m begging

***

CALGARY, ALBERTA was the best city in Canada - to you, anyway. Close to every time someone said that you were wrong, you defended it with your entire heart and soul, as if your life depended on it. You knew that the negative forty winters would always be outshined by the sheer atmosphere of the city, the people, the everything.

This was your hometown, after all. And to you, absolutely nothing would have beaten it.

That was until a couple of weeks ago, a gloomy early November afternoon when the first snow of the year had just started falling, and you were laying down on your plush leather couch in your loft apartment. The dim light from the overcast sky filtered through the large glass windows, casting a soft, grayish hue over the room. The warmth from your latte radiated through the ceramic mug, the sensation slightly burning the tips of your fingers. You had your laptop propped on your lap as you reviewed a slideshow from your last lecture, the glow of the screen reflecting off your eyes. The soft hum of the city’s afternoon rush filled the room, a symphony of distant car engines and muffled conversations.

You momentarily turned your head to the large glass sliding door leading to your balcony, watching the snowflakes fall gently, each one a unique crystal dancing its way to the ground. Winter was here, and it wouldn’t be long before you would have to trade in your baseball caps and leggings for jeans and beanies. The thought of it brought a small, nostalgic smile to your face as you envisioned snow-covered streets and the festive lights that would soon adorn the city.

Your phone suddenly started ringing, snapping you out of the magical, snowy trance you were stuck in. The ringtone pierced the tranquil atmosphere, making you jump slightly. You reached for it, your nicely manicured nails clacking against the screen as you swiped right to accept the call. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” you asked, your eyes now focused on your laptop screen again, though your mind was still partially lost in the falling snow outside.

“Hey,” your boyfriend’s voice came through, clearly deflated and even slightly shaky, “Can we talk?”

You immediately sat up, propping up your back with a pillow as you put your latte on the coffee table. The warmth from the mug lingered on your fingertips. “Of course, what’s up?” you replied, concern whirling within you.

Your boyfriend sighed, a sound heavy with unspoken words. “I don’t even know how to say this, but… um, we need to break up.”

The words hit you like a blizzard, much like the one outside, but this one was much worse. You felt as if the ground beneath you had disappeared, leaving you to float in a surreal void. “Wait, what?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why? What happened?”

“I just… I don’t think this is working anymore,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while, and I think it’s best if we both move on.”

Your mind raced as you tried to process his words. You thought back to the times you’d shared together, the laughs, the arguments, the moments that had defined your relationship. It was as if the day you met on the University of Calgary campus a year ago was just yesterday, and it didn’t make sense. How had it come to this?

“Is there someone else?” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

“No, it’s not that,” he replied quickly. “It’s just… I’ve changed. We’ve changed. I think we’re both heading in different directions.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you blinked them back furiously, unwilling to let them fall. “But I love you,” you said, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he said softly. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

The line went silent for a moment, and all you could hear was your heart pounding in your ears, so hard it felt like it was about to explode out of your chest. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do, as you’d never felt pain like that before.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I really am. I hope we can still be friends.”

You knew those words were meant to comfort, but they only made the pain worse. “Yeah,” you said, forcing the word out. “Me too.”

You hung up the phone, your hands shaking. The laptop screen in front of you blurred as tears filled your eyes. You leaned back against the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as sobs wracked your body, completely and utterly. But the noise outside continued, oblivious to your personal storm.

Calgary wouldn’t stop moving, no matter what happened to you. ***

1 month later

Your thumb rolls against the lighter, the spark flaring up in the dim room as you ignite it, tipping a holly berry-scented candle toward the flame until the wick begins to blacken at the end. The warm, spicy scent fills the air, mingling with the cool night breeze wafting through the open window. The white duvet beneath you crinkles softly as you lean back into the plush comfort of your bed, picking up your phone to scroll mindlessly. The soft glow of the screen illuminates your face in the otherwise dark room, casting fleeting shadows as you swipe through various posts.

You come across an Instagram story from a girl you’d met in a campus library a few years back. The story is a screenshot of texts she had exchanged with her ‘number neighbour’—a person whose phone number differs by just one digit. The joke in her story is that her neighbor turned out to be a thirteen-year-old boy, but the concept intrigues you nonetheless.

Despite the nagging voice of reason, you press the messages app. Your thumbs work swiftly, typing your number but with the last digit counted up. The screen's light reflects in your eyes as you lean over to turn on your bedside lamp, casting a warm glow that lights the room halfway. You snap a selfie, making a thumbs-up gesture toward the camera, a half-smile tugging at your lips. You type out a jokey message along with it, and after a brief hesitation, you tap send. Nothing too bad could happen, right?

You: Happy birthday man, hope you had beers on the house! [insert selfie]

After sending the message, you throw your phone across the bed. It lands on the opposite corner with a soft thud. It's already eleven-thirty, and whoever your 'number neighbour' is, if they even respond, probably won’t do so until morning. You shut your eyes, the flickering candle casting dancing shadows on the walls. The room is filled with the comforting scent of holly berry, lulling you closer to sleep, even though you know you’ll have to put the candle out eventually. Exhaustion takes over, and you're seconds away from drifting off.

Until your phone pings.

You jolt awake at the sound, your heart skipping a beat. No way, right? You reach over to your phone, the screen lighting up the dim room. The notification icon indicates a new message, and with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, you unlock your phone to see what they said.

???: Haha thanks, didn’t know it was my birthday today!

Attached is a picture of the side of a man’s face, brown curls falling down his forehead glistening with sweat. You can see a gym behind him and a dimple on his cheek as he mirrors your thumbs-up, but nothing else besides half of a blue eye. The photo is taken from an upward angle where you notice he is wearing a muscle shirt, and lord, is he fit.

You: You’re at the gym this late?

???: Hell yeah. Best time, honestly. Knocks me right out when I get home.

You: Fair enough, guess we’re both night owls.

???: Guess so.

You let the text sit for a while, unsure how to respond, but to your surprise, another text comes through five minutes later.

???: So, who am I talking to?

You stare at the screen, debating whether to reveal your identity or keep the conversation anonymous for a bit longer. There's something intriguing about this mystery man, and a part of you wants to prolong the curiosity. You decide to play along.

You: Your number neighbour. Saw it on someone’s story. You’re not a thirteen-year-old boy, are you?

???: Last time I checked, no. Definitely not a thirteen-year-old boy.

You can't help but chuckle at his response. There’s something about this mystery conversation that feels oddly comforting, a small distraction from the heartbreak that still lingers. You decide to keep the banter going, finding solace in this unexpected connection.

You: Good to know. Would be weird if I was texting a middle schooler.

???: Agreed. So, can I get a name, number neighbour?

You bite your lip, contemplating his request. This playful anonymity has provided a small, thrilling escape from the heartbreak you are still nursing. But something about his confidence, and the hint of charm in his words, makes you want to take the plunge.

You: Maybe... It depends. Are you going to tell me yours first?

There is a pause, and you imagine him standing there in the gym, perhaps wiping sweat from his brow, considering how much to reveal. The anticipation is oddly exhilarating.

???: Fair enough. I'm Matt.

You: Just Matt?

Matt: Well, Matthew, but nobody calls me that unless I'm in trouble.

You chuckle softly, the sound breaking the stillness of your room.

You: Y/N

Matt: I like that name. Suits you.

Matt's reply brings a faint smile to your lips, a small flicker of warmth in the otherwise chilly aftermath of your recent breakup. Though you know you’re young and attractive, allowing yourself to flirt with this random stranger feels like a gift to help heal from the heartbreak.

You: What do you mean by that?

Matt: It’s pretty.

His words strike a chord, echoing a sentiment you haven't felt in a while — someone noticing you beyond the surface, beyond the pain you carry. It’s refreshing, and you find yourself drawn to the conversation more than you expected.

You: You think I’m pretty?

And then you wait for his reply. And wait. And then, wait even more, lying back on your bed, your phone lying beside you as your arms have turned limp, and stay there until your eyelids get too heavy for your own good. ---

The next morning, you wake up with a frown already imprinted on your face. It's probably a bad idea, but getting a bit of attention and then losing it is tough, especially considering your last message. You sit up, the bed frame creaking as you look out the window. It's already the second week of December, and all the roofs visible from your downtown apartment are coated in snow. The Christmas season is starting to kick in, the only thing you can look forward to – you love Christmas.

That night, while lounging around your apartment and revising for your final exams, your phone buzzes. You pounce on it, hoping it's mystery Matt.

Matt: Shit, sorry. Had to finish up last night and was working all day.

You glare at the screen. What a lame excuse, you think. He didn’t even answer your question, and now he's claiming he worked all day. You toss your phone aside, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It works for a bit, but an hour later, another text comes through.

Matt: Wyd?

You roll your eyes, still irritated by his earlier silence. But curiosity and a hint of loneliness get the better of you, and you decide to respond, albeit with a touch of sarcasm.

You: The glamorous life of a student. Studying. What about you?

Matt's response comes almost immediately, as if he's been eagerly waiting.

Matt: Ah, finals season, huh? Not jealous of that.

You sigh, feeling conflicted. You want the attention but are still annoyed by his lack of response. Despite that, you find yourself typing back.

You: Well, good thing it’s not you then.

Matt: I’m sorry?

You: Were you actually at work?

Matt: Yeah? Why would I lie about that?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to believe him, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the other part is wary. Right as you’re about to type a response, a text from Matt comes through, replying to your text from the previous night.

Matt: Is this about this?

You: Sure, but you don’t have to spare my feelings. Come on, just lay it on me. It’s not you, it’s…

Matt: I was going to say yes.

You stare at Matt's message, slightly shocked. Maybe he wasn't ignoring you after all. His response is straightforward, almost vulnerable in a way that makes you pause.

You: Oh. Sorry, I guess I’m just stressed. And maybe a little attention-starved.

Matt: Any reason for that?

You consider how much you want to reveal to Matt. Despite the initial frustration, his directness appeals to you. Maybe it's the honesty or the fact that he seems genuinely interested, unlike your recent ex who struggled with communication.

You: Just dealing with some personal stuff. It's been a rough couple of weeks.

Matt's response is immediate, with a tone of understanding.

Matt: I get that. Breakup?

You pause, surprised at his insight. It's as if he can read between the lines of your texts.

You: Yeah, actually. Sorry for being so standoffish earlier.

Matt: Haha, I’m a strong guy, I can take it. Also, sorry about the breakup. They suck.

Five minutes later, another message comes through.

Matt: Not trying to be weird, but how old are you?

You: 21. You?

Matt: 23. I was just asking because I was going to offer to help you with the attention-starved thing. If you’ll have me?

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to interpret Matt's offer. His straightforwardness is refreshing yet slightly intimidating. But something about his persistence intrigues you. After a brief pause, you decide to play along.

You: Hmm, are you suggesting you're good at providing attention?

Matt: I like to think so. At least, I try.

You can't help but smile at his response. There's a sincerity in his words that feels genuine, a stark contrast to your recent breakup.

You: What do you have in mind?

Matt: Well, I take from earlier that you like being complimented?

Your cheeks burn as his directness now feels endearing rather than abrupt. Despite your initial reservations, his straightforward approach is comforting. You decide to indulge him a bit.

You: Depends.

Matt: I think you have really nice eyes. Not much to go off of, so if I ask real nicely, will you send me more pictures of you?

You pause, considering Matt's request. His boldness is surprising and oddly appealing, especially given your recent emotional rollercoaster. You crave the distraction, the validation, and perhaps a connection that feels less complicated than your recent relationship.

You: Maybe. What do I get in return?

Matt: Compliments. And attention.

You: Wow, charming, aren’t you? Are you always this forward?

Matt: Only when I’m interested. And I’m definitely interested.

His words send a flutter through your chest, a mix of nerves and excitement. You find yourself smiling as you send him a picture of yourself at your birthday party from a few months ago, in a black bodycon dress and a tiara.

A few minutes pass before his response pops up, making your entire body heat up.

Matt: Permission to call you hot?

You laugh at his confidence. Matt's interest feels like a soothing balm for your wounded heart. The combination of his directness and warmth is intriguing, and a part of you wants to see where this could lead.

You: Permission granted.

Matt: You’re hot. Like, seriously. Wish I’d met you sooner.

You: You’re just trying to get into my pants, aren’t you?

Matt: Well, if you’d rather have a normal conversation with you, I will, gladly. But you wanted a distraction, right?

You: Maybe I do.

Matt: Then, how do you prefer to be distracted?

You: You might be on the right track.

Matt: Cool, I think I can handle that.

A few minutes pass before he texts again.

Matt: So… what are you wearing?

You: Seriously?

Matt: Haha, just kidding. Unless… you want to tell me?

You smirk at his cheekiness, feeling a playful spark ignite within you. The conversation has taken an unexpected turn, and the idea of engaging in a flirtatious exchange with Matt is both thrilling and liberating. You decide to play along.

You: Just a sweatshirt and flannel shorts. Nothing special, lol.

Matt: Doesn’t matter if it’s nothing special, bet you still look cute.

You: What about you?

Matt: Just sweatpants. Why? You wanna see?

You: Is there a problem with that?

Matt: Not at all. One sec.

A moment later, your phone buzzes with an incoming picture. You open it to see Matt standing in his bedroom, the camera angled to capture his athletic build. He’s shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, revealing his defined muscles. The dim lighting casts shadows that accentuate his physique. Once again, you don't see his face, but his curls are frizzy and unruly this time.

You don’t respond for a while, simply ogling the photo.

Matt: Cat got your tongue?

You: No.

You start typing an explanation, an excuse, maybe even a confession that you definitely saved that photo, but he beats you.

Matt: Your turn.

You: You want my face or my body?

Matt: Whatever you’re comfortable with, I can work with.

With a deep breath, you angle your phone upwards, hiking up your shorts so the curve of your hip is visible. Your oversized sweater shows nothing, but above are your lips, curved in a small smile, with the frame cutting off right before your nose. The city lights are visible behind you in the window. You snap a photo and quickly send it.

Matt's response is immediate, a single word that makes your pulse quicken.

Matt: Damn.

You feel a surge of satisfaction mixed with nerves. It's exhilarating, this dance of teasing and flirtation, each message building upon the last. You are both exploring new territory, testing boundaries, and reveling in the mutual attraction.

You: Like what you see?

Matt: Very much so. But I want to see more.

Your heart races at his boldness. There's no denying the chemistry between you, the electric tension crackling through the phone screen. You hesitate for a moment, your mind racing with possibilities. Finally, you decide to indulge in the moment, letting go of the hurt from your recent breakup and embracing this new, exciting connection.

You lie down on your bed, holding the phone above you as you pull down your shorts until the waistband is around your hips. You roll up your sweater, exposing part of your torso, and your legs are mostly visible as well, cutting off at your feet. Your fingers tremble slightly as you snap another photo, the dim lighting in your room casting a soft glow over your skin. With a mix of nerves and excitement, you hit send before you can overthink it.

Matt: Fuck. You're stunning.

His response sends a thrill down your spine, a rush of validation and desire mingling with the lingering ache of your recent breakup. Yet, with Matt, it feels different — liberating, even empowering. But, you decide to tease him.

You: Wow, cold. My face isn’t even in that.

Matt: You’re right. Let me see that pretty face.

You decide to give him what he wants. You take another photo, this time showing your face but still with an element of playfulness. You angle the camera to capture a side profile, your sweater slightly off your shoulder, revealing a hint of skin. The soft lighting accentuates your features, and you smile subtly before hitting send.

Matt's reply is almost immediate.

Matt: Beautiful. Seriously. How far do you live from Calgary?

You: I’m in Calgary, actually. Why?

Matt: Me too. And I want you to come over.

You freeze, Matt’s proposition hanging in the air like a charged current. The idea of meeting him in person, after this electrifying exchange, both thrills and intimidates you. It’s a leap into the unknown, a step away from the safe cocoon of your apartment.

You: I don’t even know what you look like. Kind of weird, don’t you think?

Matt: Fair enough, I’ll hold off for now. I gotta bolt now though, early morning tomorrow.

You feel a mix of relief and disappointment at Matt's response. Part of you is grateful for the pause, giving you time to process everything that has just happened. The other part, however, is buzzing with anticipation, wondering what could happen next between you two.

You: Early morning plans? What do you have going on?

Matt: Just work stuff. I’ll text you later, okay?

You: Sure. Good luck with it.

Matt: Thanks. It was fun.

You stare at your phone screen, heart still pounding. Matt’s presence lingers in your room, his image imprinted in your mind. You can’t deny the chemistry, the attraction that crackles between you, but you decide not to respond. You have to keep him on his toes somehow, right? ***

One week later

The floors are sticky, even with your already wet boots from the snow outside against them as you walk into the bar. Some classic country music blasts as cowboy hats are tipped, giant belt buckles are moving, and beers are drunk. Many beers are drunk.

You shove your way through the sea of dancing bodies towards the bar, spotting a single empty worn-out barstool which you happily slide into. This specific bar has line dancing every weekend, but this Friday is their annual Christmas hoedown, which is basically just a fancy name for ‘get drunk in some maybe holiday themed western clothing and dance.’

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of beer, sweat, and a hint of pine from the Christmas decorations strewn about. The bar is a hive of activity, the kind that can either drown out your sorrows or amplify them, depending on your mood. Tonight, you're here for a distraction, and although you're alone, it's a way to escape the emotional rollercoaster that has been your life for the past few weeks.

Sliding onto the barstool, you wave at the bartender, a burly man with a Santa hat perched on his head. "Whiskey sour, please," you call out over the music. He nods and gets to work, mixing your drink with practiced ease.

As you wait, you can't help but scan the room, your eyes landing on groups of people laughing, talking, and dancing. It's comforting in a way, seeing others immersed in their own worlds, each person a small part of the larger tapestry of life. You sip your drink, the sharp tang of whiskey and lemon cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

"Hey there, mind if I join you?" a voice interrupts your musings. You turn to see a man with a friendly smile and an impressively large cowboy hat standing next to you, vaguely recognizing him, but not enough to put your finger on it.

You look the man up and down, not hesitating for long before replying, “You gonna buy me a drink?”

The man chuckles, tipping his hat back slightly to reveal a pair of twinkling blue eyes. "I guess I can manage that," he says with a grin. "What’ll it be?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised at how easily you slip into the flirtation. "Whiskey sour."

He signals to the bartender, catching his attention immediately. “Another whiskey sour for the lady, and a beer for me.” As you wait, you take in his appearance more closely. He's tall, with broad shoulders and a rugged charm that fits perfectly in the country bar setting.

Soon enough, your drinks arrive, and as the handsome cowboy slides the drink towards you, you're already distracted by the hockey game on the TV. The Oilers are on tonight, and although you're a Calgary native, the Flames never really struck you like Edmonton did.

The cowboy seems to notice your distraction, glancing up at the screen to see what caught your attention. "Hockey fan?" he asks, leaning a bit closer to you, his voice cutting through the loud country music.

You nod, taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, what about you?” you ask as the cowboy takes a seat beside you.

Handsome Cowboy leans his elbow on the counter, bringing his beer to his lips before meeting your eyes. "You could say I dabble," he offers.

You cock your head, confused but deciding to trudge on. “You got a name?”

The man’s eyes widen as he glances away for a moment, only coming back to meet your gaze with less confidence than he initially had. “Chucky. The name’s Chucky.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking another sip of your drink as you study the man once again. “Chucky? Like that possessed doll?”

Chucky chuckles at your remark, a deep, throaty sound that sends a flutter through your stomach, “Sure, you could say that,” he replies, tapping his fingers on the bar, “Hopefully not as creepy though.”

“Not creepy,” you start, looking back up at the TV, “Just not really my type.”

Chucky clutches his chest dramatically as he laughs, “Ouch, you wound me,” he says before gesturing to the TV, “Well, what if I told you my type isn’t a girl who’s an Oilers fan?”

You purse your lips, turning back to Chucky and crossing your arms. “What’s your type, then?” you question.

"I like a woman who enjoys being spoiled," Chucky says, his voice growing huskier. "Someone who loves the feel of strong hands on her body, who appreciates a man who knows how to treat her right."

You roll your eyes. “What a charmer,” you offer, although you’re stuck staring at him, your heart skipping a beat at his boldness. This conversation is moving fast, yet you find yourself unable to look away. "And you think you're that man?" you ask, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

Chucky leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "I know I am," he whispers, the confidence in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "But that's something you'll have to discover for yourself."

He pulls away slightly, his crooked teeth formed into a knowing smile as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. A flush creeps up your neck, your heartbeat quickening. The thrill of the exchange, the hint of danger in his confidence—it's a potent mix, drawing you in despite your better judgment. “How do I find out?” you breathe, your voice shaky.

Chucky's eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans back slightly, taking a slow sip of his beer before responding. The noise of the bar fades into the background as his gaze locks onto yours, his expression serious yet playful. “Oh, so I am your type?”

"I didn't say that," you reply with a smirk, keeping your tone light despite the heat rising in your cheeks. "But you seem awfully sure of yourself."

Chucky's smile widens, his eyes never leaving yours as he leans back against the bar, his posture relaxed yet undeniably confident. "I've been around long enough to know what I want," he admits, his voice low and gravelly. "And I know how to make sure a pretty girl like you enjoys herself."

Your breath hitches at his words, your heart continuing its erratic rhythm as you look into his eyes. Weirdly enough, you sort of feel a little guilty for replacing the mystery man on your phone, but that doesn’t even begin to overpower the strong attraction you feel for the man in front of you. “Can I take you up on that?” you ask.

Chucky's grin widens, clearly pleased with your response. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "Oh, sweetheart, you've already taken me up on it by sitting here with me." His gaze flickers with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, more intense as if he knows exactly the effect he's having on you.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing as you meet his intense gaze. The noise of the bar seems to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of charged anticipation. Chucky reaches out, his hand brushing against yours on the bar top. His touch is electric, sending a jolt of awareness through you. “What d’ya say we dance?”

Your eyes widen as you look at his hand on top of yours, calloused fingertips brushing gentle circles. “I’m not really a good dancer,” you admit, your voice small.

Chucky chuckles softly, his thumb still lightly tracing patterns on the back of your hand. "Don't worry about that, darlin'. Ain't nobody here judging your dancing skills tonight." He leans closer, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Just relax and let me lead."

You think it's weird he's talking like that even though his accent is city-like, but before you can protest or agree, he slides off the barstool with an easy grace, extending his hand towards you. The invitation hangs between you, laden with unspoken promises and the allure of something new and exciting. You hesitate for only a moment, then place your hand in his, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip.

As he leads you onto the dance floor, the crowd seems to part effortlessly, creating a small pocket of space just for the two of you. The music shifts to a slower tempo, a country ballad that echoes through the dimly lit bar. Chucky pulls you close, his other hand settling firmly at the small of your back, guiding you in gentle sways to the rhythm of the song. Despite your initial hesitation, you soon fall into sync with him, allowing yourself to be swept away by the rhythm and the warmth of his presence.

The other dancers around you blur into the background as you focus on Chucky's steady gaze, his blue eyes holding a magnetic intensity that sends a thrill through you. With each sway and turn, the space between you seems to shrink, the attraction between you palpable in the air.

As the song draws to a close, Chucky doesn't release you. Instead, he holds you even closer, his cheek brushing against yours as he whispers softly in your ear. "You're a natural," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You catch your breath at Chucky's whispered compliment, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you at his closeness. His breath against your ear sends a tingling sensation down your spine, and you can't deny the thrill of being held so intimately by this charming stranger. "Thank you," you manage to murmur back, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the dim lighting and the pulsing music around you, it feels as if there are only the two of you in that moment, cocooned in your own private world.

Chucky's hand remains at the small of your back, his touch reassuring yet tinged with a subtle electricity that seems to ignite every nerve ending in your body. His presence is magnetic, drawing you closer with each passing second, and you find yourself unable to look away from his captivating blue eyes.

"I could dance with you all night," Chucky admits, his voice low and husky. He's about to say something else, only to suddenly stop and reach into the back pocket of his worn-out jeans, pulling out his buzzing phone while keeping an arm snaked around your waist. “Sorry, doll, I’ve gotta take this.”

Before you can protest or even get a word out, he has disappeared into the crowd, and your body is suddenly at a loss for his touch. You stand there for a moment, slightly dazed by Chucky's abrupt departure. The lingering warmth of his touch, his hand on your back, and the intoxicating thrill of the dance still pulse through you, leaving you with a mix of confusion and anticipation.

As you scan the crowded bar, you catch glimpses of familiar faces and strangers alike, each lost in their own conversations and revelries. The music continues to throb in the background, a steady rhythm that seems to echo the beat of your racing heart.

Time passes painfully slow as you wait, and wait, and wait.

Until he doesn’t come back. *** Another week later... It's two days before Christmas, Christmas Eve Eve as you and your family lovingly call it, and you find yourself alone. The cityscape outside your window is already cloaked in a soft blanket of snow, the streetlights casting a golden glow on the flakes as they drift lazily to the ground. It's already eight pm, a time when you'd typically not be alone. However, last year your loved ones decided to take a leap of faith and move an hour out of Calgary, so regular visits aren't really a thing anymore. But you're planning to make the drive out tomorrow and spend the night for Christmas.

You stand in your apartment, the sticky bits on the bottom of your fuzzy socks squeaking against the shiny hardwood floor as you look around the living area. You haven't told anybody yet, but you're moving as soon as your semester ends, transferring to Toronto where you'll finish school and hopefully live a new, better life. Although you love Calgary, lately everything around you radiates hurt. Boxes are strewn around, a messy scrawl in Sharpie on them identifying items from various rooms. The living room, once a cozy haven, now feels like a cardboard maze, each box a reminder of your impending departure.

With a sigh, you open the cabinet above your fridge, taking out a half-empty bottle of rosé that you bought earlier that week. It's a cheap, screw-top bottle, but admittedly you needed it to get you through all the stress of your exams. Now that they're over, you can finish it without worrying about waking up hungover. The bottle feels cool in your hand, a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil.

You take a wine glass out of a different cabinet and twist the cap once before your phone suddenly buzzes. You grab it, wondering who could be texting you at this time.

Matt: Hey, can I call you?

Your heart skips a beat as you read Matt's message. You've been talking to him non-stop, whether that just be texting, or calling, or sexting - every waking moment, besides when he had his weird work stints, you were talking to him. You hesitate for a moment, glancing around your half-packed apartment, the wine glass in your hand a stark reminder of your current solitude.

You: Sure, give me a sec.

Quickly setting the bottle of rosé and the glass on the counter, you walk over to the couch and settle in. You take a moment to steady your nerves, then press the call button when his name pops up on the screen.

The phone rings only once before he picks up. "Hey," Matt's voice comes through, warm and familiar.

"Hey," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "What are you up to?"

Your eyes dart to the kitchen island where the bottle of wine is waiting, and then around at the chaotic mess of the room before responding, "Nothing in particular. You?"

Matt's chuckle comes through the line, a warm, comforting sound that makes you smile despite the mess around you. "Just chilling. Wanted to check up on you. Need any compliments yet?"

You chuckle softly, feeling warmth spread through you at his playful tone. "Maybe a few wouldn't hurt," you reply, leaning back into the couch and tucking your legs beneath you. "It's been a crazy week."

Matt's voice softens, taking on a teasing tone. "Well, I could start by saying that I still can't get over how gorgeous you looked in that photo you sent me. And if you're half as funny and smart in person as you are over text, then I'm in real trouble."

He pauses, and you hear a slight hum come from him. "Crazy good or crazy bad?" he continues, this time his voice carrying genuine concern.

"A bit of both," you admit, glancing around at the half-packed boxes. "Exams are over, but I'm in the middle of packing up my life. Moving to Toronto next semester."

There's a pause on the other end, and you wonder if you've shared too much too soon. "Wow, that's a big change," Matt finally says. "Why Toronto?"

You sigh, the weight of the decision pressing on you. "I just need a fresh start. Calgary's been... difficult lately. Too many memories, too much heartache. I think a change of scenery will do me good."

"I get that," Matt says softly. "Um, speaking of that, I was gonna ask whereabouts in Calgary you are?"

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. "I live near downtown, not too far from the river. Why?"

There's a brief pause on Matt's end, and you can almost hear him thinking. "You free right now?"

Your pulse quickens at Matt's unexpected question. The idea of meeting him in person, after all the teasing texts and late-night conversations, is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "Yeah, I am, why?" you say, wanting to get a little more information out of him.

"Well," he starts, and you hear rustling on his end, "As much as I enjoy this anonymous text-flirting thing we've got going on, I would love to see you in person."

You furrow your eyebrows, wondering if this is going where you think it is. "And… do what?" you ask, deciding to be straightforward with him. "Like, hook up?"

"No!" Matt says quickly, almost panicked. "I-I mean, if you want to, I wouldn't mind," he concedes, his tone softer. "But I had something else in mind."

Your curiosity is piqued, and you lean forward slightly, eager to hear what Matt has in mind. "Oh? And what might that be?" you ask, a smile tugging at your lips.

Matt's voice softens, taking on a tone that is both sincere and slightly hesitant. "You got ice skates?"

You blink in surprise at Matt's question, the unexpected turn catching you off guard. Ice skates? You haven't been ice skating in ages, not since you were a kid. But there's something oddly charming about Matt's suggestion, a whimsical twist in contrast to the flirtatious banter you've shared so far.

"Uh, yeah, I think I have a pair somewhere," you reply, scanning your cluttered apartment mentally to remember where they might be buried. "Why do you ask?"

Matt's voice is shaky, almost nervous as he responds, "Well, I don't know how to convince you that I won't kill you, but I know a nice outdoor rink on the west side."

You find yourself grinning ear-to-ear, even though the concern of him maybe kidnapping you is in the back of your head. "Are you asking me on a date?" you say, your tone giddy from the smile that won't seem to fade off your face.

Matt chuckles nervously on the other end of the line, his voice slightly muffled as if he were pacing or moving around. "Yeah, I guess I am," he admits, his tone laced with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "I mean, if you're up for it. Just thought it'd be nice to actually meet in person, you know?"

Your heart flutters at Matt's sincerity, the nervous edge in his voice endearing rather than off-putting. Despite the initial shock of his unexpected request, you find yourself warming to the idea of meeting him face-to-face. "Okay," you agree, "But I'm sharing my location with everyone in my immediate family, just in case you kidnap me."

Matt lets out a nervous huff of air. "And that's completely understandable!" he says, his voice cracking slightly. "I mean, who am I, really? I could totally be…" He trails off, and you hear a thud. "Fuck, you're kidding, aren't you?"

You chuckle softly at Matt's flustered response, finding his nervousness strangely endearing. "Relax, Matt," you reassure him, amusement evident in your voice. "I'm just messing with you. I trust you enough to meet up."

There's a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a relieved sigh from Matt. "Okay, good," he replies, his voice steadier now. "I promise I'm not a serial killer or anything. Just a guy who wants to take you ice skating." He pauses, seeming to debate something. "I can… pick you up if you want?"

You hesitate for a moment, weighing the offer in your mind. It's a bold move, letting him pick you up, especially since you haven't even seen his face yet. But something about Matt's voice, his nervous excitement mixed with genuine sincerity, makes you feel oddly reassured.

"Sure," you reply, trying to sound nonchalant despite the flutter of anticipation in your chest. "I'll send you my address."

After exchanging a few more logistical details and promising to text when you're ready, you end the call with Matt. Sitting back on your couch, you stare at your phone for a moment, the reality of what you've just agreed to sinking in. Meeting Matt in person feels like a leap into the unknown, a step away from the safe confines of text messages and phone calls.

With a mix of excitement and nerves, you head to your bedroom to find your ice skates. As you rummage through your closet, you can't help but smile at the thought of what the evening might bring. Ice skating under the stars with Matt—whether it turns out to be magical or not, it's definitely going to be memorable.

Finding your skates buried under a pile of old clothes, you pull them out and place them by the door. You quickly freshen up, change into something warmer, and glance at yourself in the mirror, wondering what Matt will think when he finally sees you in person. Your reflection shows a mix of anticipation and nervousness, your cheeks slightly flushed with the excitement of the evening ahead.

After a deep breath to steady your nerves, you grab your coat and keys and send a quick text to Matt that you're ready. By the time you hear a knock on your door later that evening, you're both nervous and eager. Opening the door, you're greeted by a man. A man with broad shoulders, frizzy brown curls, and dark blue eyes. A man that you've definitely met before.

You look up at him, your eyes wide. “Chucky?” you drawl out, your tone unsure.

Chucky/Matt (?) stands there in the doorway, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The realization slowly dawns on you – Matt is Chucky, the charming cowboy from the bar, the man who whisked you onto the dance floor and left you literally aching for his touch.

Matt shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, his sheepish grin faltering slightly. "Hey," he finally says, his voice a mixture of nerves and apology. "Surprise?"

You blink, trying to process the revelation. "You're Matt?" you ask, the realization sinking in. "You're Chucky?"

Matt nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, look, I probably should’ve been upfront,” he starts, leaning against your doorframe, “But when I saw you at the bar, I couldn’t help keeping the whole mystery thing going.”

You nod slowly, your mind racing with a mix of emotions. Part of you feels a bit betrayed by the secrecy, but another part can't deny the attraction and connection you've felt with Matt, both as Chucky and as himself. "I guess I understand," you say finally, your voice softening. "But why the cowboy persona?"

Matt chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know, I guess I thought it added to the charm," he admits, looking somewhat sheepish. "Plus, it was fun to see where it would lead. Clearly, it led to this." He glances away for a moment, out towards the hallway before meeting your gaze again.

You furrow your brow as you stare at the man before you. Chucky was still a weird name to you, and Matt looked so much more casual than Chucky, even though they’re the same person—dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants with a warm winter coat on top. His curls stick out of the beanie he's wearing which reads ‘Calgary Flames Hockey Club’.

Matt gives you a nervous smile, clearly awaiting your reaction as you stare at the Calgary Flames logo on his beanie, then back at his face. It's surreal to see the man who swept you off your feet as Chucky now standing before you in casual attire, looking more like a regular guy than the charming cowboy from the bar. The pieces of the puzzle are falling into place, but there's still a lingering sense of disbelief.

"You're Matthew Tkachuk," you say slowly, more as a statement of realization than a question.

Matt raises his eyebrows, then nods. “Is that a bad thing?” he questions.

It isn’t, but you're in complete shock. "You're Matthew Tkachuk," you repeat, this time with a hint of disbelief and curiosity. "The hockey player?"

Matt nods again, his expression holding a hint of skepticism. “Yes? And, yeah, the reason why I left that night is because my agent needed to talk contract stuff with me.”

You take a step back, your mind racing. Matthew Tkachuk, the star winger for the Calgary Flames, stands before you, in the flesh, looking every bit like a regular guy out of his hockey gear. The realization sends a flurry of thoughts through your head—how could this be happening?

“There’s no way… I didn’t recognize you,” you murmur, looking up at him wide-eyed, “Didn’t I literally rave about the Oilers to you too?” You continue ranting, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Holy shit, how much did I embarrass myself in front of a professional athlete?”

Matt cocks his head, “Embarrass yourself? Trust me, you’re doing just fine,” he starts, studying your face intently, “Can you promise me something, though?”

Matt's gentle reassurance and the warmth in his eyes help ease some of your embarrassment, though the shock of discovering his true identity still lingers. You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

"What is it?" you ask cautiously, curious about what Matt could possibly want from you now.

He smiles softly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Treat me like a normal guy? Let’s just have fun tonight. I’m not Matthew Tkachuk, hockey player, or Chucky, sexy cowboy, I’m just… Matt.”

You nod slowly, still processing the surreal turn of events. "Okay, Matt," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Let's just have fun tonight."

Matt's smile widens, his relief palpable. "Great," he says warmly, stepping closer to you. "Ice skating under the stars, just two regular people enjoying each other's company." ---

The outdoor rink is serene when you arrive, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the overhead lights. The ice shimmers under the illumination, casting a magical reflection. As you lace up your skates, Matt's touch is gentle and reassuring as he helps adjust them. The crisp night air fills your lungs with each breath, carrying the scent of pine and fresh snow.

Once on the ice, Matt moves with effortless grace, gliding backward with a practiced ease that makes it look like he's dancing on the frozen surface. His beckoning smile is both inviting and encouraging, urging you to join him.

You laugh nervously, feeling the unfamiliar wobble beneath your feet as you find your balance. "I haven't done this in years," you admit, a mix of excitement and apprehension making your voice tremble slightly. Matt's grin widens as he skates closer, his eyes sparkling with a playful light. "Don't worry, I've got you," he assures you, holding out a steady hand. "Just take it slow and enjoy the glide."

You tentatively take Matt's hand, the warmth of his palm a comforting contrast to the chill in the air. His guidance is steady, and soon, you begin to relax into the rhythm of skating. The cold air brushes against your cheeks, crisp and invigorating, carrying the faint scent of winter and the promise of a memorable night.

Under the canopy of stars, the night feels almost enchanted. The soft swish of skates on ice echoes around you, blending harmoniously with the quiet whispers of the winter breeze. Matt leads you in gentle circles, his movements smooth and fluid, occasionally pulling you closer for a playful spin or to steady you whenever you stumble.

As you skate, you find yourself holding both of his hands, his touch both firm and gentle as he guides you backward. His gaze never leaves yours, creating an unspoken connection that makes you feel both vulnerable and safe. Matt pulls you gently into a spin, his hand firm and steady at your waist. For a moment, the world around you blurs, leaving only the sensation of movement and the comforting warmth of Matt's touch. The night air feels crisp against your cheeks, heightening your senses and adding to the enchantment of the moment.

"See? You've got the hang of it," Matt says with a grin, bringing you to a stop in the center of the rink. "You're a natural."

You laugh, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Thanks to your expert coaching," you reply, teasing him lightly. "I never expected my evening to turn out like this. I mean, I was ready to drink half a bottle of wine on my own."

Matt chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Neither did I," he admits, his tone earnest. "But I'm glad it did. It's nice to just... be myself for a change."

You nod in understanding, appreciating the vulnerability he shows in sharing that sentiment. "I can imagine," you say softly, leaning into him. "So, what's it like being a professional hockey player?"

Matt shrugs, his expression thoughtful. "It's a lot of pressure sometimes," he confesses. "But I love what I do. Hockey's been my passion since I was a kid."

“I get it,” you reply, your hands at the nape of his neck toying with the few stray curls, “Just keep being yourself, okay?”

Matt nods, and for a moment, all you can hear is his uneven breathing, the cool air making it visible. He swallows hard, not offering anything else as he just… looks at you. No words needed, just that look in his eyes, and you were set, although, you still probed him. “What is it?” you say, softly.

"I've been thinking about kissing you," Matt admits, his eyes still very much locked on yours, although they flicker to your mouth for a second. "I want to see if your lips are as soft as they look in your pictures."

Your heart skips a beat at Matt's confession, his words sending a rush of warmth through you. His gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. The quiet hum of the night around you seems to fade into the background, leaving only the anticipation of what could happen next.

"You do?" you reply softly, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of kissing him. Despite the unexpected turn of events and Matt's celebrity status, there is an undeniable chemistry between you, a connection that has been building throughout the evening.

Matt nods slowly, his expression earnest yet tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "If you're okay with it, of course."

A smile plays at your lips as you lean closer to him, closing the gap between you. "I think I'd like that," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without another word, Matt gently cups your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly tender. His lips meet yours in a soft, hesitant kiss, testing the waters. The sensation of his lips against yours sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a spark of desire that seems to pulse between you.

The kiss deepens as you respond eagerly, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. Matt pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace as the world around you fades into the background.

Only when you feel a cool, wetness on your nose do you pull away, keeping Matt close and looking up to see that it had started snowing. The snowflakes float gently down around you, casting a magical aura over the quiet rink. Matt's arms remain around you, his gaze soft as he brushes a snowflake from your nose with a gentle smile.

"It's snowing," you murmur, feeling the cool touch of the flakes against your cheeks. The winter scene adds to the enchantment of the moment, making it feel like something out of a romantic movie.

Matt chuckles softly, his breath forming a small cloud in the chilly air. "Perfect timing," he replies, his voice low and warm. "It's like nature's way of adding a touch of magic to tonight."

You can't help but smile back at him, feeling a rush of warmth despite the cold around you. The kiss has deepened your connection, and now, standing in Matt's arms with snow falling around you, it feels like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

As the snow continues to fall gently around you, Matt holds you close, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. The quiet intimacy of the moment is punctuated only by the soft rustling of snowflakes and the distant hum of the city beyond the rink. Time seems to stand still as you look up at him, his eyes reflecting the warmth and affection he feels.

"You know," Matt says softly, brushing a stray snowflake from your cheek, "I didn't expect tonight to turn out like this, but I'm really glad it did."

You smile up at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for the unexpected connection you have found. "Me too," you reply honestly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "It's been... surprisingly wonderful."

Matt nods, his gaze lingering on your face. "I'm glad I got the chance to meet you," he admits, his voice tinged with sincerity. "Even if it started off a bit... unconventional."

You chuckle softly, remembering your initial encounter with "Chucky" at the bar, and the whole number neighbour gag. "Unconventional is one way to put it," you agree, your tone light. "But it definitely made for an interesting story."

Matt grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes. "A story I hope we can continue," he says, his fingers tracing patterns on your lower back. "Maybe without the mystery personas next time."

You lean into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his hands against your skin. "I'd like that," you reply softly, feeling a sense of comfort and ease in his presence. "No more secrets, just... us."

"Us," Matt repeats, his voice almost a whisper as he leans in closer. "I like the sound of that."

The snowfall around you intensifies slightly, creating a picturesque backdrop for the moment. You find yourself lost in Matt's eyes, the world around you fading away as he gently brushes his lips against yours once more. This time, the kiss is filled with a quiet tenderness, a silent promise of things yet to come.

When you finally pull away, a contented smile plays on your lips. Matt rests his forehead against yours, his arms still around you as if he never wants to let go.

“Us and the snow falling.” ***

EPILOGUE

You never ended up leaving Calgary. After your relationship grew with Matthew as the flowers grew in the spring, you found your love in the city again, not just with him, but with yourself, too.

Eventually, Matthew got traded, to Florida of all places, and the first thing he did was ask you to come with him. At first, you were unsure - you didn’t want to leave your hometown. So, you guys tried long distance for a bit, just until you found your footing in creating your own small business, and eventually moved there with him. Miami brought a new chapter in your life, one that you wanted in the first place, but this time around, you were secure in yourself and your relationship.

And that’s how you found yourself right by the glass at Amerant Bank Arena. It was game seven of the Stanley Cup Final where your, now husband, Matthew, would play against your childhood team for the biggest honour in his sport. Gently, you held up your baby girl, adorning sound-isolating headphones, and of course, a tiny Tkachuk jersey against the glass as Matthew skated over during warmups. He leaned in close to the glass, pressing a gloved hand against it as he mouthed, "I love you" to both of you. Your daughter giggled, her eyes wide with excitement as she watched her dad, scruffy playoff beard and all, skate effortlessly on the ice. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a swell of pride and love for the man who had become not just your husband but your partner in every sense of the word.

The game was intense, and, admittedly, you wouldn’t really mind if the Oilers had won, but it was all eyes on Matthew and the Panthers as they gave it their all.

Pandemonium erupted in the arena as the final buzzer sounded, and the Panthers had won. Players flooded onto the ice, celebrating their hard-earned victory. Amidst the sea of cheers and applause afterward, the families were let onto the ice, and Matthew made his way to where you stood, his eyes shining with happiness and disbelief.

He embraced you tightly, lifting your daughter into his arms as he kissed both of you, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude. "We did it," he whispered.

You smiled up at him, tears of joy in your eyes. "You did it," you corrected gently, knowing how much this moment meant to him and to your family. Because this was it. He was it.

#matthew tkachuk #calgary flames #florida panthers #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk fic #nhl x reader #mt19

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thosefuzzywordfeelings · 5 months

Note

slutty saturday anon again; what about making gator/s3 steve/baron whimper for the first time?

loved loved loved what you wrote for the tongue kiss 💗💗💗

omg hi hi nonnie! i absolutely adore these, and thank you! that last one is getting a lotta love & i’m grateful 🤭

CW; smut (18+), mentions of oral (m receiving), mentions of toys 😮‍💨✨

Gator:

Roy is fast, FAST asleep in their house and a good job too, otherwise he’d be awoken to the metal clanking of you and Gator stumbling into the dimly lit stables. A champagne coloured horse lay curled up in the corner of the sand, asleep too and oblivious to the giggles coming from the pair of you. With his hands cupping your face, Gator’s lips had barely left yours since he’d picked you up at 1am, texting you to say he ‘needed you’ and ‘missed your pretty mouth’. So here you were, tongues rolling over each others and teeth clacking together messily as you smiled against one another. Gator pulled away for less than 5 seconds to try and find somewhere to lay you down, knowing he couldn’t take you into his house. But you’d had an idea since he texted you. He’d missed your pretty mouth? He can get it then. You pulled away, gripping the fabric of his black undershirt as you balled it up in your fists.

“What’re you doing darlin’?” Gator chuckled, a crooked smirk on his face.

“Shut up for a minute.” You’d respond, one hand drifting to his belt before using the other to push him up against the bars of the stable gates. His back hit the metal with a soft clank as a small whimper left his mouth.

“What was that, Mr Tillman?” You’d say with a more cunning smirk than his, reaching to unzip his pants as you sank to your knees in front of him.

With a cough to clear his throat, he’d try and regain composure.

“Nothin’, just - keep -“ And there it was again, the soft whimper from his lips as you wrapped yours around the head of his cock softly. You’d smile before taking him in as far as you could, wanting to keep hearing that pretty whine more often.

S3! Steve:

Okay so if you look at the photo above and tell me this man doesn’t whimper, you’re lying, thanks. Anyway, the scenario (slightly familiar because i’ve decided i have a thing for fucking steve at work and just public anything in general oops-) coming to mind is this:

he’s on shift at scoops. sat gnawing on a banana in the back room as he tilts the chair on its back legs and has to put an arm out to catch himself. luckily you’ve come to see him and your torso catches the back of the chair instead, your hands coming out to grip the wood.

“Watch out, you big idiot.” You’d giggle as he sat up straight, almost choking on a lump of banana as he smiled up at you.

“Hi - god, hi-“ Steve would stutter excitedly, patting his lap gently as he held his arms out. You’d settle sideways in his lap, kissing him immediately with urgency, it had been a whole 22 hours since you’d seen each other and that was foul to the both of you.

When you pull away, you’d take a minute to study his pretty face; lips candy pink and a little wet from the kisses. His eyes would be wide as they looked back up at you, chocolate brown twinkling with adoration and a hint of the usual lust he felt constantly for you.

“Look so pretty - Stevie -“ I whispered softly, stroking a curl of hair away from his face. His breath hitched slightly as he shuffled underneath my body, his hands clasping together around my waist.

“Y-yeah? Not as pretty as you.” He stuttered again, licking his lips and letting his eyes flutter down to your chest that really wasn’t too far from his eye-line.

“We can debate all day long, but this angle? The way you’re looking up at me with these little-“ You’d run your thumbs over his cheeks softly, “puppy eyes. You look like you’d do anything I told you to right now.” You’d tease with a slight giggle, not taking it too seriously until the most heavenly whimper left his lips. He wouldn’t even be embarrassed about it, too busy staring up at you to care about what his own body was doing in response.

“I - I absolutely - I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Anything.” Steve would say breathily, his voice slightly shaking as you ‘adjusted’ yourself in his lap. Biting his lip so he didn’t let out another whine, your thumb would pull his bottom lip out from the traps of his teeth and he’d chuckle nervously.

“You’ll do anything for me right?” He’d nod.

“So let those pretty noises out for me, okay?”

(barking at sub!steve bye)

Baron:

okay so our sweet baby boy (i always picture sweet baron, instead of cunning clever baron but for sure wanna write about him too one day 😮‍💨).

Baron’s the cute postal guy you see around your town right? You’d spoken to him a few times, being his age and all. Riding his bike with this hazy daydream smile on his face like nothing in the world mattered. He was like a little glittering dandelion, long tendrils flying in the wind as he sped down your lane, occasionally stopping at your house with clothes deliveries or…more adult parcels. Not that he’d have any idea of what’s inside, but you always felt a little shy when he’d pass you a heavier box with his innocent smile.

 Like this time. You’d ordered yourself some new toys and lingerie with a discount code your friend had sent over, but it was a new company. One that until the very last moment as the cute boy stood in front of you with the most beetroot red cheeks you’d ever seen, did you understand they had NO qualms about putting the item list on the top of the box.

“Oh, uh hi Baron.” You’d say gently as you opened the door to the sweet boy again. His hands seemed a little shakier than usual as he used both arms to pass the heavy box over, his eyes skimming the top and widening slightly.

“Uh, hi…hi, yeah. This here - this here says toys? Toys? Like as in - I ain’t never seen- you? - anyway they’re yours.” Baron mumbled shyly. You’d nod softly, taking the box and putting it down, thanking him kindly as he began to turn away.

“Hey, Baron?” You’d ask after him. He’d turn slowly, a thumb tucking his hair behind his ear as the other tucked in the pink pocket of his shorts. He’d smile in response as you came down your porch steps.

“You know where I live…incase you wanna find out more about what I ordered…” You’d whisper confidently, stroking the right side of his hair and tucking it away too.

A small mewl left his lips as he looked down across your body quickly. “Sorry, I uh - I need to get back to work, your offer is um, I would love -“ You’d silence him with a finger against his lips, getting real close as he stumbled a little.

“I see the way you stop outside the Donaldson house over there, Baron,” You’d point to over his shoulder at the home opposite yours. He’d stand by their mailbox and look over at your window, hoping to see you past the open blinds. “You stare. Looking for me?” You’d whisper, resting your hand on his chest as it rose and fell quicker by the second with each lust-filled frantic breath.

“You’re so damn pretty.” He’d whimper out shakily. He wanted to kiss you, watch you, taste you. And admire from afar just how it was you’d use those toys you ordered.

(sweating profusely)

#gator tillman smut #gator tillman x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #s3! steve harrington #baron marmalade #baron smut #baron x you #smut #joe keery #stranger things #fargo #marmalade #baron #asks

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ghostoffuturespast · 9 months

Text

Shimmer & Shine

Dear @shimmer-like-agirl,

I don't know if you remember last May. I sent you an ask for one of those word prompt games. Which for the life of me, I can't find the actual list for. (Thank you, tumblr search function. You barely work when I need you to.)

Now, I don't begrudge you for not doing the one I asked, but you need to know that you not doing the one I asked has literally been sitting with me for the past eight months. This whole time. It's been on my mind. Your own namesake! Took me a while, but I just couldn't let that go.

Anyway, I wrote this little number for you, friend. Hope you don't mind I took ya girl for a little spin without asking. 🧡👻

Read below or on AO3.

Chin cupped in one palm and free fingers entwined around the stem of her wine glass, Darisha sighed. Despite the abysmal amount of wintry rain pouring down outside, the club was boisterously packed. And, even though the weather wasn’t doing her curls any favors, she should have been thrilled at the full house for this evening’s show. However, Darisha’s mood was scraping the bottom of the barrel and even the effervescent bubbly of her sparkling white wine wasn’t enough to lift her spirits.

Perhaps she was pouting. Maybe a little too much. But it was hard not to when the one person you wanted to be there wasn’t. Sighing again, she picked at the shimmer of purple sequins lining the hem of her cocktail dress before swirling her glass, tipping it back, and finishing off the last of her drink.

Her time probably would’ve been better spent warming up in her dressing room and not worrying about it. After all, it wasn’t his fault that something important had come up. Wasn’t his fault that he’d been slammed with cases all week. And wasn’t his fault that she had insisted it was fine before he’d given her a quick kiss and swept out the door with those long strides of his.

But saying and knowing were two different things. And it was just one of those nights. When doubt insisted on cuddling up next to you.

Amethyst eyes scanned the crowd, but only focused on the empty seat next to her.

A murmur of excitement rippled through the club as the house lights dimmed and the band filed out. The show wasn’t about to stop for her disappointment. Darisha took that as her cue to vacate her seat at the bar and drag her ass to the stage, the clack of her heels solitary as she walked across the floor.

The musicians made a business of settling themselves in, making last minute adjustments to mics and instruments; the quiet rattle of cymbals, the low pluck of strings, the test of keys. Darisha fiddled with the cable running down her microphone stand, even though it didn’t need it. Swiped the imaginary dust off the satin of her skirt, even though there wasn't a speck on it. Blinking the brilliance of the stage lights off her lashes, she made introductions to the backlit faces of the crowd and took a deep breath.

Let the sultry balm of song take over.

The music soothed her heart, took the edge off the loneliness.

But it was a rest, a moment between numbers, that lifted her heart. Truly made it soar.

Darisha caught a glimpse of him when the stage lights transitioned. When the blinding glare of the lights softened to reveal what was behind the partition of that invisible curtain. He’d squeezed himself in at the back corner of the bar, the collar and shoulders of his coat drenched from the rain. The bartender handed him a beer. They exchanged a few jovial words before he took a sip and looked up, caught her eye and made her heart skip a beat.

River beamed at her. A brilliant smile.

One that helped her shine.

Needless to say, after the show, her heels were a lot more excited to get off the stage than they had been to get on.

Darisha practically threw herself at River, not caring about the damp still on his coat. The hug was worth it. “Thought you weren’t gonna make it?”

He squeezed her back. “Managed to wrap up early.” And pulled her into the sweetest of kisses before parting to whisper in her ear. “Wouldn’t miss you for the world, Darisha. Not if I can help it. Love you, babe.”

“I love you too.” She grinned up at him and made a futile attempt to fix the wet fluff of his collar. “Even if you're a little too fashionably late sometimes.”

“Well, I can see about making it up to you. Made sure there was only one name on my calendar for the rest of the evening… Might’ve even bought an extra bottle of wine.” River winked at her. “I’m all yours.”

“Sounds like a deal. Let me grab my coat and let’s get out of here.”

They walked to the dressing rooms, hand in hand.

The door to the alley creaked open and shut just the same. The two of them watched as the rain poured down, sheets cascading off the awning overhead while slips of neon reflected off the puddles that had gathered in the asphalt. Sparkling drops of iridescence amongst the grime and grit.

Darisha should’ve worn a warmer coat. Perhaps a longer dress. Icy air pricked at her knees and made her shiver. But then there was an arm around her, River tucking her into his side to share some of his warmth. She leaned into him, sighing content as their breaths curled with one another in the cold.

Worth it.

“I can bring the truck around.” River offered.

She considered for a moment. “While I appreciate the thought, I’ve spent enough of the evening alone without you. We’ll make a break for it.”

“In your nice heels?”

“Mhmm.”

“How about a piggy back ride then?”

“Not very dignified in this dress.” She reached down to clasp his hand, tugging him forward and smiling over her shoulder. “Trust me, you’re worth way more than these shoes. Keep up, will you?”

“You don’t even know where the trucks parked at.”

She’d do it. Maybe with some reluctance. But she’d trade her entire wardrobe just to hear the music of his voice. She’d certainly, at least, brave the weather.

Darisha got a head start. River laughed.

And they both dashed out onto the streets together, hand in hand through the shimmer of winter rain.

#just a pinch of angst #because it makes the fluff better #cyberpunk 2077 #writing #fan fiction #gift fic #shimmer-like-a-girl #v x river ward #i know she's not a v... but shhh #part time v #oc: darisha voss #river ward #have a fine shippy saturday #shippy saturday

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chasseurdeloup · 5 months

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Toss a Coin to Your Hunter

TIMING: Early March LOCATION: Another Castle PARTIES: @eliaskahtri and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Elias runs into Kaden while he's on the job at the arcade and they both find themselves in unexpected territory. CONTENT WARNINGS: Nerdery, that's it.

It was a Friday night, and Elias was trying to make an effort to go out and do things instead of letting himself rot alone inside. He needed to branch out more if he wanted to make more friends. Another Castle was the arcade below his apartment in the downtown area, so he decided to stop by. He had made sure to wait until past seven so that it was a bit of an older crowd when he arrived. The last thing he needed was to be surrounded by a bunch of college kids while he was in his mid-thirties.

A Mariokart tournament was going on, and Elias wanted to see what the scene was like. He wasn’t the best at the game, but some friendly competition with people who just wanted to have fun was always an option for getting out and meeting new people. He spotted a familiar face he hadn’t seen in a few months.

“Kaden?” Elias called out, tilting his head to one side with a curious expression. “Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this. You a fan of arcade games?” The Pacman game to his right beeped, and he looked over, only to see it back on the menu screen. He shrugged, then turned his attention back to the man.

There was one reason and one reason only that would lead Kaden into a place like this: a monster. Or, well, a stray animal. Maybe a ghost. Or a shifter or something, perhaps a curse or– Alright, there were a few reasons why Kaden would walk into an arcade full of loud sounds and bright lights. The point was that none of those reasons were to play games. They didn’t appeal to him much. For one, he never got the chance to play them as a kid so he felt stupid and terrible at every single game he ever attempted. Even though he wasn’t as intense as his sister, he still hated losing. Anytime he tried to play, he was bad, felt bad, and then found himself frustrated. So, good for the people who liked that kind of thing, Kaden just wasn’t one of them.

Instead, he was here due to a call to animal control that Gary promptly wrote off. There were some weird “hamster-looking things with horns chewing through parts of the store,” apparently. Gary informed them that animal control was not pest control, and he wasn’t wrong. Animal control didn’t deal with rodent infestations, even if those rodents were supernatural in nature: snicker-snackers. Which was why Kaden wasn’t there as animal control. Not officially, at least. He told the kid working at the front he was there as animal control, that he was there to help. Best part about working off the job was he wouldn’t have to write up any fucking paperwork about this.

Kaden crouched down to get a better look at the floor, the machines, the carpet, and anything he could get his eyes on, hunting for any signs of the creatures. A brick or two were wedged under the legs of one pinball machine to keep it balanced, tiny teeth marks etched into the edge of the wood. They were lucky it wasn’t worse. He was about to crawl towards the next machine, see if he could figure out where they might have gone, when he heard his name.

The ranger jumped and went to stand. Only, he forgot he was underneath a pinball machine. His head thunked against the bottom of the table and he could here clicking and clacking and bells and whistles going off right above him. “Putain!”

Kaden rubbed the back of his head as he slowly backed his way out from under the arcade game to get a better look at who he was talking to. Merde, that was going to be a bump. “Elias?” he said, raising a brow when he came face to face with the other man. “What are you doing here?”

A pause. That was a stupid question. “Nevermind. I can guess.” This was very much his sort of scene. “Anyway, just here for a job. Animal control job. All that.”

Surprised by his name being called, Elias whirled his head around to see Kaden rubbing the back of his head with a curious gaze. “Oh, hey!” He replied with a smile. “I live above the place,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulder. “Thought I’d do my best to try and not rot away in my apartment like I want to.” He spoke, realizing maybe he was being a bit too honest with someone that was virtually a stranger. “On a job?” He asked. He knew very little of Kaden, but he knew enough to know that he wasn’t the type to play video games.

Elias looked over to one of the TV setups, it was on the menu screen for one of the Witcher games. Elias smiled at the idea of the game. It was a compelling story, he’d read the books too. Something about it was drawing him in, though. Like he’d forgotten all about his conversation with Kaden, Elias began to slowly walk toward the machine like it had a siren song calling out to him, his eyes faraway as he slinked toward the machine. It was so entrancing, and in that moment, he felt like he was there. The sudden need to break out into poetry came over him, to flirt with everything that moved… what was happening? He blinked, trying to draw himself away.

“I think there’s something weird about this game,” he said aloud, not sure if Kaden was still listening or if he’d gone back to what he was doing. “I can’t look away.” He then said, starting to feel as if something magical was afoot. “Hey, Kaden, you see this?” Elias felt his knees start to buckle, and suddenly, the man was passed out on the floor, but really, he was somewhere else entirely.

Elias Kahtri was no longer a boring, human man. No, he was… a bard! Master Dandelion! Elias blinked and looked around, realizing he was in the center of the town of the game. Oh shit, he thought with wide eyes, looking down at his outfit to realize that he was the sidekick to Geralt. “I’m in the fucking game!” He shouted, drawing the stares of various NPCs.

Kaden’s face scrunched with concern. Rot away in his apartment? Didn’t sound great. Not that it mattered to the ranger one way or another what Elias did or didn’t do with his free time. Something about the statement, though, it was concerning. “Yeah, on a job. You know, animal control.”

Before Kaden had finished his sentence, the man was drifting away towards one of the glowing screens. “Hey, I didn’t think I was that boring,” he said as he craned his neck to get a look at what the hell was going on over there. What could possibly be so distracting about that screen to lose focus that fast?

His brows narrowed, watching the pixels on the screen. Looked like a standard video game to him, but Elias was entranced, drawing ever closer. “I don’t,” he told the man, “and I think you should step away from the–”

Elias was sucked up into the game itself before Kaden could say putain.

Merde. Kaden ran over to the screen and felt gravity falling away and the world shifting around him. In the blink of an eye, he was face down in the mud and wearing something strangely heavy. A lot heavier than his usual gear.

He grumbled as he pushed himself up off the ground, wiping the mud on his pants. Which were leather. And just above the waistband was chainmail. Not to mention the gloves, also leather and something that looked like armor. “Putain?” he said, giving himself another one over before looking around.

They were definitely not inside the arcade anymore but somewhere outside. Somewhere he’d never seen. It looked almost medieval. And Elias was wearing some silly outfit with an even sillier hat and had a lute strapped to his back. “We’re what?!” he said to the other man. No, that couldn’t be. They were in a game? “What the hell kind of game is this? Don’t fucking tell me I have to save a princess from a castle or some shit.” He muttered more curse words under his breath. “Any clue how the fuck we get out of here?”

Swallowing, Elias looked over to Kaden to see that he was dressed in heavy leather armor and mud covered his face. “You’re a witcher.” Elias spoke with a grin, suddenly glad that his years of video games were finally paying off in the grand scheme of things. “They kill monsters, but only if they get paid. Which means there are monsters in this world too, except these ones are programmed to attack on sight.” Elias pulled a face at the idea, then shook his head.

“Well if I know what’s going on correctly, I’m just your sidekick. I write prose and sing about your adventures and triumphs.” Elias pulled the lute off his back and strummed the strings, and it was obvious he had no idea how to play it. It was out of tune and the cacophony of strings made the man wince at his own attempt. “Okay, maybe I won’t sing. That’s… probably for the benefit of all.” He strapped the lute back onto his back, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I know this game. It’s the third Witcher game. It’s a roleplaying game where your decisions shape the game and you have a grand adventure and kill monsters and the big bad guys are this army that when it shows up, everything turns frozen. Elias waved his hands around animatedly as he spoke, beginning to walk through the old-fashioned village. “If I’m right, then this is the start of the game.”

Elias suddenly snapped a finger, then pointed to Kaden. “Also everyone hates you because you’re a witcher. They call your kind mutants. So… we have to watch out for normal people as well as monsters. Don’t say anything weird and we should be fine. As for getting out, I don’t know. Maybe we have to complete the starting area? Which is by defeating a gryphon…” Elias trailed off, suddenly worried of how they were going to pull that off. “Or… maybe we can find something easier, like a fucking off button.”

Elias was saying a lot of damn words and they might have made sense to him, but they didn’t make any of it make any more sense to Kaden. The one thing he did catch was “kill monsters.” Putain de merde, even in another fucking reality he was hunting goddamn monsters. With a sword, apparently. There was a crossbow on him, too, but it sure as hell wasn’t as powerful as the compound one he had at home. Looked a little useless, if he was being honest. Sword it was, he supposed. While the other man was chattering on, Kaden was trying to figure out what other shit he was carrying on him. He wasn’t sure how the fuck all of it was in one little bag but he figured he should be grateful that the video game logic persisted in this case. There were bottles of strange substances, more weapons, books, some pieces of metal, gems, powder, full hides and… a broken oar? What the fuck?

His gaze shot back up to meet Elias at the word “gryphon.” Kaden blinked back at the man. He couldn’t be serious. And yet, nothing about his countenance suggested that was the case. “A fucking gryphon?” he repeated. “And wait, did you say mutants? I’m a goddamn mutant now?” Then again, he considered what he was normally: a guy with enhanced strength, hearing, tougher than normal skin, and the ability to sense werewolves. Alright, maybe not much had changed. Kaden sighed and wiped a gloved hand down his face. “Fine. Lead the way. I guess.”

As they started to walk, he realized how goddamn slow he felt. And he couldn’t pick up the pace, not without running. Which sounded exhausting. He glanced around and saw there were horses. “Hey, do I get one of those?” he asked Elias, pointing to one of the horses hitched to a post.

Elias watched as Kaden slowly came to terms with the reality they found themselves in. “Uh, yeah. You’re a mutant. And you’re judged for it. Instead of being praised for hunting monsters, you’re a mild inconvenience but also useful when needed.” He shrugged his shoulders then pulled the lute off of his back and began to strum it. Having no musical talent, it sounded cacophonous and wrong. “I…” He strummed a few more times, then gave up and put the lute away again. “Okay, maybe not.” He spoke, frowning. “Man, if I’m going to be stuck as a bard, at least give me magical musical talent.” He complained, kicking at the dirt under his foot.

“Yeah, a gryphon! We’ll… totally get our asses kicked. I’m not a fighter.” He scratched at the back of his neck, the reality of their situation finally kicking in. As they walked along the path, Elias stopped in his tracks as Kaden pointed to a bay horse. “Actually…” He took a good look at the horse, then grinned. “That’s actually your horse!” He told Kaden with a bright smile. “Name’s Roach, isn’t she a beauty? Call her, she’ll probably come to you if the theory that you’re Geralt is to be believed…” He trailed off, lost in thought as he tried to remember the details of a game he hadn’t played in quite a long time.

Elias took the other horse that was next to Roach, deciding that the person didn’t need it. It was a video game after all, he could do what he wanted, right? Only problem was, he had never ridden a horse in his entire life. He stared up at it, then frowned. “I… should probably walk.” He decided, nervous.

“Of fucking course they to,” Kaden grumbled. The reality of what that actually meant hit him a little slower. “Hold on, that means people know about the supernatural?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d be lying if he said he’d never wondered what life would be like if the supernatural were less of a secret, if he didn’t have to hide what he was or how he grew up. He wondered if life would be better, or at least easier. Sounded like he was fucked either way if this world he landed in was anything to go by.

“Roach? The horse’s name is Roach? Putain de merde.” Who the fuck named their horse that? Nevermind, didn’t matter. “Uh, come here, Roach,” he called out to her. The mare looked at him questioningly (as much as a horse could), but trotted over all the same. He was thankful that his horseback riding skills have improved dramatically since he started dating Monty. It was easy to pull himself up into the saddle, even with the armor he was wearing. And Roach seemed agreeable enough.

He raised a brow as he watched Elias approach the other horse. It was clear he was not as familiar with horses and that, despite being in this fucking video game, they didn’t have skills beyond their normal arsenal. Right. That was concerning. If the gryphon was anything like he was imagining, he was pretty sure he didn’t have the skills to take it down by his damn self. Especially since he was going to take a wild guess that he wasn’t getting his hands on a shotgun anytime soon.

Kaden rolled his eyes at the man’s declaration that he’d walk. That was going to be too goddamn slow and left him even more vulnerable than he already was. “Come on,” he said as he reached down to grab Elias’s arm, pulling him up onto the back of the horse, seated just behind Kaden. “Probably a good idea to hold on.”

He nudged the horse ahead and they began trotting down the path. For some goddamn reason, there were villagers just constantly in his way. Kaden did his best to steer past them, but Roach didn’t seem to be as dexterous or responsive as most horses he was used to. “Hey, watch it!” one man yelled out as he dodged out of the way. Another woman yelped. “Don’t walk in the fucking roads!” Kaden shouted back but it didn’t seem to deter them from their predetermined loops. “Who the fuck makes people walk in front of a goddamn horse?” he grumbled to himself.

It was then he realized he wasn’t even sure if they were headed the right way. He sort of just picked a direction. Kaden considered pausing to ask one of the people wandering around but the dirty looks they shot him didn’t make him want to strike up any conversation. He was going to assume he was headed down the right path since, well, it was a path in a video game after all. How hard could it be to navigate?

Roach started to get nervous and skittish as they neared a small patch of water along the road. “Is she scared of water or something?” he asked Elias as if there would be a simple explanation from the video game… rules or whatever it was. It wasn’t like it was deep, there was no reason the horse couldn’t cross it. They wouldn’t even have to jump to get to the other side. Hell, he was pretty sure it might go up as high as his ankles. Kaden urged the horse forward anyway and Roach listened, but was still uneasy. Whatever, it was probably nothing, some way to teach a player how to gallop or some shit. Either way, he was sticking to trotting while he had an extra passenger on the horse with him.

If he had looked to either side of the path as they reached the middle, he might have noticed the bubbling at the surface of the water. He might have reconsidered his decision to not go faster than a trot. Instead, inhuman screams rang out and the water splashed around them as three ghoulish creatures popped out of the water, bringing with them the stench of foul water and decay. They were blue, scaley, and Kaden sure didn’t miss the jagged teeth and sharp claws. “Putain de merde! What the fuck are those?!” he shouted while Roach did her best to keep calm while she was clearly freaking out. Shit, they didn’t have time to learn what those were. Fuck this.

”Hold on!” he shouted to Elias as he kicked Roach into a gallop. So much for not faster than a trot.

_____

“Not only do these people know about them but it’s a normal occurrence. Just another day as far as they’re concerned.” Elias shrugged a shoulder, looking at all the townspeople. “God, can you imagine living in a world like this?” He spoke, glad to have indoor plumbing and no cockatrices. “Yeah, the horse’s name is Roach. Appreciate her! Love her! Treat her with the respect she deserves!” Elias retorted with a frown.

Before he could protest, Elias was on the back of a horse. God, this was wrong. He didn’t like it one bit. “Kaden, this is such a bad idea,” Elias spoke, his fear of the gentle beasts coming to the surface. Then, the horse started moving and Elias was quick to grab onto Kaden to keep himself from falling off.

“Hey, the NPCs aren’t supposed to be smart,” Elias mentioned with a roll of his eyes as Kaden complained after nearly trampling a few people. He watched in partial fascination and partial horror as the landscape went by. “We’ve got to stop getting into things whenever we run into each other,” he remarked with a smirk. Then, the horse started to get freaked out. “Oh, those are drowners!” Elias spoke, pointing to the blue-colored things coming straight for them.

Before he knew it, they were taking off down the path before the things could get their hands on them, and Elias felt his grip tighten for dear life. “Oh this is nuts!” Elias complained as the horse galloped along. “I mean, how are we going to get out of here? Are we stuck in the Witcher world forever? I can’t play the lute!” Elias felt himself spiraling at the concept of being stuck there. Not to mention Kaden didn’t really fit Geralt’s part either.

“Man, I mean I could have been anyone in this game, and I’m Dandelion.” He continued. “He’s woman-obsessed and a genius with words. I’m neither of those things.” Elias frowned and shook his head at the idea of being someone like Dandelion.

It was in the midst of Elias’s complaining when a terrifying screech came from above them. Elias looked up, and there it was. Swooping right for them was the gryphon from the beginning of the game. “Oh, we’re done for!” Elias shouted, pointing up at the creature. “Run, Roach! Run!” He demanded, pulling out Geralt’s, no… Kaden’s sword and pointing it up at the creature. “Back off!” He demanded, knowing it would do little to deter the beast.

Roach kept running, but started to make scared whinnies and as the large bird creature swooped closer. “Oh, we’re going to die here!” Elias shouted, squeezing his eyes shut. This was it, goodbye world! The gryphon’s talons were pointed straight for them, and they made contact when– he opened his eyes and he was on the ground of the arcade next to Kaden, who was still unconscious. The game had been stopped. Elias blinked up at the worker who was staring down at him with wide eyes.

Elias blinked a few times before forcing himself up onto his feet, disoriented. He was just holding Geralt’s sword and about to meet his end. Shit, was Kaden still in the game? Elias whirled back to look at Kaden, who was slowly coming to. “Oh thank god,” Elias muttered as he noticed the man blink a few times. “What happened?” He asked the worker, who just held their hands up. “I dunno man, you two just passed out.” The guy spoke, taking a step back. “It’s only my first day, I dunno.” Elias waved a hand, telling the kid that they’d be alright, and put his hand out to Kaden to help him up. “You alright?”

_____

A string of French curse words left Kaden’s mouth as they sprinted from the drowning monsters or whatever they were only to run into the aforementioned gryphon. At least that’s what he assumed was attached to big goddamn talons and horrendous shrieking. “Hey!” he shouted when he noticed Elias had taken one of the swords for himself. “Do you know what you’re doing with that?!” He grumbled some more and then reached for the other sword that was on his back. Lucky there were two, he supposed.

Kaden couldn’t say he had a plan of attack beyond just that: attack. He had faced bies and catoblepones, he could face a goddamn gryphon. He shouted back and thrust the sword up towards the beast’s talons as they swooped in towards them.

Before the blade even made contact, the world went black around him and everything faded away. He groaned as he came back to life on the other side of the screen, pain shooting through his side as he lifted himself up off the floor. Putain de merde, whatever position he’d landed in wrecked hell on his spine. “Passed out you say?” Kaden felt his head to see if there were any bumps that would explain the hallucination from that game or whatever. It had to be that, right? If the kid was saying that they passed out.

Only, Elias was there, too, and he looked just as startled. Fucking hell, had they really been sucked into that game? “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said with an added wince as he stood. “Back disagrees but I think it’ll get over it. Comparatively.” He looked over at the screen that they had been sucked into – black, empty, lifeless now that the console was turned off for the night. “That happened, right?” he said looking back at Elias. What the fuck kind of supernatural bullshit led to this, anyway? Maybe it was some fae bullshit or spellcasting gone awry. “Glad that’s over. I don’t think I’m going to become a gamer anytime soon.” Too much like real life.

#writing #wickedswriting #para #c: elias #eliaskahtri #toss a coin to your hunter

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nativeofsumeru · 2 years

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Zhongli x fem!reader

A/N: I wrote this EXTREMELY long ago so I’m not sure how it holds up to present day. I just thought I’d dump it here anyway in case someone likes it. I did shave off the original ending as it was very dramatic and dark (I already pulled that off in my first Xiao fic lol). So if the ending seems off or rushed that’s why.

(not proofread)

(AU-u r a secretary, Zhongli isa ceo/boss)

"Mr. Zhongli? The new orders have come in."

"Ah, Ms (YN). Please place the papers on my desk and I will be sure to finish them on time.

"Of course Mr. Zhongli. And, um, I have already scheduled everything on your calendar for the next month and a half." He nodded and smiled at her. "Thank you my love. I knew I could count on you." She blushed at his compliments. They heard faint heels clacking and a knock on the door.

"Come in." Mr. Zhongli said loudly.

"Sir, your wife is here to see you." Ganyu, his front desk lady, told him. He nodded and sighed. (YN) looked disappointed. Zhongli noticed.

"No worries my love," She looked at him. "Once her son is 18 you will have me all to yourself." (YN) gave a sad smile and proceeded to walk out of her boss' office. She saw Mrs. Ningguang walk by, swiftly, and poised with grace. Mrs. Ningguang was always so beautiful. Her strides were always elegant and well calculated, and her beauty was unmatched even without makeup. The Mrs barely acknowledged her presence and (YN) had to admit she was jealous, but she kept her head low. Once Nigguang passed, (YN) turned around and saw her assertively enter her husband's office. The office was practically soundproof...(YN) would know. But damn did the two yell loudly at each other. Muffled yells could be heard from outside. It was obvious the couple barely got along when it came to most important issues, however outside of closed doors they always seemed content with each other. (YN) walked towards the front where Ganyu was sitting typing away at her computer. Sitting in a chair in the corner on his phone was Zhongli and Ningguang's 17 year old son. (YN) tried to be cordial and say hello.

"Hey Xiao." He didn't look up from the screen and whatever he was scrolling through.

"Hi." He said coldly. (YN) decided not to try and entertain him any further. The last thing she needed was to hurt the kid more than he probably already was. She couldn't imagine living in such a household. A big mansion and everything you could ever want, except your parents have a better than decent relationship with each other. In three months though, Zhongli would finally belong to her at least. They would finally get married and have their own life.

"Mr. Zhongli, I have those papers you wanted!" (YN) started until the door closed. "Can we talk please?" Zhongli stopped what he was writing and looked up at her.

"Of course my jade? What would you like to discuss?" (YN) kept herself together.

"Your son is 19." Zhongli looked at her as if she just discovered the sky was blue.

"Observative." (YN) she was getting upset.

"You said when he turned 18. He's about to finish his first year of university!" Zhongli was displeased with her tone. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You really are easily misled." She was caught off guard.

"W-What?!" Zhongli set his arms down on his desk and glared at her with his harsh golden eyes.

"Have you not noticed how often my wife comes around these parts for the past year? Have you not noticed how there are no longer shouts being exchanged in my office or an atmosphere of tension?" She only stumbled over her words. He silenced her. "You are observant enough to know my son's age without me telling you yet you're not observant enough to notice little details about me and my life." She stayed silent. "And you wanted to be my wife." He chuckled. She began to cry. There was silence. He simply stared at her before his next words.

"You're fired."

"WHAT?!"

"Leave my building now willingly or you will be escorted by security. I will not ask again." She ran out of the office with tears falling down her cheeks.

#zhongli #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #zhongli angst #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli x female reader #zhongli x reader angst #zhongli x y/n #genshin modern au

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vale-isei · 6 months

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DU Snippet #5

“Aren’t you ways away from home?”

Sorrowful turns away from the altar. At the front of the church stood a tall figure, shadows zipping around her like evil spirits, wearing that signature grin of hers. Most would draw their weapon at the sight of her, but not Sorrowful. He was different when it came to situations like this. The figure dressed in black knew this very well, which is why she approached him without drawing her own weapon.

Approach The Priest unprovoked. That is the best way to avoid unnecessary altercations.

Her heels clack against the marble floor as she strolls up the aisle. She takes her time leisurely looking around at the oaken pews and steel crosses.

“It’s a beautiful recreation you’ve made,” she continues. “This sanctuary from the chaos outside. This place… it reminds you of her, doesn’t it?”

“What purpose do you have here?” Sorrowful cuts in. His voice has shed its timid nature, instead bearing a firmness no one has heard before. Well, no one in the Union, to say the least.

“Straight to the point,” the figure chuckles in amusement. “I like that.”

She sweeps up the main platform, just mere steps away from him as she turns to the mosaic glass window bathing the altar in calming blue shades. Her eyes glance over the set-up, then settle on him.

“I came here to ask for your resignation.”

Sorrowful meets her eyes. “From what?”

“The [DAYS UNION], naturally.” She reaches for a matchbox on the table and pulls out a fresh matchstick. “As the [NIGHT LEADER], I believe your talent can be of bigger use somewhere else. Somewhere at my side, more specifically.”

The match lights up with a fast flick against the cardboard box. Horrid’s lilac eyes glitter in the flame’s light, shining with wickedness, but with truth as well.

She may be the Night Leader, but it doesn’t mean she’ll lie.

Sorrowful’s face is hidden behind the mask. He stands motionless, silent, watching her movements as she lights a candle.

Quiet. The church is quiet as he stands silent and as she clasps her hands in prayer, bowing her head.

Minutes pass. Neither utter a word to break the unmentionable silence until Horrid is done. Once her hands are unclasped, Sorrowful speaks.

“Do you believe in God?”

Horrid tilts her head at him. “No.”

“Then who do you pray to?”

“Hm…” She mulls over this, softly humming in thought. “I pray to those I couldn’t save.” She gestures to Sorrowful. “How about you? Do you believe in God?”

“I believe in his mercy,” Sorrowful replies. He turns away from her, fixing his gaze on the altar again.

“That’s not the same, now is it?”

Sorrowful frowns under the mask.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says. “You already knew my answer before you walked in, yet you come here anyway with a death wish.”

She chuckles again. “So I did. But you wouldn’t hurt me here, now would you?” His silence speaks volumes; she takes that with a gracious smile. Of course, she knew why he wouldn’t strike her on this occasion. Horrid wouldn’t take this for granted, as she knew what Sorrowful could do to her if this had taken place elsewhere.

She just pats his shoulder, then turns and walks back down the stairs and down the aisle. Sorrowful doesn’t watch after her with a cautious mind. There’s no need to, for they both know neither of them will draw an act of violence upon the other. It would be a pointless gesture with just the two of them.

Before Horrid leaves, she looks over her shoulder. Tosses one more smile.

“Her last words… she said she asks for your forgiveness.”

The door opens. Creaks, and shuts with a loud clang.

Sorrowful is left staring at the altar.

His hand moves. He doesn’t need to watch himself as he pinches the flame Horrid set. It fizzles in between his fingers, and within a second, goes out and leaves a trail of smoke in the air.

Forgiveness.

If there was anything Sorrowful was out of, it was forgiveness.

(To be honest, I wrote this on a whimsy thought. I have no idea what this is, but I'm finding myself liking it.)

#days union #days union roblox #valedysduwriting

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illfoandillfie · 10 months

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2023 Advent: Day 4

This is another idea that popped into my head while I was planning all these blurbs out. Partly inspired from me writing smut at work lmao. But I think somehow this one ended up the longest of all the blurbs (that I've written so far anyway)

Warnings: workplace sex, p in v sex, fingering, neck kisses, unprotected sex, minimal editing

Everyone has a way they make money to pay the bills. For you it was a boring office job, but you were trying to change that. You’d always enjoyed writing but it was only in the last couple of years that you’d begun to consider it seriously as a potential career. You’d had an idea for an erotic romance novel, spent the better part of a year working on it and, miraculously, a publisher had picked it up. Then you’d written another and another, all published under a pseudonym of course. None of them were best sellers, they’d never topped a popularity poll, but they were a good second stream of income. Enough people bought them that it was worth it to keep publishing, and you hoped that one day you’d catch a lucky break and manage to turn it into a full time job. Until then though, you wrote when you could. During the week it was mostly late at night and on your lunch breaks, but you had a deadline approaching and were a little behind where you’d hoped to be, so you’d taken to pulling your draft up during work hours.

You’d long ago stopped being embarrassed about writing at work. Your screen was mostly hidden from view, angled so that anyone who came to your cubical wouldn’t be able to see exactly what you were doing. And no one would question a word document anyway, they’d assume it was a report or something else for the company. So it wasn’t that you were embarrassed this time, but you were a little more anxious to keep your screen hidden since you were in the middle of a very steam sex scene. Up until now you’d managed to only write the spicy sections in the privacy of your own home, sticking to flirty banter and location descriptions at work. But you wrote best when you were writing in order and you were at the part where the main couple finally had sex. The culmination of pages and pages of build up and sexual tension.

Perhaps some of your discomfort came from the fact that it was a workplace romance, set in an office not dissimilar to the one you were currently sitting in. Your hero and heroine had flirted at the water cooler and accidentally kissed in a supply closet much like the ones you saw daily. And, worst of all, your hero had a passing resemblance to one of your colleagues. Gwilym was the best of the IT guys, always friendly when you ran into him in the break room, always helpful when you had any tech problems, and unfairly handsome to boot. Too handsome for IT. You’d given your leading man a much more high profile job but the same chiselled jaw line and deep eyes that Gwilym had. It hadn’t been a problem when you started. After all, no one at the office was likely to read it and if they did it could hardly be traced to you since your author name was entirely different to your real one. But it would be incredibly embarrassing if anyone, or god forbid Gwilym himself, caught sight of the screen. But you relaxed more as you got further into the scene and no one came to interrupt. The words came easily as you described the couple becoming trapped in the copy room, eventually resorting to fucking on a copy machine. A little comedic but mostly focused on the spice. You were really hitting your stride, the heroine close to falling apart under the hero’s expert touch, your cubical neighbours probably thinking you were having a very productive day with all the click clacking of your keyboard, when your phone rang.

Grumbling a little about the interruption right at the literal climax of the scene, you picked it up and put on your politest work voice as you answered. “Hi Y/N, it’s Gwil from IT.” You suddenly felt warm and less annoyed about being disturbed, “Hi Gwil, how can I help?” “Sorry to interrupt, I just had a flag pop up that there could be something wrong with your computer.” Your first thought was for your manuscript and you hastily saved it just in case, “That doesn’t sound good.” “If there is something wrong, it shouldn’t be too hard to fix. But I do need you to clarify a couple things for me, just so we can determine what the cause of the issue is. Are you able to pop down to my office?” “I can come right now.” “That would be amazing. I’ll see you in a minute.” Composing yourself you closed your document and began to head downstairs to the IT department’s rooms, wondering all the way at what the problem might be. You were always careful about what links you clicked on, so you doubted it was a virus or anything too worrying but still, you didn’t want to lose any of your manuscript, or your actual work, in some sort of freak tech failure.

The IT rooms were overcrowded and stuffy, the walls lined with shelves of equipment – backup monitors, boxes of loose cords, spare computer parts for quick fixes. Gwilym met you as soon as he heard you arrive, apologising for the inconvenience of it all. “I would have come up but it’s just me at the moment,” he gestured to the empty desks his coworkers usually occupied, “so I can’t really abandon my post.” “Oh, no trouble at all. I was thinking of taking a coffee break soon anyway,” you lied, his handsomeness making you eager to please. “Well this won’t take long. D’you want to come through to my office?” “Sure.” You followed him past the clutter into a much neater, though quite small, office. He closed the door behind you, waved you into the seat opposite his desk and sat, pulling something up on his screen. “So what do you need to know?” “He thought for a moment, looking at his screen, “So you’re working on a novel, huh?” Your heart stopped and you felt heat rise in your cheeks, too surprised to pretend you were confused, “How do you know about that?” “Oh please, I can see what everyone in this building does any time I want. Head of marketing up on twelve has been on ebay all morning bidding on a novelty clock. And theres a guy on Six who is,” he paused to check the screen, “currently looking at engagement rings. Sweet.” “You spy on us?” “No. But I could if I wanted to. And sometimes I get notifications about people spending too long on things other than work. Like you and your erotic novel.” You felt embarrassed again but couldn’t deny it so stayed silent. “Bit dangerous, writing that in public. Lucky only I saw and not anyone more important. You probably weren’t aware but sometimes the bosses request info on who’s been getting most distracted.” “You won’t tell anyone will you? It’s just a stupid side gig, I don’t want to get in trouble over it.” “Oh gosh Y/N, of course not.” You breathed a sigh of relief.

“I just thought you should know the work computers aren’t as private as you might have thought.” He paused and then, almost as an afterthought added, “And that, y’know, I thought what you were writing was quite good. Arousing. Although maybe it would be better if she were bent over a desk instead.” You didn’t catch the hungry way Gwil looked at you, too taken aback by his critique of your work, “What?” “Just a bit easier.” “Well, no, the copy machine is symbolic. It serves a purpose. It makes sense if you’ve read the whole thing. Plus, I prefer for my characters to see each other the first time they’re together. They’re meant to be falling in love with each other after all.” “Okay, I see your point. But I’d still argue a desk would make more sense than a copier. She doesn’t have to be bent over, she could be sitting or laying on it.” His palm brushed over the top of his own desk. You couldn’t believe the arrogance of his suggestion but the shock at least kept you from being too aggressive in your disagreement, “Thanks for the advice but I think I prefer my way.” “Well I think you should reconsider. Maybe you haven’t had the personal experience, but I have. And I can tell you the desk works better. Copy machines like the one you describe are fine but they make getting the right angle, well, tricky.” His knowing smirk should have infuriated you but you found yourself swiftly crossing from indignant to turned on. You chalked it up to the sex scene you’d been writing, and that you’d long had a crush on Gwil, so the combination of him talking to you about sex was almost too much. He stood, and you became very aware of how tall he was and how handsome, as he moved around to your side of the desk, leaning against the edge casually, one eyebrow raised as he said, “I could give you a demonstration if you want.” Your breathe caught. You’d missed the signs that that was what he wanted so for a moment all you could do was stare at him. “I hope that’s not too forward of me. But I really liked your writing.” It was like you’d stepped into the pages of your novel somehow, and you knew exactly how your heroine should react, “Well I never say no to research.”

Gwilym looked altogether too pleased with himself as he drew your to your feet, his hands falling to your hips and then sliding down to squeeze your arse as he kissed you hard. It was a strange moment, living out the reality of something you’d imagined over and over, something you’d written into your book, but more than welcome. He was as talented as you’d hoped, as talented as you’d written him, his hands firmly directing you towards the desk and then, when you were in front of it, working to push your pencil skirt up to your waist. He only stopped kissing you to guide you up to sit on the edge of his desk, picking up where he left off almost as soon as you were situated. You let your knees fall open, partly directed by him but gently enough that it felt entirely your decision, and he stepped between them letting you feel for the first time just how affected by your writing he was. Your eyes widened at just how big he felt pressed between you and his tight work trousers. Gwil must have noticed your expression because he chuckled and, leaning in closer to your ear, whispered “I’m glad you were writing your porn at work. Because now I know the sort of filth you can come up. Make me wonder what other dirty ideas you have in that pretty head.” His breath was hot against your ear, making you shiver and breathe heavier, but it was nothing to the sensation of his teeth tugging at your earlobe that followed. You whimpered at the feeling and how unfairly sexy he sounded talking about filthy ideas, a thousand more of them springing to your mind. He seemed amused by your reaction. Not that you could see him but you swore you could feel him smirking again as he nipped at your neck, not quite distracting you from how his fingers were slipping into your knickers.

It took almost no time at all for him to have your underwear off and his cock out, pressing against your entrance. Your brain was hardly working, overwhelmed by your dreams coming true so unexpectedly. But Gwilym seemed to like you that way, barely able to do more than whine. Whenever you’d tried to speak he’d shift his fingers or trail his tongue over your neck or toy with your nipple, effectively diverting you attention and causing another small moan as he drew you towards the edge. Nothing like the banter in the scene you’d written, though Gwil offered a few comments here and there, teasing you for being so wet and reminding you to keep quiet since you were at work. But now, close to release and so close to finally having him fill you he stopped and asked the worst question imaginable. “Have you written anything else about me?” The answer was no, or not entirely, but the small part of your brain still ticking thought his ego might like a yes more. Thankfully he didn’t seem to need a real answer, happy with how fucked out you’d already gotten. “Bet you have. Bet you’ve written about me in all sorts of positions.” The very tip of his cock dipped into your hole, teasing you just a little more. “I want to read them all. And then show you how the real thing feels.” Finally he pressed himself into you, making you gasp.

Gwil groaned as you unconsciously clenched around him and paused for a moment before beginning to slowly pull back and sink into you. He was big and all you could do was moan at the way he stroked inside you, though as he worked into a faster pace you grabbed onto the edge of the desk, needing to hold onto something. He just grabbed at you, fingers wet from your cunt digging into your thigh before slipping down to your clit as he leaned forward, using his arm to brace himself on the desk. The slight shift, the way he seemed to surround you as he leaned forward, the constant pressure from his fingers on your clit, not to mention the quick snap of his hips into yours and the sheer delicious fullness of him filling you, quickly became almost overwhelming. He had taken over all over your senses as he grunted in your ear, his taste still on your tongue. Whining into his neck you begged him not to stop until there was no choice but to cum for him, because of him.

He didn’t take long to reach his climax after that, his breath getting heavier and his thrusts less smooth. “Wh-where?” was all he could get out before another moan, “Where should I?” Your orgasm had brought a sliver of clarity back to you, enough to know that you couldn’t risk anything that might leave a visible mark. But more importantly, enough to know you didn’t want him to move from between your thighs. “Don’t care. Inside.” Gwil groaned again, hips stuttering with how hot he found your answer. He kept fucking you as consistently as he could manage, his fingers no longer on your clit but back on your thigh as if to make sure your legs stayed spread. You heard him curse in a strangled voice before his hips jolted and then stopped pressed hard into you as he came with a moan and a grunt. Everything was quiet and still for a few moments, aside from both of you breathing heavily as the reality of what had just happened caught up with you. Gwil leaned back a bit, slipping out of you a little, “Fuck.” was all he managed to get out. You gave an embarrassed sort of laugh, “Yeah.” He was still absurdly close, still half inside you when he said, “So? Do I live up to your imagination?” You laughed again, “Oh exceeded it. Think you gave me an idea for the sequel though.”

#my writing #my blurbs #blurb advent 2023 #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee smut #gwilym lee imagine

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quietwingsinthesky · 7 months

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📚🍬🔪🦷

what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?

(oh, it’s this little bit i’d completely forgotten about that i think i scribbled down immediately after finishing hellbent.)

“And what color were Clara’s eyes?” the Doctor asks, slipping it into the rhythm of their conversation like any other question. Even’s fingers drum against the metal of the staircase they’ve seated themself on, two soft thuds of flesh and two clacks from parts that aren’t very good at pretending to be fingers anymore. They tip their head to the side.

“You don’t want my memories of her, Doctor.” Even drums again. One-two, three-four. “We weren’t exactly friends.”

“Nonsense. You’d have loved Clara,” he says it on reflex. He waits for something to follow, some internal feeling that he’s correct in his assumption or entirely off base. Nothing comes.

“You loved Clara,” Even corrects, gently. It sounds like pity, and it grates.

“See? You’re already telling me things.”

“You knew that already,” Even says. “You knew, or you wouldn’t be asking in the first place.” They shift forward, crossing their arms over their knees. “Please don’t ask,” they whisper.

Post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character.

Well, let me set up my usual fallback of Supernatural to allow me wiggle room for my Doctor Who take, but: my unpopular opinion is that Jack is an adult. He’s treated as an adult in canon. Making him into a child in canonverse stuff will have me squinting in suspicion for most people. obviously, not my trusted and beloved mutuals who are Understanders (and. more importantly. who I know are not harboring some unexamined ableist ideas.) but. everyone else does not get a pass and will be gazed upon with disdain :D actually, the bigger crime of making Jack a child and simplifying him is that you’re being boring, the fun of him comes from how messed up his situation is and how his sudden jump to adulthood is both horrifying but also one of the few ways he can grasp at control.

anyway, that’s a settled hot take in place so that i can say one for doctor who that im not sure is a hot take or not because i don’t know the fandom as well. but anyway, it’s that 90% of eleven and river’s scenes together did such a disservice to both of their characters that it actively uninvested me in the romance they were trying to sell. I feel like i may have said this before, but it’s like there’s a switch they flip when it’s time for the episode’s mandated eleven and river flirting time where they both turn into much more generic characters acting in ways that feel very ooc so that the show can. i don’t know, really. create tension, I suppose? But the tension falls flat because they aren’t acting like themselves so you can’t get invested in this relationship because it doesn’t feel like it’s being built off of them connecting. And it really stands out as just, truly awful, because you’ll also have some fantastic scenes actually exploring their relationship and the effects it has on both of them, the positive and the negative, and yes, I am talking about the broken wrist scene from Angels in Manhattan again because i wish all of elevenriver was like that, and it’s not, and i’m mad about it-!

what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

okay, i know it says research but it is much funnier to me if i just say that. sometimes. you need to describe a character touching something and you need the physical stimuli in your hands to really describe it, right? right. understandable. okay, so going from that, sometimes you need your character to say, lick a chair and describe that, and you realize you have no idea how to because how would you know what licking a chair is like? and then you look at your dining room chair from across the room. and you have to make a decision here. about what matters more to you. your dignity or your accuracy.

and if you’re a good writer, i think accuracy always wins.

share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

breathing exercises are bullshit. you need to find a chant. you need to find something you can memorize and then when you feel yourself getting anxious, you need to start repeating it over and over and over. anything at all. what matters is that you’re saying it, out loud, and you can hear yourself saying it and you need to like the words so you’re focusing on what you’re saying, and this will save you. When I was in middle school, I did exorcisms. In high school, I’d repeat monologues from Hannibal to myself. Nowadays, I’m usually using the “heart. lungs. liver. nerves.” chant from slay the princess because it is short and ominous in a way that can be funny after a few repetitions and helps laugh the anxiety out of me.

and in a pinch, if you don’t have anything memorized, pull up the nearest piece of written text you have and start reading it out loud and don’t stop reading it until you’re calm again, and keep going a little after that just to make sure. Could be a fanfic you’ve got on your phone or could be an actual book. I’d reccomend the Iliad, because half of that book is just reciting name after name after name and you will start to hear how ridiculous it is rather than hearing your own anxiety, and it’ll help. you say “so and so brought 50 ships and he was the son of that guy who was king of this. and also this other dude, son of yet another guy we will never mention again, friends with holy shit another guy-“ and eventually you’re going to start giggling your way out of an anxiety attack.

#oh look i got an excuse to rant about elevenriver oops.#like. god there’s good in there!!! but also it’s so bogged down it’s frustrating as hell #ask #dw oc

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junichan · 1 year

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Of Scouts and Seekers

A short story I wrote for a friend’s Transformers OC and mine, set in Transformers Prime. Shimmerwing / Saberwing (Kat's OC) is a Decepticon seeker and Intelligence Officer. Lucky (my OC) is a Decepticon energon scout.

23k words, some unnamed Vehicons and Insecticons get killed (Poor St3v3!)

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It was a huge vein of energon which was great except it meant they would have to excavate a really big mine to harvest it, and the bigger the mine, the easier it was to detect. Lucky knew the Autobots would show up eventually. She urged the Vehicon laborers to work as quickly as they were able, stacking filled transport crates at the back of the mine. As soon as they had gathered the required quota Lucky would call for a groundbridge to move it to the Nemesis.

It was too dangerous and too demanding on the warship’s power reserves to keep a portal open continuously. So, between shipments they were pretty much on their own. At least her crew had already extracted and transported more than half of the energon. Lucky just hoped they would have the good fortune of finishing before the Autobots found the mine.

She examined the datapad in her servo once again, even though she knew there had been only a minimal change since the last time she looked at it. Anything to keep her distracted from the awful sounds of the Insecticon guards crawling and hovering around the perimeter of the mine. She couldn’t stand the way they chittered and clacked when they moved; and the sharp buzz of their wings made Lucky’s audials hurt. They were so creepy!

Lucky didn’t have it in herself to truly hate anyone or anything, but she strongly disliked the Insecticons. She felt like ever since they had come aboard, things on the Nemesis had gotten way more tense. Admittedly they were far more effective soldiers than Commander Starscream’s armada of seeker Vehicons. However the Insecticons only seemed to listen to Megatron and even then only in the context of who they should kill first. They were willing and eager to kill everyone, even fellow Decepticons.

The little scout winced and ducked as one of the Insecticon guards buzzed by overhead in its beetle-like alt mode, very nearly taking off her helm. She glared at it but didn’t bother yelling. It wouldn’t listen to her anyway. If anything it would just growl back at her, or worse do one of their audial-pricing shrieks. Now that Lucky would admit she hated! It sounded like claws dragged across a chalkboard combined with a riff from a badly tuned electric guitar.

As if on cue one of those dreaded shrieks sounded near the entrance of the mine. All at once, every single Insecticon guard reared up its head and looked toward the awful noise before sending up shrieks of their own. The mine became filled with the sound of buzzing wings and clacking mandibles as the bug-like Cons swarmed. Somehow even the awful cacophony couldn’t drown out the noise of blaster fire and explosions coming from the mine’s entrance.

The Autobots had arrived!

Lucky frantically opened her comms, “Soundwave, we need an emergency groundbridge!” But the line was filled with static; something was jamming the signal. The Vehicon laborers had all stopped what they were doing and were looking at her anxiously for orders. She felt dread make a cold lump of her internals as she informed them they were stuck. “We’re going to have to fight our way out, I’m sorry.”

Guilt racked her as Lucky watched the Vehicon’s prepare to defend themselves. It wasn’t her fault that their communications with the Nemesis were cut off, but as their officer in charge she felt responsible for their lives. There was a good chance that most of them were going to get offlined. They all hoped the Insecticons would be able to drive the Autobots off, but if the Prime was with them that was unlikely.

For whatever reason Optimus had shown up at Lucky’s energon sites more and more often lately. Arachnid said it was because the Prime wanted to eat Lucky’s spark, but Lucky was mostly certain the spider-like Con was only trying to scare her. Optimus Prime was dangerous, but he wasn’t a spark-eater! …Right??

The fighting got closer and closer until missiles were flying into the mine and igniting the exposed raw energon clusters. Some of the remaining Insecticons got pushed back into the mine, and the Vehicon laborers began firing back. Knowing how useless she was in combat, Lucky tried to stay out of the way. She hunkered down behind a spur of boulders at the back of the mine, desperately trying to get through to Soundwave or anyone aboard the Nemesis.

She could only watch in horror as the Insecticons and Vehicons were taken down. From her hiding spot, she couldn’t quite see the entrance of the mine, or the Autobots that were attacking. It very quickly became clear that the Autobots had the upper hand and the Cons were flagging. Lucky began to realize her only hope of surviving was staying hidden. Fortunately for her, her glittering green paint job was already covered in enough dirt and dust to blend in rather well with the rocks she was hiding behind.

There was little comfort found in the sounds of blaster fire and explosions starting to wane. Lucky held perfectly still, refusing to even vent a little as she waited and listened. She expected to hear the sounds of tires or peds and Autobot voices. Instead she heard the whine of turbines? The little scout risked a peek around the edge of the boulders she was crouched behind and saw a seeker moving through the settling dust and smoke.

The figure was tall and elegant, obviously a femme. The only femme seeker Lucky knew was Lieutenant Shimmerwing. Even though the femme’s back was to her and her faceplate was covered by a battle mask, Lucky had to assume it was the Lieutenant. For a moment Lucky’s spark flared with hope. Shimmerwing had come to the rescue! They were saved!

One of the Vehicons staggered upright from where he had been knocked down by an energon explosion. The seeker blew his helm off with a blast from her gauntlet cannon. Lucky pressed a servo over her intake to stifle the gasp that almost came out of her. She watched in horror as the seeker went around, methodically finishing off any Con that was still moving. The femme couldn’t have been Shimmerwing! There was no way Megatron’s own Intelligence Officer would kill her fellow Decepticons!

Lucky had the good sense to duck when the seeker looked around. She made herself as small as possible, fighting not to move a single part, straining her audials to track the seeker’s movement. Her spark shuddered at the sound of pedfalls moving closer to her hiding spot. The little energon scout shut her optics down, unable to keep from trembling as she waited for the end —

The roar of engines and the rumble of tires announced the arrival of the Autobots. Lucky could hear them transforming as they entered the mine.

“Saberwing!” Optimus’ voice boomed off the walls of the cave, accompanied by the whine of several blasters powering up. “Stand down!”

The voice that responded carried a calm self-assurance that sounded a lot like Shimmerwing’s, although the battle mask distorted it enough that Lucky wasn’t sure. “Sure. I’m done here anyway.” Then came the unmistakable sound of a flyer transforming into their alt mode, and the roar of turbine thrusters as it took off.

As the sound of the seeker flying of faded, Lucky could hear the Autobot two-wheeler Arcee vent in disgust, “Looks like another massacre. She didn’t even take any of the energon.”

“Why would a ‘Con go around killing other ‘Cons??” the one called Bulkhead wondered out loud, “Not that I’m complaining of course.”

“Saberwing clearly has a vendetta she’s carrying out.”

“Against energon harvesters??”

Optimus hummed, his voice heavy with what sounded like pity. “I believe the Vehicon laborers were just collateral damage. It appears Saberwing was targeting the Insecticon guards. Why she is doing so remains a mystery.”

Lucky mustered up enough courage to chance another peek. Primus’ mercy was still with her as the Autobots all had their backs turned to her hiding spot. She waited silently as they called back to their base for a groundbridge and took all the gathered energon with them when they left, reasoning that it would be foolish to allow it to go to waste, or worse let some Decepticons come back for it.

“Surprised Megatron’s little energon sniffer wasn’t here,” Bulkhead remarked just before they disappeared through the groundbridge.

“It is a good thing she was not,” Optimus replied, “Or Saberwing would have killed her like all the others.”

Lucky stayed hidden long after the ground bridge closed, too scared to move. Eventually she slowly stood and took a wary look around. All of the Vehicons and Insecticons assigned to support her were dead, laying in broken heaps of metal and slowly leaking energon all over the cave floor. And the energon they had harvested was gone. Lubricant filled the femme’s optics and a rattling exhale left her vents as remorse and dread washed over her. So many lives lost! And worse, she was going to be blamed for it.

The quiet beep of her comm going off made her jump. It was Soundwave, likely wanting to know why her report was so delayed. It seemed her comms were no longer being scrambled. It took her a few moments to muster up a response. “Something really bad happened down here, Soundwave. E-Everyone’s dead, and the Autobots took the energon. I - I’m so sorry!”

No surprise, she didn’t get a verbal response from the Decepticon Communications Officer. Instead, a small ground bridge opened up in front of her, summoning her back to the Nemesis. Stepping through put her on the bridge of the warship, where Lord Megatron was standing in his usual position of command. Lucky’s circuits went cold with terror and she cast a pitiful glance over at the impassive Soundwave. He didn’t even spare her a return glance; she had messed up and now she was going to have to explain herself.

Megatron’s back was to the young scout as he gazed out of the warship’s massive forward windows, his massive claws folded behind him. Commander Starscream stood at his side at a respectful distance, and even Lieutenant Shimmerwing was there, standing opposite. Starscream’s red eyes fixed her with the usual disapproval, but there was something different about the way Shimmerwing was looking at her.

Lucky’s engine sputtered, remembering the sight of a very familiar looking seeker slaughtering her fellow Cons. Saberwing, she thought desperately, Not Shimmerwing, right?? Normally the taller femme’s smirk was cocky but at least a little amiable toward Lucky. But now her smile was cold. There was a knowing look in Shimmerwing’s optics, as if she could see right through the trembling scout.

Could it be Shimmerwing and Saberwing were the same Cybertronian? If Lucky told Megatron what she had seen, would Megatron believe her? What if he didn’t? Even if he did believe, what would stop Shimmerwing from killing her too?

Lucky’s venting became erratic, escaping her form in sharp puffs as her frantic thoughts spiraled.

Megatron’s voice snapped her back to reality almost painfully. “It’s unusual that you fail so spectacularly, scout,” he observed almost casually. He turned just enough to glare over his shoulder at his smallest minion. “Tell me, exactly how did you manage to let the Autobots kill an entire squadron of Insecticon guards and steal a third of that mine’s energon yield?”

Lucky’s armor was rattling she was shaking so hard. “B-but, Sire, i-it wasn’t –” She started to correct Megatron’s assumption, but then she met Shimmerwing’s optics and her words died in a squeak. The look the femme was giving her was a clear warning. “It – it wasn’t my fault!” she managed to eke out, “Please don’t be angry! I tried calling for help but my comms were blocked!”

Megatron rolled his optics at the pathetic display, while Starscream seemed to become incensed. The seeker commander came forward and slapped Lucky across the helm with enough force to send her stumbling sideways. “Lord Megatron doesn’t want excuses, you pathetic little scrap!”

“I’m sorry!” she pleaded again, and she really did mean it. But her continued apology only earned her another slap and a kick for good measure. Starscream’s sharp peds really hurt. Lucky didn’t even try to defend herself though, excepting her punishment for failing to keep her fellow ‘Cons safe.

Everyone in the room knew there was nothing Lucky could have done to stop the Autobots. She wasn’t a combatant. But someone had to take the blame and the punishment for a failed mission, and she was the easiest target. After a few more moments of enduring Starscream’s abuse, Megaton deigned to have mercy on the little scout. Lucky’s energon rations were halved for a deca-cycle and then she was dismissed with the warning that next time she wouldn’t get off so easily.

Lucky ran out of there so fast she left scuffs on the floor. She went straight to her habsuite and threw herself on her recharge slab to cry. She cried in remorse for the poor Vehicons that had been killed. She cried at the hopelessness and unfairness of being the Nemesis’ scapegoat. But mostly she cried as she tried to process what she had learned that day – Shimmerwing had been out there murdering Insecticons as a rogue Con called Saberwing. Why?? And what was going to happen to her now that she knew Shimmerwing’s secret?? Would she be killed too?

#maccadam #tfp #tfp megatron #tfp starscream #tfp optimus prime #tf oc #transformers prime

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athania1309 · 2 years

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I reincarnated as Penelope Eckhart chapter 2

*Authors Note*(so there might be spoilers if you haven't read the manwha or novel yet so please bear with me :) and there also will be swearing)

Phew I survived now i still got to raise Reynold's and Derricks intimacy "hmm what else am i missing" I took a piece of paper and wrote down notes "if I remember clearly that the OG Penelope was a commoner without even a last name then lost her mom to an illness at twelve, was adopted because the looked like Ivonne but then according to the spoilers she is actually dead and was possessed"... damn you author-nim lets just pray she isn't dead when Marquis Verdandi finds her, "but then when i grow older I will look nothing like Yvonne... haizzzzz" I sighed "thankfully my reputation isn't ruined.... yet T^T" i scribbled everything I said "plus Penelope became like this because of the damn household "

"What else..." i wrote down the characters in the game and marked out eclis "eclis.... definitely not he's a jerk why got Penelope nearly killed " uuuhgg author-nim your so cruel even for me i sighed and wrote more notes i stopped at Callisto's name "Callisto... handsome but cruel... my bias T^T I can't definitely not he's also my grim reaper.... T^T ", then there is Derrick... that piece of sh*t no just no

"Then there is the Marquis... Penelope increased his intimacy by ignoring him alot...." that's the plan I guess.

Suddenly I heard a knock on my door, "My lady, the duke is waiting for you " the butler said, I shoved all of my notes into the drawer and opened the door.

(time skip to them walking in the hallway cuz why not)

Damn these maids what is this pressure I've always been an introvert don't they need manners even if I am adopted I'm still the young lady here

Knock knock "Your Grace it's the head butler I've bought Penelope here", "Come in" a familiar voice came from the room, I came in the room

"Your here" the duke said while keeping his eyes on the documents, "why did you ask for me father"

"the commotion this morning" he said, ah so its that "im sorry i wont do it again" i said meekly while keeping my head down hmph this atta do it how is me acting skill kyu kyu kyu thankfully i pressed the 'off choices button earlier'

"i won't cause any commotions" i got on my knees "i will take any probations you give me", his eyes widened in shock "you..." he said, i continued "i realized throwing tantrums from the past 2 years was a mistake please forgive me" if it means his favorability will rise i will keep begging for mercy even if it kills me.

He sighed "you may rise, I understand you may now leave eckhart's words carry great weight do not make a commotion again", "i understand" my head still low i got up and left. the moment i got out i sighed "phew"

-click clack- are you f*ckin kidding me "Penelope, Emily has worked here for a long time and she is one of the persons that was willing to be your personal maid due to you actions in the past years are you satisfied now that she is gone" he said

This dammed bastard she was the one who fkn fed she sht and pushed needles in my fkn arm and YOUR taking her side ah well I wasn't expecting anything form you anyways i composed myself "i deeply apologize young master" i said, his eyes widened in shock "what..."

Dear brother i will beg for forgiveness for something i didn't do if it means i'll live "i will no longer create a commotion and live as quietly as possible" "since i wasn't able to handle it you don't need to fire a maid, i was just here begging to father for forgiveness so forgive me once more" then i left

"i heard you ate rotten food, shouldn't you call for a physician" he said, that is exactly what he said to Penelope i stopped i my tracks this bitch knew and blamed it on me this btch really gets on my nerve "don't worry young master like i said i won't cause anymore commotions so please don't worry about me" i left quickly and went to my room

"haaaaaaaa~ im hungry~" i ploped on my bed "thankfully i still remember how to do this that fucker doesn't want me to call him brother so i won't its as easy as that" -_- i fell asleep.....

................................................................................................................................................................

"why was this in your room"

"tf what..." oh..... its Penelope's dreams i remember reading this part it feels so nostalgic... this happened.... last year ... wait how do i know that aizzz nvm

"answer you rat" Reynold said

"watch your mouth Reynold" he continued "answer me Penelope why do you have Yvvone's necklace i am sure i said not to enter her room"

"father there is no need for this i'm sure she stole it" reynold argued

"I didn't do it I didn't do anything like that!!" the younger penelope pleaded

"Don't make me laugh! Then how did the birthday gift Yvonne received from father end up in your drawer "

damn this bitch really gets on my nerves why tf are you arguing to a little girl even i wouldn't go that far

the younger penelope pleaded more & more

what the.....

................................................................................................................................................................

So that's why haizzzz Reynold you damn bastard because of this Penelope buys a lot of jewelry even if it costs a fortune luckily for you I'm not interested with jewelry

-knock knock....... open-

I snapped awake "!!" what now jeeez can't you give a girl some privacy oh.... the butler fennel

"What do you want!!" i said clearly showing anger

"We need to decide a new personal maid for you" fennel replied

hmm lets try doing what Penelope did but then i would change the future.... eh worth a shot "what is your name head butler?" although asking this means no use to me cause i know his name but he still has to know his place

"huh what?" he looked shocked, he reacted the same way to hmph "i asked for you name head butler", "its fennel my lady" hehehehehehhe lets try saying this my style but his reaction is to be expected i may look like a 14 year old but never underestimate me

"you don't have a last name huh ok, then what is my name?",

"my lady why are you asking for such things"

"Answer me"

"its penelope eckhart"

"Exactly, Penelope Eckhart the young lady of this duchy, and yet i have never seen such etiquette wherein a commoner without a last name dare to enter a noble's room as they pleases do you know something i don't head butler"

"On top on that you dare enter a young lady's without permission what do you think baseless rumors will start going around "

"My lady!!"

"Do I need to spell everything out for you head butler"

"I apologize my lady" he got on his knees, "In my impatience I have wronged you... please forgive me"

Its going the same way as the novel but what can you expect so this is what it feels like to have power ~W~

"I think it will be unpleasant for me to meet you so in the time being please send the head maid next time ah and for my dinner no need do you understand... i only need a yes or a no"

"yes my lady" he said and left

"ahhh~~~~ the feeling of power ~w~"

to bee continued i hope yall like it

#death is the only ending for a villainess #penelope eckart

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moonyasnow · 4 months

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Tastes Like Love.

A fanfic of mine I wrote on Ao3

CHARACTERS : Kalim, Irina (OC) - Kalim x Irina

CONTENT : OC x Canon fic, Fluff & Angst, mutual pining, Irina is sick, Irina has bad self worth (shocker), think of this as an AU where Irina is the only Yuu

Perhaps this fever really was serious if she couldn't even convince Kalim of all people that she was fine...

She wasn't sure when it started, only that by the time she had two lessons left for the day, she was feeling...woozy. It had started as just a mild difficulty focusing, until eventually words on the page and spoken alike had started to look and sound like alphabet soup. She trudged along the stone floor mindlessly. The mossy green and stone purple pattern of the oxford-tiles spun faintly in her vision, swimming, out of focus and never quite as still as she wanted.

"Myah!" was the only warning she was given as Grim, formerly perched on her shoulder, took off with a jump. Abruptly snapped out of her head she watched with a stagger in her step as the grey and fire-blue cat dove straight for a muffin she didn't remember Ace picking up. The motion of his leap pushed her back like a bobble-head. Her usual yelp of surprise came a few seconds late.

"Irina, are you okay?" Deuce's voice came as yet another unpleasant shock to her system. "You seem a bit spaced out..."

"Oh." She blinked. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I just...didn't get much sleep last night..." she lied through her teeth with an apologetic smile. "Um...you guys go on ahead, I just remembered I forgot something in..." 'What was the last class again?' "Alchemy..." none of the three looked at her strangely and she let out the small breath she'd been holding. "And I need to go get it."

A wicked smile spread across Ace's face- having momentarily forgotten the cupcake, Grim munching down with wild abandon on the ground just a step away- which she knew meant teasing. "What is this I hear? Did miss goody-two-shoes over here actually just make up an excuse to skip class?" A second of tightness in her chest followed.

"N-no! I'd never do that!" a predictable chuckle from her ginger friend followed.

"Ace, seriously..." the long-suffering other friend metaphorically attached at the first's hip sighed, then seemed to regard her for a second-too-long. "Try to be back quickly, though."

"Yeah ya don't want that old Trein to scold me— I mean you, for missing part of the lecture!" said a chocolate-crumb-covered face.

"Like anyone can manage to sit through an entire lecture from that monotone old grandpa..." Ace rubbed the back of his head with a sigh. "You get what I mean, right, Deucey?" He threw his arm lazily over the blue-haired boy's shoulder, smirk back in place like it never left.

"Hey! At least I try to stay awake! And stop calling me that..."

"Yeah, try."

"A-anyway!" The group looked back to her. "I'll...see you later!"

-^-v-^-v-^-

They gave short 'goodbye's and 'see you soon's and eventually she was walking through the halls back to the Alchemy lab. Had she actually forgotten something there? She wasn't sure anymore. 'Might as well double-check...' The empty hallway, dark purple stone even darker from the coming dusk of early Spring, was silent. It filled her head up with a thick, heavy droning silence, at once soundless and deafening.

A drop of disappointment fell into the murky waters filling her mind. 'I never forget things. And Crewel's nice...he wouldn't let me forget something important...right?' the thought was soon swallowed in the murky tide. 'Maybe he forgot too.'

Moss green tiles decorated by black diamond shapes flowed before her eyes on endless, repeating over and over and over, like a screensaver.

Until it didn't.

The moss green came to an abrupt stop and gave way to big, beige bricks. She kept walking and stepped onto a plush carpet, deep greens and purples in a much bigger diamond pattern than the floor. The lack of a clack to each subsequent footstep fuzzied her mind further. She imagined the carpet beginning to move like a horizontal escalator. She laughed. 'Funny.' Was it? The murk didn't answer.

She looked up, seeing wide arches and a blue sky dotted with purpling clouds. 'The time...what was it again...?'

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked down at it. Like wiping a small area of a foggy glass, the amber-skinned hand came into clear focus, and with it, a voice.

"Irina."

"Ah!" She jumped, returning to her body. She turned, 'Is it a teacher...? I'm..late, I think... So that'd be...bad...' but was met with a pleasantly familiar face. Through the fog of her mind sprung visions of warm, familiar moments. Visions of a sunny smile accompanied by a fluttering feeling, his hand on her wrist in a warm and bright place, soft pillows, lightning in her skin at the brush of hands, spice on her tongue, a whisper in her ear and a laugh followed by a throbbing in her chest, an arm around her shoulder under a sparkling navy blue sky... But above all, warmth. A lightness in her chest from the cold stone stolen away. 'Kalim...' Safe harbor she'd once caught herself thinking.

"Oh sorry, did I startle you?" he asked with his usual, carefree smile and optimistic up-tilt to his voice. Her mind emptied, thoughts unneeded beside him and the sight of his sweet smile.

"…A little…" her voice came out a lot slower than she'd planned, and not offering the usual reassurances of 'oh no I'm fine'. She didn't notice a shift in his smile.

"Irina, what are you just doing here in the middle of the hallway? There's no one else here…" he made a show of looking around, hand above his eyes even in the dark corridors of Night Raven College, an old habit from growing up in such a sunny place. The pattern of his voice washed through her like the pleasantly cool waters of an oasis. "I don't see Ace, Deuce or Grim anywhere either." She longed to hear it like a woman dying of thirst.

"I'm…on my way to my last class," She paused. 'Which class was it again...?' She tried to search her mind, finding it felt like wearing perpetually foggy goggles while wading through molasses. A beat of silence. She lightly shook her head and continued "I told them to go ahead since I had a…a thing, that I needed—... Yeah." She nodded, hoping it would somehow convince him when even her words seemed to be failing her.

Silence...? "I see!" Ah, no, not silence. "I'll walk you there!" he flashed a sunny grin at her. 'Did he pause? Words later than usual, from him...? Ah, question...'

"O-oh, no, I…" 'What was I saying?' "W-what about you? Don't you have a— a lesson…?" She waded through the honey-substance again. "P.E....?"

"It's just like you to remember something so small like that!" She knew it was praise. It made her smile. 'Of course I know your schedule.' she smiled brighter to herself. "But nope!" he said, emphasizing the 'p' "Coach Vargas and the sports club members left for that training camp today, remember?"

"Oh…right." She didn't remember. She ended up just staring without focus in his direction. She didn't even catch his smile fall. He suddenly leaned in closer to inspect her face.

"H-hah!" her yelp came at an appropriate moment this time, at least. The hanging droplets of his gold earrings made a pretty tinkling sound as they clinked together. 'He's so close...so close so close so close so close—' her stomach fluttered at the proximity, and her heart beat in a rhythm reminiscent of a starting steam locomotive. Despite feeling like lead coated her eyelids, they were blown open staring. His short, thick eyebrows gently furrowed and his eyes shone with…something? Or maybe nothing. Her mind was a warm, fuzzy mess pulsating with pain and she had no idea about anything at all.

The second he touched her forehead those same ruby eyes went big as teacups. She mourned the all-too-quick loss of his cool palm on her skin with a small pout.

"Woah! Irina, you're burning up!" His face, always soft and smiling and carefree, took on a sudden serious look, not unlike the one she'd seen on him during his less-than-lucid moments of the Winter Break. But his eyes were different this time. He was there. She couldn't help but keep staring, feverish haze growing worse and distorting all the words that were coming out of him in favor of staring at the soft yet firm downward tilt of his brows and the unpracticed serious expression he was attempting to aim at her. 'Pretty' was all her mind could conjure up. 'I like him looking at me like that…'

"Oh no, your face is getting even more red!" his eyes shot up again.

"Yeah…" She'd lost focus again. But even if she had heard what he was saying, it wouldn't have mattered. Kalim was right there, standing super close and 'He's so pretty and closeandIcansmellhisperfumeandit'ssonice—'

Before she knew what was going on he'd taken her hand in his and started walking somewhere. 'Oh.' She stared at their entwined hands and the burning sensation in her face grew stronger. 'He's holding my hand. We're holding hands~' The goofiest, most childish little smile spread across her face.

But she couldn't bring herself care. Kalim was there. She was happy. That was all that mattered. She felt herself relax.

-^-v-^-v-^-

The rest of the journey to Ramshackle was a blur of hazy half-snippets of words and a fuzzy filter thick enough only colors stuck in her memory. She couldn't remember closing her eyes. But they opened at some point and were met with the familiar sight of a coffered wooden ceiling, planks lined with cracks and holes she'd long-since memorized.

A chill brushed through her, though looking down she saw her thin, moth-eaten blanket had been draped over her. Her head no longer pounded, and some of the fog had washed away after her apparent nap.

'Kalim isn't here...'

Then something dawned on her.

Her eyebrows knit together and narrowed above her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands with a long sigh. 'He had a Housewarden meeting today...' Her chest ached sourly. 'I probably slowed him down…'

'But...' the memories of his face so close to hers, his palm on her forehead, their hands entwined flashed through her mind. The ache turned sweet, amplifying the faint sound of her pulse into an echo impossible to ignore. One that seemed to reverberate through her entire body. She laid there, hands still over her lower face, gazing at his image in her mind.

Then her stomach grumbled. She grumbled right alongside it.

With a short sigh and quick inhale— the smell of damp wood invading her senses— she heaved herself up, going through the motions of mechanically shifting out of the blankets and trying to suppress a full-body shiver at the feel of the cold wooden floor. Her vision grew dark and unsteady as she walked, not pausing, toward the door, a steadying clench in her jaw. She defiantly put the next foot in front of the other and forced her body to wobble over and turn the handle.

She shivered with each step, shoulders hunched up tight, fighting the dizziness and taking breath after breath of the air she swore would give her mold poisoning one day.

'I wonder if Kalim made it to his meeting.'

Right foot, left foot, right foot...

'I wish he'd come back...'

She stopped. Her eyes felt as damp as the floor they were pointed at. She blinked and shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. 'Food.'

She looked up into red eyes.

"Ah—" She took a step back. 'What—'

"Oh, you're up! And you're walking, too! Does that mean you're feeling better?" he said with a big smile. "Wait, I remember something! Jamil always tells me to go back to bed when I'm sick, so that's what you need to do to!" Her head was spinning with shock.

"B-but—"

"It'll be kinda boring, I know, but you'll get better a lot quicker this way! Oh wait, I'll help you get there!" That was the only warning she got before he turned her around and came very close to her, predictably making her heart leap out of her chest. He circled one arm around the small of her back and an electric feeling emanated from where it'd made contact, then he bent down and his other arm went under her knees. "Heave-ho!" She yelped at the loss of the floor under her feet and her arms flew around his neck.

"Huh?" her chest jumped involuntarily when her mind caught up with the situation. "Kalim, what are you— what— why— I don't—"

"Don't worry, I'm here to take care of you, so just take it easy!"

"T-take care of me? But what— what about your meeting?"

"Oh, that. I skipped it!" He said, as though his words didn't feel like ice water poured down her back.

"Skipped it? B-but Jamil isn't here!"

"Yeah...that means I'll just have to skip it skip it. Scarabia'll just sit this one out." She opened her mouth to speak, sputtering, but he continued:

"But don't worry! Azul offered to take down notes for me! Isn't that so nice of him?" Irina's heavy chest and jittery stomach grew worse at the mere thought of Kalim getting 'help' from the Octavinelle Housewarden. "I texted Ace and Deuce to tell your teacher you couldn't come to the lesson because you're sick. Professor Trein says 'get well soon' by the way!"

Her mind was already spinning. 'He has a meeting! He can't miss it...not for something this unimportant! ...I want him to stay, but— No.' a shard of ice stabbed her warm chest, drawing her shoulders up.

"U-um..."

"Hm?" his gaze met hers and her heart felt like it had stopped. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her heart was beating in her stomach and even if it was only behind her knees, the touch of his skin against hers set the spot on fire. She averted her eyes when she felt the temperature in her cheeks climb again. He chuckled at her reaction.

A quick glance showed a proud, determined smile on his face. She didn't miss the glance he shot at her, and the way his eyes crinkled meeting hers.

They reached her bed shortly after. Gently, as though she was a priceless treasure, he set her down on the mattress and spread the thin blanket over her, even fluffing up the pillow before letting her lean back against it.

'Don't be selfish. Being selfish is bad. I shouldn't be...I can't ask that of him.' Her nails scratched at her arm, but the sleeve didn't ground her like she expected. But it seems it was her tongue that was now coated lead.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" His words took her out of her head. "I'm gonna go get something! Be back soon!" She blinked in a silent question, though one which went unnoticed, and he was out of the door running down the hall and down the steps. 'Two at a time'. she noticed. Hissing air, clanking and a short 'Ow!' came from beyond the half-open door— the 'ow' making her worry even worse— then she heard the footsteps again and his face reappeared in the door. She noticed he was carrying something in his arms. "I wasn't sure how to use the stove at first, but I think I did it right!" Something smelled…burnt. A plate was placed on her lap before her mind could catch up. "It really is an old piece of junk!" he laughed. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor barely registered to her; she couldn't take her eyes off the plate of…rice and curry, almost burning her thighs with heat through the thin blanket. Some of the grains were more golden brown than she was used to rice being, their edges a dark, ashy black— 'so that's where the smell came from…'

...

"You…" Her eyes went wide. "made this?" She blinked. "But you don't like curry..." At the perceived praise he laughed and beamed at her.

"I did! And don't worry about that: it's for you after all!" He giggled. "I remembered you really liked the curry Jamil made that one time. That's why I asked him to teach—" he cut himself off, and with a strained giggle added "Whoops! That was supposed to be a secret..."

"I…"

"Hm?" She pushed down the burning in the bridge of her nose in favor of swallowing what little saliva she had left.

"Why...?" something in her chest clenched painfully. His bright smile softened and one faint, breathy chuckle, more a hum, escaped him.

"You're my friend! And you're important to me." The second sentence came an instant too late— his cheeks suddenly seemed a shade or two darker. 'No, I must just be seeing things...'—then a half-giggle brought her eyes back to his. "Why wouldn't I take care of you?" Her heart stuttered and for a moment went as still as a glass sculpture. She recognized the feeling of a crack in the glass deepen at his warmly sparkling eyes and the tender honesty in his voice, and froze. He smiled wider in encouragement and she saw he'd put a spoon in her hand, nudging her. "Go on, try it! It probably won't taste as good as if Jamil had made it, but I gave it my best try!"

'That's not... Why me? I-I don't deserve—...' She looked back up, prepared to protest, and felt the force of his gaze deepen the crack again. She was speechless again.

Lifting up a spoonful of half-burnt rice and orange-red curry, blowing softly on it, she brought it to her mouth, feeling his eyes on her. The first thing she tasted was salt— or, rice covered in salt, with an added ashy aftertaste. As for the second, at first she confused it with feeling cold, before pins and needles started assaulting her tongue. Burnt, over-salted rice and way too much of whatever spices he'd used in the curry. She almost smiled. It was so 'Kalim' somehow.

'He...made this, just for me. He doesn't even like curry. He made this. Just for me.' Her nose burnt again. And this time, she couldn't push it down. Her vision grew misty. Her nose was too clogged to breathe through, and in trying to take a deep breath through her mouth, a small sob spilled out.

"Irina?! You're crying! Oh no, did I make it too spicy?" The worry in his voice made her feel warm.

"No..." She shook her head. "I-I mean, it is very spicy..." It tasted bad; there was just no way to deny that. But when she met his eyes, smiled and said "But...it's good." the words didn't feel like a lie, and the smile didn't feel forced. She probably would have eaten a bucket of it. Especially if it meant she could see that delighted grin light up his face again.

Maybe it technically tasted bad... But to her, it was the best thing she'd ever eaten. It tasted like warmth. Like comfort. Someone caring.

...It tasted like love.

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

Soooooo...figured it was about time I post this (and not just the Ao3 link) on tumblr, too.

This was my first actually finished fanfic! The first thing I actually published for TWST.

Anyway funny story I read Kalim's Dorm Vignette and found out WHY curry is his least favorite food and that he would not make anyone curry right after I published this on Ao3 :,) But I do still like this, even if that one detail wound up not being accurate! I'm really proud of it actually. Like, I wrote and published this all on my own! A piece of actual proper fanfiction!

I think it's a pretty accurate look into how Irina would feel about someone being genuinely nice to her, too And I figure this could be a bit of an introduction to Irina as a character for the people who were put off by the content warning about her backstory

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #moony's writing #kalim al asim #twst kalim #moony's ocs #kalim x oc #twst x oc #oc x canon #oc x character #🐰irina

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viridescentkotik · 2 years

Text

Conflicts of interests

This is a thing I wrote some time ago. I don't know if I will continue it, so for now this will be the only part of this series.

It has discussions of military conflict, torture and human experimentation. But nothing is explicitly shown.

I'm new to Tumblr so it would be great if you could share tips on how to tag this in the comments.

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A hard clack made my ears perk up. Since days I've been sitting in this dark cell, when I wasn't being dragged out and tortured for information.

"No, please not again! I've already told you, I don't know anything!" I yelled.

The door slowly opened, revealing a young, tall man with short brown hair and blue eyes. This wasn't the usual guard. Maybe someone new? The man let out a quiet chuckle.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to question you," he said.

"You're here to kill me, right?" I said coldly, staring at him.

It had always been like this. If someone didn't give up any useful information, this person was usually killed pretty soon.

He chuckled again. "Oh, you're mistaken. As a matter of fact, I'm quite interested in keeping you alive."

I frowned. From my position on the floor, he seemed even taller than he actually was. He hadn't left his spot at the door yet.

"What do you want from me?" I asked.

He crossed his arms. "Well, as you already know, we have captured your entire echelon. We've interrogated all of them, yet you seem to be the most resilient."

I looked down, recalling the last few horrible days. It saddened me to know that my comrades had to go through the same things. The man took a step forward. The door slammed shut behind him with a bang so loud, it almost made me jump up.

"Compared to the others, your body was able to handle the imprisonment and interrogations far better. I'm not going to lie, I'm interested," he explained.

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

"I want to study you, see how you react to different things. I want you to come with me to my laboratory, as a test subject," he said.

My eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"I'd rather die than take part in your twisted experiments!" I said with a steady, confident voice.

The man smirked. I wanted to punch him, but I soon realized it would mean even more trouble for me.

"If I had a dollar for every time I heard something like this, I would be rich," he said.

My eyes widened. On how many people had he experimented before?

"It's not like you can make decisions like that here anyways. You WILL be my test subject. It depends on you how it's going to go. You can cooperate with me , or not, in the end it doesn't matter."

"Fuck this shit, I would never cooperate with you!" "Alright, alright then," he said and turned around.

The door was pushed open and a guard ran into the cell.

#writing #story #human experimentation

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kingpreciouswrld · 3 years

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Hi luv, can you do a angst to fluff Miranda Priestly imagine where Andrea comes back to Runway to confess her feelings for Miranda, but Miranda is in a relationship w/ the reader and has to choose between them. At the end Miranda chooses the reader!

Wants and Needs

Title from Drake's song -"Wants and Needs"

Pairing: Miranda Priestly x Reader

Genre: Angst -> Fluff

Word count: 2k

A/N: God you know I'm a sucker for angsty Miranda 😫 I hope you like it! All mistakes are mine ;-;

__________

The phone landed on the sofa with a soft bounce as you sat back into your own chair with a sigh.

You just got a call from Nigel. He called you right when he got back from leaving Miranda’s office and told you that he saw her walking into the office.

Her being the infamous Andrea Sachs.

The young journalist was known as the one who walked away alive. And thanks to Nigel, you also knew Andrea as the girl who was in love with her ex-boss and your girlfriend, Miranda Priestly.

It wasn’t new information to those who knew the young journalist. Nigel had told you that the girl developed feelings for the editor during her tenure at Runway. So far, the girl never showed any interest in Miranda after she walked away in Paris, and you hoped it stayed that way.

Your relationship with Miranda wasn’t public and you liked it that way. Miranda wanted to keep things underwraps until the both of you were ready to face the numerous paparazzi, critics, and the unavoidable page six, but keeping things underwraps meant that no one knew the editor was taken.

There was no reason for the girl to be at Runway unless...no, no, you needed to use a wise mind. But the journalist wrote small columns in a mediocre newspaper, so why would she be in Runway’s offices?

You tried your best to not jump to conclusions but if anything, you had faith in Miranda. She didn’t like to be bothered during Runway hours unless it was a family matter so you knew she would ignore the girl.

You hoped she would.

You didn’t know much about how Miranda felt about Andrea, she never talked about it.

Either way, there was nothing you could do with the information you were given, you weren’t going to call Miranda at work,

So you just waited.

~~~~~~~

The shutting of the front door followed by heels clacking on tiled floors told you that Miranda was home.

You didn't need to check the time for it to tell you that Miranda was late, more late than usual.

You followed her movements with your hearing, never breaking your staring contest with the painting in front of you.

She was getting closer.

You didn’t have to tell her where you were, you didn't have the energy to anyway but she always came to the study to work on the book.

“Darling there you are.” Miranda bent down and pressed a small kiss to your forehead.

You responded with a hum and watched as your lover made herself comfortable on the sofa across from you.

“How was your day? Did you manage to turn in your project on time?” she asked as she put on her reading glasses before turning to the book.

You were too out of it to answer her questions. Your day was...fine, it was tolerable, but your mind was running at a thousand miles per second and it made you despondent.

Not getting a reply from you, Miranda looked up from the book, “Darling?” she asked softly, "is everything alright?"

"Hm?" Your eyes found icey blue ones that were filled with concern. "Oh, yeah–yes, everything's fine."

Satisfied with your response, Miranda sent you a soft smile before she returned her focus to the fashion pages in her lap.

The silence that followed swallowed you whole, only broken with the few scratches of Miranda's red pen and the flipping of pages.

"Why was Andrea at Runway today?"

At least you held off for longer than you thought you would.

Miranda's focus didn't falter, the only telltale sign that she heard you was the sharp inhale through her nose.

"What are you talking about darling?"

"Andrea Sachs. Why was she there?"

Miranda made no move to stop her work and you sighed,

"It's just a question Miranda."

Knowing that she couldn't get any work done until you were addressed, Miranda finally looked up at you, taking her glasses off in the process,

"If you must know, she was just there to talk."

"Okay," you nodded slowly, "talk about what?"

The white-haired editor fluffed her hair before she waved you off, "It's nothing, really."

"Miranda you never just 'talk' to someone during work let alone an ex-assistant who walked out on you. She worked for you Miranda, I thought you wouldn't be caught dead with someone like–"

"Do NOT talk about Andréa like that," Miranda snapped.

Miranda had never raised her voice at you and it made you physically flinch. She was defending Andrea.

For the first time since the relationship started, you were shaken. You couldn't read Miranda at all and it scared you.

Without warning, your mask slipped in place and you became eerily calm,

"What happened," you said quietly.

Miranda had gone back to the book albeit working slower than usual,

"The girl merely wanted to have dinner."

The puzzle pieces were settling into place. You could feel your stomach clench. Your heart sped up, and you felt your nerves set off as the waves of anxiety spread from your chest throughout your whole body,

"That's why you were late wasn't it…"

Miranda simply continued with her work as she pushed some of her bangs out of her eyes, "Don't be ridiculous Y/N, it was just about friends catching up."

"You never talked about her, you refused to talk about her, she isn't just a 'friend' Miranda."

There was a silent pause as you observed your lover. Her own mask was in place and she was blatantly ignoring the situation. She wouldn't even look you in the eye.

"She asked you out again, didn't she."

A whispered 'yes' cut through the silence.

You took a deep, steadying breath,

"What did you say."

Silence. Miranda returned to the book, turning the pages and making notes here and there. She never once acknowledged you, it was as if the editor shut you out completely.

It broke your heart.

"I hope having your fun is worth it."

You quietly approached the editor, making sure you didn't jostle the book in her lap, before you bent down and placed your own kiss on her forehead.

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything else. The answer of silence was an answer in itself.

Quietly leaving the study, you made your way up to your– to Miranda's bedroom and gathered your clothes into a duffle bag. You didn't want to stay here, you couldn't. You didn't know what all of this meant, it was too much for you to process, but you knew you had to leave.

~~~~~~~

A year of being together and a journalist is what comes between the two of you. A year. A fucking year.

And now, here you were, sitting alone in a hotel room for the 8th day in a row.

How easy it was for Miranda to look at another.

Throughout the week you did your best to not doubt yourself. You knew Miranda's curiosity had nothing to do with how you were as a person or a lover, but you couldn't help that little voice in the back of your head that questioned why you weren't enough to satisfy Miranda.

After the second day of being away from the editor, she started to blow up your phone. Calls on top of calls came through, even during Runway hours and Miranda never called you during Runway hours, maybe texted, but never called.

The night you left the townhouse was the last time you talked to Miranda. Even though she's made many, many attempts to reach you, you weren't ready. Those self-doubts made you hesitant to pick up any of the calls that came to your phone.

On the third day she started to get Nigel and Emily to contact you. You told Nigel what happened and he wasn't happy with what Miranda had done. Emily heard what happened the first time she had contacted you and the redhead wasn't thrilled either. Although Emily was hard to deal with at times, you knew she wanted the best for you and right now she didn't think Miranda was what's best for you. Either way, both of them knew the situation and both of them promised to keep your location underwraps.

That, in turn, caused Miranda to double her attempts (as if they weren't enough already).

She started to send gifts, flowers, anything the editor thought you might like.

When you would arrive at work, there would be a bouquet of flowers on your desk, then throughout the day more bouquets would follow. Hell the woman would send you chocolates, not the cheap ones either, the best chocolates money could buy in New York City. You started to find Roy waiting for you after work and despite your attempts of refusal, you caved in after he personally wanted to see you make it back to wherever you were staying, safely.

Every mutual friend you had with Miranda knew where you were and what had happened between you two, and each of them promised to keep quiet on the matter.

You knew you couldn't hide forever, you just didn't know when she'd finally find you.

A knock on your hotel door snapped you out of your thoughts.

Your breath hitched. It couldn't be Miranda right? You've managed to slip away for 8 days, surely you had more time.

Looking through the little peep hole, you felt your body relax before confusion passed over your features. You never ordered room service. Unless you did and just forgot about it.

You shrugged, 'Free food is free food.' You opened the door and followed the bellhop as he pushed the cart in. Taking a closer look, you found that the cart held a tray of your favorite foods with a basket of your favorite snacks.

"Um, excuse me, where did you get all of this?"

"You only deserve the best."

You whipped around and found Miranda standing in the doorway.

She looked as if she came from work. Her famously white hair had fallen out of it's usual coif and there were a few wrinkles on her blouse.

What surprised you was the fact that the usual poised editor was fidgeting with her fingers. You could practically feel the anxiety rolling off of her body in waves. It was only then that you noticed that the two of you were now alone in your hotel room.

Miranda didn't know where to start, "Y/N, I…" she took a deep breath, "I love you and I-I'm sorry for my lapse in judgement about the whole..Andréa spiel."

You watched as Miranda took tentative steps forward, gaining more confidence when she didn't get any refusal from you.

She took hold of your hands and pressed kisses to them both, "Darling, it's you. I love you and only you. There has never been a moment since you left that I haven't thought of you."

"Miranda…" you whispered softly.

She shook her head and squeezed your hands, "I need you. I should have never entertained the thought of life without you by my side. I choose you Y/N, I love you."

You bit your lip before you sent a small smile towards the editor and Miranda's eyes brightened. She pulled you into a crushing hug and she clung to you like a koala as she kissed any part of your body that was in reach: your shoulder, your neck, your hair. All the while, she whispered 'I love you's' and 'I'm sorry's' and 'Y/N' as if chanting these things would keep you two in the moment. You indulged in the love that was showered on you and you hugged Miranda back just as tightly.

Miranda finally settled to hide her face in the crook of your neck,

"How did you find me?"

Her response was muffled by your neck but you heard it all the same,

"I may have threatened Emily with the banning of cheese in the offices."

You snorted a laugh.

'Ratted out for cheese cubes..are cheese gift baskets a thing?’

__________

Devil Wears Prada tags: @007giu

#miranda priestly x reader #miranda priestly #the devil wears prada #meryl streep #meryl streep movies

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