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brokenmenswhore · 4 months ago

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betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 2

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aemond targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: slightly violent aegon?, angst (from jace & aegon)

a/n: thank you for the ridiculous amount of support on part 1??? i think it’s my best stuff yet so thank you sm. a few people have commented/dm’d to be added to a taglist, so let me know if you’re interested in that!

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

It was three days of solitude before anyone had visited your chambers. Guards stood outside your door day and night, ensuring you remained in place, and the window was much too high to jump without injury, potentially death.

The door had only opened for a particularly selected group of handmaidens who were tasked with bringing you meals and libations. You stared at the fireplace, not even bothering to turn your head when you heard the familiar noise like clockwork.

“We are to begin wedding preparations in the morrow,” Aemond spoke.

The voice was unexpected. You shifted in your chair until you were twisted enough to see him. He had left you in here for three days, alone, bored, and for what? You had tried everything to find a way to escape, but every inch of your chamber’s portion of the Red Keep was watched constantly, and there was not much in the room with you.

“You bore me,” you hissed, “even after three days with no one speak to, you manage to find a way to expunge any chance of titillating conversation with one single line.”

Aemond sighed and bowed his head, his hands clasped behind his back. “I ask you to please make this less difficult, My Lady.”

“You do not have the right to call me My Lady,” you said, standing up and walking over to him, “you have imprisoned me. You seem too noble to do such a thing to someone you think a lady.”

Aemond’s nostrils flared in frustration. A portion of his hair fell from behind his ear, landing in front of his face as he dipped his head even further. “My apologies.”

You did not expect him to say such a thing. “You think yourself sorry?” you asked.

“Despite your preconceived notions,” Aemond started, lifting his head back up to look at you, “I do not wish to offend you.”

Without wasting a single second, you responded, “then allow me to take leave from this room.”

“No.”

“And why not?” you protested.

“Please, Miss Stark, do not make this more difficult than is necessary.” He was growing tired of your quick wit and temperament. He did not think you would be such work.

You scoffed. “My most impactful talent is making everything more difficult than necessary, My Prince. Tell me what I have to do to persuade you to let me out of this room.”

“I am under strict orders from The King to ensure you maintain your position,” he told you.

“I thought the fearsome Aemond Targaryen would not allow his manhood to be squandered by his own brother,” you said, “but I see I was mistaken.”

“Despite your attempt to poison me against him, he is my brother, and he is the King. I will remain loyal to his cause.”

“As your wife, I would hope you remain loyal to me.”

“You are not my wife yet.”

“So do not force me to be,” you said, ending the conversation and walking back to the fireplace, taking your all-too-familiar seat.

“You give up too easy, Miss Stark,” Aemond spoke, clearly unsatisfied with the conclusion to your conversation.

“I do not give up, My Prince,” you responded, “I am simply tired of the sound of your voice.”

Aemond sighed. He understood why you were so cold toward him- he had begun to burn your home, he had forced your hand in a betrothal orchestrated by his brother, and now you were secluded to guest chambers for three days with no explanation.

“My brother fears for your safety, if you were to take your leave and wander the Keep,” Aemond spoke after a moment.

You laughed. You laughed so ridiculously audibly that Aemond did not have to question if it was genuine. “You expect me to believe that The King has any concerns for my safety? I am in here because he fears me, that much I know. I only wish to know when he intends to let me out. I cannot be quarantined forever.”

“What is it you wish to do with all this freedom you so dearly wish for, hm? You wish to wed your bastard prince?” Aemond retorted, beginning to grow annoyed with your constant protestations.

“And how would I return to Winterfell, or even travel to Dragonstone? I do not ride dragons, Aemond. I cannot sail, I cannot ride horseback- I was never taught to do anything but run. I cannot run all the way back to Winterfell. What do you think me capable of if you let me out? You think me capable of returning home? If it is such, you are not as intelligent as you portray yourself.”

“You cannot ride horseback?”

You were growing angrier and angrier. “That is the portion of my statement that you clung to?”

Aemond felt bad. He did not realize you were never taught things that he assumed were basic- he realized he did not know much about your upbringing. He knew that you and your brother were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, which means your father must have passed away when you were young, and it seemed as if the man had sheltered you from learning. He sympathized with why you seemed to eager to leave your room.

“I will only let you out with your agreement to an escort,” Aemond spoke, holding his head up high and returning to a proper, formal stance.

“I do not wish to be babysat.”

“You do not have a choice.”

“And who is to escort me?” you asked, “yourself? The King? Will that allow him to keep an even closer eye on my whereabouts? Was locking me in a room and ensuring I cannot leave not enough?”

“I will escort you myself until I know you can be trusted,” Aemond responded.

“I assure you I cannot be.”

“Must you be so combative?”

You shrugged your shoulders casually. “If you think me combative now, a marriage between us would kill you.”

Aemond remained stoic, attempting to calm your temper down with his gentle demeanor. “Where do you wish to go?”

“I wish for you to take me to the Street of Silk.”

Aemond was completely bewildered. That was perhaps the last place he anticipated- what could you possibly want there?

“I will take you no such place.”

“You agreed to let me out on the only condition of an escort just moments ago,” you fought, “you cannot retract your word, unless your cock is truly as small as they say it is.” It was a low blow, but you were eager and annoyed, and you simply wanted out. You didn’t care if you had to bruise Aemond’s ego to get what you wanted.

“What do you need in the Street of Silk?” he questioned, refusing to drop the subject.

“It is no business of yours.”

Aemond contemplated his options, an idea popping into his brain. “If I do this, you will agree to acknowledge our betrothal and renounce your betrothal to my nephew.”

“Then you will allow me to inform him via raven myself. And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings.”

“You truly believe yourself to be in a position of negotiation?”

“And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings,” you repeated, drawing his attention back to responding to you.

You exchanged an intense glance, searching each other’s eyes for any signs of weakness that the other could exploit. You stood your ground, just as he stood his.

“It is too risky to allow you access to ravens without allowing anyone to read what you intend to send,” Aemond tried to level with you.

You stood up to him, getting directly in his face. “You will not intrude on the contents of my writings, or you will have to drag me down the aisle, kicking and screaming.”

“You negotiate quite a lot for someone I could easily leave in here to rot,” Aemond fought back.

“I will not beg you, Aemond,” you warned, “but I will ask you to please accept the terms of this deal.”

“Okay,” Aemond finalized, “we have a deal.”

“Then we best get going,” you said, stepping aside and walking away, not bothering to turn around to check that he was following you. The moment you were out of the room, you did not need him, and you did not care if he truly accompanied you. You knew he would, and he did, swiftly catching up to you and walking directly beside you. You desperately wanted to remain in control of the situation, but you were unsure of your current whereabouts, and you did not know your way around.

You and Aemond did not speak. He escorted you out of the Red Keep and through the streets of King’s Landing, denying any guards who attempted to remain by either of your sides. He did not need to clarify when you had arrived at your desired destination, for the sudden abundance of moaning, cups, and nakedness alerted you as such.

“You may tend to your business now,” Aemond said.

“I thought you were hellbent on sticking by my side?” you said, more a question than a statement.

“I must attend to my own personal business,” he told you, “if I am not to inquire upon yours, I should hope you will extend me the same courtesy.”

You nodded your head slightly, but enough for Aemond to notice. “Who is to say that I will not run the second I am out of your sight?”

“Do you wish to be here or not?” Aemond snapped, “meet me back here by dawn, lest you risk not only my brother being alerted of your empty chambers, but your freedom ceased entirely.”

“Fine,” you replied, “go on, then.”

Aemond gave you a nod, turning away from you and entering a brothel a few doors down, walking through the street as if the path to the specific place was second nature. You looked around, attempting to decide on a building, when you realized you could have just followed Aemond.

When you entered the whorehouse, you were taken aback by how different it was from that of Winterfell. There were seldom any candles, the rooms remaining dimly lit. A woman sat behind a bar, tending to the cups of the men who were not exploring their own pleasure. You approached the bar with confidence, seating yourself.

“Rare I see a lady who doesn’t work for me in here,” the woman spoke, “what will you have?”

“Employment, if possible,” you answered, “under certain terms, of course.”

The woman chuckled. “And what makes you worthy of employment?”

You looked around the vicinity, ensuring that no one around could hear your next words as you leaned over the bar. “Give me 10 minutes with any of your most valued customers, and I guarantee you they will speak well on my behalf.”

The woman smiled. “You got a name?”

“Not when I am here.”

“I don’t do none of that,” she responded, “even if my customers don’t, I am to know the names of those I employ.”

You leaned even further over the bar, lowering your voice to an almost-whisper. “I am a Stark, ma’am. That makes my cunt worth more than anyone in here put together.” You didn’t mean the words, not believing in placing a value on women, but you knew it would strike a chord with her.

She looked at you in admiration and confusion. “What would a Stark be doing in King’s Landing, asking the likes of me for employment?”

“That is her business alone,” you replied, “but she is here, and she is ready to work.”

Her smile widened, her expression changing from uncertainty and skepticism to acceptance. “I’ve been looking for a headstrong girl like you,” she told you, “what are the terms you speak of?”

“I wish for you to be the only one who knows my true name. I do not wish to be a Stark when I am here,” you began, “and I intend to only satisfy the clients who not only satisfy my desires in return, but who do not question me on my house. If one may recognize me, I wish for you to keep them from me.”

“Ah, you want selective clientele?” she clarified, “I only do that in special cases. Some of these girls have been here for ages without such a privilege. If you fuck in my whorehouse, you fuck under my rules.”

“I will give you larger portion of my earnings than your other girls do, should it ensure that my ‘selective clientele’ remain truly selective,” you bargained.

“You would be willing to do such things?” she asked.

“I come to you for employment for myself, not for the coin,” you assured her.

She looked you up and down, top to bottom, assessing every part of your body. “You have yourself a deal.”

She reached her hand over the bar, allowing you meet her hand with your own as you shook briefly, a gesture finalizing the terms of your employment.

✶

Jacaerys,

I am sure my brother has made you aware of the events in Winterfell. Your uncle threatened to burn my home, and when he proved good on his word, I had no choice but to appease him.

I am not sure what news you will receive in Dragonstone, but Aemond and I have come to an agreement that I will renounce our betrothal and acknowledge a betrothal to him. It is imperative that he believe me good on my word.

I wish for you to know that my words hold no true meaning. I will discover an escape from your uncle, and I intend to return home to wed you. I hope you will still have me. Please do not believe any word that is not mine.

You sent the raven first thing in the morning, Aemond assuring you could trust his word that he would not read or alter its contents. Something about the way he carried himself had you believing him, despite your better judgement.

Jacaerys was furious when he received the letter, storming off to the council room to confront his mother.

“They have kidnapped her!” he yelled, slamming his fist on the table as soon as he approached it, “they have kidnapped my betrothed and intend to force her hand to Aemond. Should we not act?”

His mother sighed. “We cannot afford to act on such a minute thing.”

Jace looked at her in confusion, turning to scan the faces of everyone else present, growing even more confused when they met him with pitiful stares. “How is this minute? I am your heir, and this is my betrothed they are exploiting. This is your future queen!”

“When dragons fight, everything burns,” Rhaenyra spoke, tone never breaking, “we cannot risk such a catastrophe over someone who is not even a Targaryen.”

Jace was livid, his face turning red with anger. “If we allow them to do this, we lose our allies in the North.”

“We do not need them, should Daemon be successful in his ventures in Harrenhaal.”

“How could you possibly be so blind?” Jace asked, no longer holding back, “we need the North, mother. I cannot fathom how you could disregard my future bride in this way.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “should Lady Stark wed Aemond, you may marry Baela, Jacaerys. ‘Tis not the end of the world.”

Jacaerys realized that it was impossible to win this argument. He slammed his fists on the table once more before storming off to his chambers, dropping onto a chair and placing his head in his hands.

He missed you. It was almost the date you two were to wed, and he was growing affectionate toward you, as you were with him. He was thrilled to receive correspondence from you, but the contents of the letter only added to his misery. He understood the position you were in, and he appreciated that you had no true intentions of wedding anyone but him, but he knew his uncle. If Aemond wanted her, and she was with him, Aemond would find a way to take her.

He was worried for you. He knew exactly who his uncle Aegon was, and though you could take care of yourself, you never had to do as such around Aegon. Aegon was forceful and cruel, and Jacaerys feared for what he may do to you because you could take care of yourself. Aegon did not take well to women who did not succumb to his will.

“Jace?” Rhaena said, opening the doors to his chambers slowly, afraid to overstep and upset him further.

“Rhaena, hey,” Jace said, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, “what is it?”

“Are you okay?” Rhaena asked, approaching the fireplace and taking the seat next to him.

Jacaerys controlled his breathing, forcing himself to cease crying. “I am just frustrated is all.”

Rhaena gave Jace a pitiful smile. “You quite fancy her, this Miss Stark?”

Jacaerys let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I believe I quite do.”

“If she is all you speak that she is, she will be just fine,” Rhaena assured him, “if she can handle Aemond, she can handle anyone.”

“It is not Aemond I worry of.”

Rhaena sighed. Aemond was noble and his first priority was duty. He remained loyal to those he believed worthy of his loyalty, and despite how cruel he could be with a blade or with Vhagar, he would never hurt anyone for his own enjoyment. Aegon, on the other hand, spilled blood for the hell of it, and had nothing and no one who could calm him down when his fuse blew. He was ruthless, mean, and as king, he was capable of taking whatever he wanted, and burning anything he didn’t.

“I cannot see why Aegon would have any reason to bother her. They have taken her there for Aemond, after all.”

“Have you forgotten who Aegon is?” Jacaerys said, tears threatening to spill again, “he does not do well with those who do not show him favor. I fear for her safety.”

“She will return to you, Jacaerys, she wrote it so herself,” Rhaena said, attempting to remind Jacaerys of her written promises in an effort to calm him down.

Jacaerys took hold of Rhaena’s hand, showing his friend appreciation for her council, as his breathing calmed down and he watched the fire dance.

✶

“You let her send a raven to Dragonstone?” Aegon questioned, turning to Aemond in a fury, “tell me you read it, brother. Tell me you did not allow her to perpetuate this war by promising herself to Jacaerys again. Tell me you were not so stupid.”

“We have come to an understanding,” Aemond tried to explain, “and access to one raven was part of such.”

“You idiot,” Aegon sighed, walking away from his brother and pouring himself a drink.

“She remains here, with us. I do not see the issue. Regardless of her writings, our nephew does not have the confidence to dare try to enter King’s Landing. She has given me her word that she will acknowledge our betrothal.”

Aegon lifted his head up, cup in hand, as he turned back to Aemond. He lifted the cup toward Aemond’s chest, a finger pointed out, asking, “where were you last night, dear brother?”

“I know not of what you ask of me,” Aemond responded.

“You see,” Aegon started, taking a sip from his cup, “one of the large perks of being King, is that I may employ who I choose in such positions such as the King’s Guard. Quite nice having friends around, really. Only, just this morn, I was informed that you had not only visited our captive, but you let her out until sunrise.”

“That is quite the story,” is all Aemond said, monotone, his facial expressions remaining stoic so as not to give anything away.

“What reason would my King’s Guard have to lie?”

Aemond stepped closer to his brother. He would have been in Aegon’s face if they were the same height, but instead, he looked down upon his brother. “That is a question for them, brother. I know not of what lies they tell you.”

Aegon nodded. He always praised his brother for his loyalty to the crown, and to his family, and Aegon was almost incapable of believing that Aemond would ever betray his trust, especially if only based on the word of his friends.

“I wish to speak to her,” Aegon said, returning to a casual state, “will you inform her as such?”

Aemond nodded. “I will return shortly with her.”

Aemond went directly to your chambers, swinging the door open with carelessness to whatever your current state may be. Luckily enough for you, you were simply watching the fire.

“The King requests an audience with you.”

“He knows about the raven, does he?”

“Please, Miss Stark, I am here to accompany you to the throne room.”

You sighed, “I do not wish to go to the throne room.”

“He is the King,” Aemond reminded you, “you do not have a choice.”

“I always have a choice,” you responded, “I refuse to live without one. If your brother wishes to speak with me, he may either come to me himself, or he may let me out of this dreadful apartment permanently. You may tell him as much.”

Aemond did not try to convince you to accompany him- he knew you well enough to know it would be useless. He walked back to the throne room, alone, much to his brother’s dismay.

Aegon did not speak, but threw his hands up in exasperation. “She refuses to come,” Aemond spoke plainly.

“Tell her she does not have a choice.”

“I did,” Aemond began, “but she refuses to not have a choice. She says you may go to her if you wish to speak to her.”

“She did, did she?” Aegon said, amused and frustrated. “Very well, then.”

Aegon stood from the throne, walking past Aemond as he moved toward your chambers, Aemond close behind him.

He also had no regard to knock or announce his arrival, swinging the door open. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“What do you want?” you asked, standing and facing him.

“Well, for starters, I want you address your King properly.”

You did not speak. You did not move. You simply just stared at him, unwavering in your stubbornness.

“Leave us, Aemond,” Aegon commanded. Aemond wanted to protest, but he looked into Aegon’s eyes, and knew it would be in everyone’s best interest to depart.

You folded your arms across your chest as you stared at him, refusing to speak to him until he made conversation worthwhile.

“My guards tell me you had quite the escapade last night with my brother,” he said.

“How am I to have ‘had quite the escapade’ when you quarantine me to this cell?”

“Aemond let you free, did he not?”

You scoffed. “Aemond is holding me prisoner just as much as you are.”

“Now, what did I do to deserve such combative spite from you?” he teased, “is this room alone not nicer than the entire kingdom of Winterfell?”

“Winterfell is my home, and you instructed your brother to burn it down if I did not accompany him back here,” you reminded him, “you are a coward. If you want an allegiance with the North, are you not capable of orchestrating such a thing yourself?”

Aegon tsked, stepping closer to you, “but you’re so much more fun.”

“Let me out of this room.”

“No.”

“Let me out of this room, Aegon.”

Aegon swiped his arm across the drinks table, knocking everything to the ground with a dramatic clash, glass breaking and shooting across the floor.

“Address me by my title!” he bellowed.

“You are but a whiny little baby,” you spoke, no sense of fear in your voice whatsoever.

Aegon took a deep breath, unable to hold back his rage. “Don’t you dare speak to me like this. I could have you hanged.”

“Hanging would be great relief from this conversation.”

Aegon was growing more and more furious by the second. He got in your face, spitting, “you are nothing. You are simply just a pawn in my game. I pity my brother for having to put up with you.”

“As you should,” you replied, “so long as you hold me hostage, I shall make you pity your own existence.”

Aegon’s face was turning red, his breathing quickening in anger the more you spoke. His fingers were curling and uncurling into fists, completely unsure of what could be an outlet for all this rage. He was mad, mostly at your stubbornness, but he did not want to seem irrational.

One of his hands moved upwards to grip your throat, pushing you back against a wall and holding your neck in place.

He kept his face close to yours for a moment, the hand around your throat squeezing enough to hold you in place, but not enough to obstruct your breathing entirely. “I’m going to make your life hell.”

“My life is already hell,” you spat back, breathing the best you could, “I am forced to spend it with the likes of you and your family.”

Aegon searched your eyes for any sense of fear or worry, but he found none. You were more stubborn than he realized, refusing to allow him any true control over you. Even with a hand around your throat, and his body pressed to yours, you refused to show any signs of weakness.

“I could make you a whore, you know,” he nearly whispered, “you think yourself so strong? What will you do when I have you trapped beneath me, using you for my own pleasure? Will you be so headstrong then?”

You did not dignify his words with a response. You, instead, decided to add insult to injury, spitting in his face. His hand immediately left your throat as he used his shirtsleeve to wipe off your spit from his face, taking a moment to process what just happened before his rage grew even more.

“That was a mistake,” he spoke, low.

“Kidnapping me was the mistake, Your Grace,” forcing evident sarcasm on your last two words so that Aegon knew you did not mean them. You were patronizing him.

“I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon with the rest of the scum.”

“I am already imprisoned, I do not care if you decide to change the scenery.”

Aegon was more frustrated than ever. He could not seem to find an insult that would strike a chord with you. He did not know how to weaken you, and that killed him.

“I’ll fuck you into submission like the whore they say you are,” Aegon hissed.

“If I am the whore they say I am, I dare say myself capable of fucking you into submission should you try anything, and then you would only be weaker.”

Aegon screamed. He didn’t scream a word or a threat, but a genuine outlet of frustration and pent up anger, before commanding, “bend the knee and renounce the False Queen. Now.”

“No.”

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”

“No.”

You did not think Aegon capable of surprising you, but in the next moments, he did just that. His rage was overtaking him, causing him to lose control over his emotions as they heightened and heightened, and he began to cry. His tone remained angry, his face still red hot, but tears began to fall.

“Renounce Rhaenyra,” he pleaded.

“No,” you maintained.

He was having trouble catching his breath, but you remained still, an immovable object he could not knock down. He began to take in sharp, quick breaths as he tried to calm himself down, but he was unable. He plopped down on one of the fireplace chairs, unable to remain standing, for he felt like he could not breathe. He was crying so hard he was nearly dry heaving from the intensity.

“Stop,” you said, trying to keep your voice strong, “this will not wear me down, Aegon, stop.”

He did not turn to you. He could not respond or even think about speaking. He continued to break down in the chair, his mask of strength slipping away, and he could do nothing to stop it, his emotions completely intruding in on and overwhelming his senses.

“Aegon, relax.” You did not want to comfort him. You loathed him. The longer he was in hysterics, the more you realized it was not a game, but you desperately tried to stop yourself from being kind to him in any way. After all, he had not been kind to you whatsoever.

“I- I can’t breathe,” he stuttered out, panic setting into his features. His heart rate was rapid, and his body was becoming weaker and weaker as his heart and his mind raced.

“Yes, you can,” you said, breaking your strength a bit, “focus on calming your breathing down.”

“C- can’t,” he coughed out.

You took a deep breath, knowing you would regret assisting him in any way once he was okay again, but you kneeled in front of him anyway, taking his hands in yours. “Focus on calming your breathing down,” you repeated, meeting his eyes with your own.

His eyes were red and swollen, his entire face wet from the tears and the panic attack. His cheeks were still rosy, having never calmed down from when his hand was around your throat. He looked somewhat beautiful.

Aegon looked at you, staring into your eyes as he tried to catch his breath, watching as you exaggerated your breathing in-and-outs as a model for him to follow. He stayed focused on your breathing, matching his own pace with yours, until he was calmed down, able to breath again, no longer hysterically crying.

When you noticed he had returned, you immediately went to pull your hands away, but he gripped your wrists before you could do so.

He sniffled, all of his strength completely gone, as his broken voice spoke, “thank you.”

You nodded at him, your stubbornness still present, refusing to give him a small smile or speak.

You went to stand and walk away from him, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.

“Let me go, Aegon,” you said.

He didn’t respond, he simply pulled you back toward him until you were standing in front of his seated figure. In a split second, so as not to allow you room to leave, he removed his hands from your wrists and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his head to your stomach as he hugged himself into your body.

You wanted to make a comment about him being weak rather than strong, about how you hated him, about how he owed you leave from your apartment, but words escaped you. In the moment, Aegon was not the cruel, bloodthirsty usurper, but a lonely, scared little boy who was clinging onto the one thing that was currently bringing him comfort.

He stayed in place for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of your body and the comfort of the hug. After several moments, he opened his eyes and pulled away from you, shooting up to stand. You exchanged a glance, but he did not speak, he simply exited the room, leaving you alone and imprisoned once again.

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming

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jewreallythinkthat · 9 months ago

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I'm gonna be super clear. If I see you in the jumblr tag and you are not Jewish, and you post anything even slightly inappropriate or aggressive or trying to shame Jews, it's an instant block. I'm not engaging, I'm not giving you the oxygen of publicity. I will expunge you from my Tumblr dashboard and never think about you again. The jumblr tag is not for you.

(on a side note, if you're not Jewish and have genuine questions about Judaism, antisemitism, anything associated with Jewishness that you want to ask, there are plenty of us in the tag happy to answer. I will say though that you need to be prepared to be called out on language you use even if not intentionally. It's possible to criticise people and help them learn without it being a personal attack)

#jumblr #antisemitism

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teyums · 2 years ago

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His Secret Admirer (Part Three) - Neteyam x fem na’vi reader

part one | part two | part four | bonus chapter

wc: 4.3k

a/n: here is the well awaited pt 3, I didn’t know it could get more angst-y than it already has but boy I was wrong. the next part will be the final part to the series, prepare for sh!t to go down y’allll 😗

contains: soft + angsty neteyam, lots of emotions so buckle up fr, some language (not much at all), familial conflict

“~~” resembles a time skip or a POV change

Neteyam rarely got angry. But after witnessing Eyiti purposely say what she did to hurt your feelings, he felt anger bubble deep in the pit of his stomach. He so badly wanted to chase after you as he watched you walk away, but he couldn’t risk having her run to tell her parents that the olo’eyktan’s son had disrespected her. This was what he faced on the daily, people holding his future over his head with no regard of how high he had to jump just to get it back. He was trying his hardest to keep his parents in a good mood, so when he would tell them about you they would be less inclined to deny his pleas and actually hear him out. If he went after you, it would squash all of his hopes of ever being yours. He whipped his head around to face the unapologetic girl in front of him, not being able to conceal his repugnance.

“Why did you do that?” He spoke through gritted teeth, jerking his arm away to remove her grimy mitt from his skin. “I did not promise you anything. My parents do not speak for me.” He brushed his arm, trying to expunge the feeling of her touch.

“Oh, but I think they do ‘Teyam.” She cooed with a pout that was far from genuine to shield the smug that lied behind her lips. “They said you’d talk to my parents, so that’s what you’re going to do. Unless, you want me to go and tell my father about your little girlfriend. And now that I think about it, I don’t even think I heard your parents mention her. Is that allowed?” She already knew the answer, her question was only a threat.

Everything began to add up in his mind. Why her behavior would change so suddenly- trying her hardest to gain his attention conveniently at the time you would come around. He had never once felt the urge to injure a woman, and he still didn’t, but he was definitely tempted to tag Kiri in on this conversation and support whatever method of action she chose to take.

He wished he could have told you in that moment that being her date was never his idea. But he was just as stunned, it hadn’t even been brought up to him before Eyiti revealed the information in front of the two of you. There his parents went again, making decisions for him knowing he would have no choice but to follow through. His heart felt like it had been stomped on, even more so at the thought of how badly you were hurting right now. He had no intention of leading you on, and you probably hated him for doing just that, even if it were accidental. In fact, he planned on agreeing to the Ikran ride, taking the two of you somewhere you wouldn’t be disturbed and asking you to be his date to the festival. But everything went to shit, like usual.

He exhaled sharply, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that would have this brat running to make his life more of a living hell than it was already becoming. He dodged Eyiti’s attempt at grabbing his hand to lead him along, shooting her a piercing glare. If looks could kill, the village would be planning her funeral right about now. “I can walk just fine on my own. And stop calling me that.”

He entered her family’s home with as much respect as he could muster, grudgingly taking a seat once realizing his parents had already arrived. There was nothing he could do to stall this any longer. He kept his stare avoidant, anything to distract him from the conversation at hand. There was a drastic amount of space between him and Eyiti on the mat, which Jake had not failed to realize. The voices around him sounded like they were underwater as he tuned them out. He toyed with the intricate details on his armband while they spoke, all he could think about was how this was the last place he wanted to be. His mind was anywhere else but here. The image of you talking with Ta’olu reappeared in his mind like clockwork, regardless of how many times he tried to erase it.

“Neteyam?” Neytiri’s voice repeated for the third time, sending him a warning glance once noticing he was out of it before she proceeded. “Do you agree with the date chosen for your ceremony?”

No, absolutely not. He didn’t agree with the date chosen, he didn’t even agree with the woman chosen.

Eyiti never paid him mind years ago until the day she found out what he would grow up to be. She looked at him like a piece of meat and he knew it. Not that he ever craved her attention; when she would speak he would simply imagine she was someone else. You were the only girl in the clan who saw him for who he truly was. Just a man wanting to fall in love like everybody else. Was that so bad?

Neteyam abruptly rose up from where he sat and cleared his throat, effectively cutting the conversation short with an unexpected answer. “I am sorry, I refuse to mate with Eyiti. I will only accompany her to the festival, as that has been promised by my parents. But no one other than me will have a say in who will have my heart.”

The mouths of everyone in the room fell to the floor but Neteyam stood strong on his declaration, excusing himself from the conversation and walking out of the tent- leaving Eyiti as stunned and embarrassed as she had made you feel earlier. Jake and Neytiri immediately rose to go after him, apologizing for his change of behavior as much as they could while her parents consoled their daughter who was now sobbing dramatically.

He didn’t want to accompany her to the festival at all, but declining her as a mate, and forcing his parents to meet someone new all in one day was probably not the best idea. His plan was to show up with Eyiti, then ditch her in roughly ten minutes after her parents saw them together, slip out unnoticed and find you. He’d have to get Tuk in on the plan to serve as a distraction, which shouldn’t be too difficult for him. Neteyam was a stickler for being a gentleman, but he couldn’t care less about that witch’s feelings.

His legs were sent into a slight run-walk as Jake forced him into their family home by the back of his neck. He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair before turning around to face his father who was nearly red in the face, already knowing what was next to come.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how much you’ve embarrassed us? Our entire family? In front of the parents of the woman who is supposed to be your mate?” He yelled a string of questions, his finger pointed out of their tent to clarify exactly what he was referring to. His eldest son stood unamused. Silent and withdrawn. His physical body was here, but his mental was somewhere unknown. His head was turned to the side, his face not even so much as flinching at his father’s words. He simply laughed to himself, dropping his head towards the floor and mumbling incomprehensible sentences to himself.

“And what are you laughing at? Which part of this is funny to you?” Neytiri chimed in, looking at him with such disbelief it would have hurt his feelings, had he found the will to care. There was no more approval he strived to seek from his parents.

“Answer your mother when she’s speaking to you, boy.” Jake growled, Neteyam’s ears perking up.

“I am not a boy.” His eyes shot up, challenging his father with zero hesitation in his tone. Neteyam had it to his wits end with his parents trying to control every aspect of his life. Elder or not, he was no longer going to let them have a say in who he chose to love or how he chose to live his life. “You heard what I said.” His accent was apparent. “I will not mate with that woman. And I will not apologize for loving another, my heart belongs to [Y/n].” He stated strongly, lifting his chin to indicate confidence in his decision.

Neytiri blinked in astonishment, her voice sputtering while she tried to find a way to continue the conversation with words instead of knocking him over his head. “And what makes you think we will allow you to mate with someone we do not know? Someone we have not deemed fit for you? This girl will be Tsahik, Neteyam!” She hissed.

This. This was the issue. His parents were so concerned about status in the clan that they let it overshadow their own son’s right to happiness.

“I have tried so many times to tell you! She is special, I swear it. You guys won’t listen to me.” He extended his hands to the pair in a pleading motion, his voice growing louder with each word he spoke and a slight crack in his pitch giving away how much this was all starting to affect him. “Dad wasn’t even one of the people when the two of you mated, it went against everything the clan knows. You cannot judge me. And I couldn’t care less about this stupid title. You can give it to Lo’ak, for all I care.” He spat, leaving them right where they stood and storming out of their home.

He was right, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Jake wasn’t a real na’vi when he first arrived, he was an avatar driver with an aborted mission. Neytiri was promised to another, but went against her parents and mated with him anyway. They both went against the rules because their love for each other was so strong, just as he was now. How could his own parents blame him for wanting to find true love just as they did?

“Neteyam!” Neytiri gasped, both her hands coming up to cover her mouth and tears forming in her eyes.

Jake immediately turned to comfort her, pulling her into a firm hug and rubbing her back. “He doesn’t mean that, I know he doesn’t. He’s just upset, I’ll talk to him.” He held her as she cried into his chest, wanting to go after Neteyam but knowing he couldn’t leave his wife alone after what had transpired.

By the time Jake had soothed Neytiri and ran out after his son, he had already set out into the air on his Ikran without another word spoken.

Neteyam soared through the purple-tinted sky aimlessly, allowing the bond with the animal to reach deep into his heart and figure out where to take him. He winced at the thought of how he had addressed his mother, the look on her face after what he said. He was fed up and couldn’t stand to argue any longer, his voice was not being heard no matter how loud he spoke and it had pushed him well over the edge. By the time he realized what he was saying, it was too late to take it back and the damage had already been done. He felt the innate urge to turn around, to run to his mother and apologize. But he was tired of doing the right thing all the time. For once in his life he just wanted to be able to make a mistake like everybody else could without it seeming like the end of the world.

His father’s voice calling his name could be heard through the speaker connected to the neckpiece they all wore for communication. He curled his lips in annoyance, hooked two fingers under the band and snapped it off his neck with ease. He pitched it into the air without another thought, letting it fall to the ground below him. He had no idea where it landed and he couldn’t care less. He didn’t want to be bothered anymore.

He allowed the wind to flow through his braids, the cold, crisp air hitting his cheek and helping in keeping him grounded. After what felt like a short journey, his Ikran slowed and prepared to land in the open field by the Tree of Voices- a place for prayers to be heard. He eyed the giant willow tree, ignoring the heavy weight in his chest. He dismounted from the bird, gently pulling his braid to break tsaheylu and smoothing a hand up its rough back, followed by a tender pat to calm its spirit. He hadn’t been here since his parents brought him to visit the ancestors, when he was younger. There had been nothing he wanted enough to call upon Eywa for, and his duties rendered him far more busy than he had expected, which left almost no time for a casual visit.

He trailed a hand along the delicate, elongated tendrils of the tree as he walked- taking a brief looking around to make sure he was alone before he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He reached over his shoulder to pull the long braid from behind his back, taking hold of one of the tree’s branches in his other hand. He watched closely as his queue reached for the branch, wrapping itself around and making the connection that would allow Eywa to hear his pleas. He could feel the intense spiritual energy coarse through his veins, allowing him to let his guard down.

His head lowered and his eyes came to a close. He had so much to say but didn’t know how to phrase it, didn’t know how to start. Neteyam was not familiar in asking for things, let alone help. He was always made to do everything himself, made to figure it out on his own like a true leader. Every moment in his life boiled down to preparation for what was yet to come, so much that he didn’t even know how to handle the emotions that would arise in the present. He was constantly running, motivation carrying him forward. But now he questioned the purpose of the race entirely. Had he ever stopped to ask himself if this was what he wanted?

“Eywa, I have come to you to ask for help, if you’ll have me.” He started, his voice merely a whisper as he continued. “I don’t know what to do.”

Going against his parents was ultimately going against everything he knew. It felt wrong. Forbidden. But giving up on his feelings for you felt even worse. At this point he didn’t care what would happen, he’d bare with having his potential title stripped from him if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with you by his side.

His eyes shut tightly in attempt to stop the tears he dreaded welcoming. His throat burned and a lump began to form that felt nearly impossible to swallow. He didn’t want to cry, not after he had tried so hard not to. He hadn’t in years, and he knew if he allowed himself to break down in this moment it would only lead to bringing up every other emotion he had succeeded in bottling up for so long.

Neteyam’s shoulders began to shudder and he shook his head in resistance at the shiver that struck through his body, but ultimately failed at putting up a fight. A sob finally erupted from his trembling lips and he brought his free hand up to shield his face, as if he were afraid someone would see him in such a vulnerable state. He sat in the bioluminescent flora around him, simply allowing himself to cry, something he hadn’t been able to do in years. The pressure of being the perfect son had finally gotten to him. He was aware from time that it was slowly creeping up, taking an immense toll on his mental health and he tried his best to outrun it. A slight miscalculation on his end, you can never outrun the inevitable. He had never expected it to break him down in such a way, his body physically feeling weak and hopeless. He was completely conflicted, knowing it was always best to follow his heart but it went against his coding to disappoint his parents.

He felt the presence of Eywa and his ancestors calm him, the pace of his breathing gradually returned to normal and the beating of his heart followed soon after. He wiped his face dry with the backside of his hand, regaining his composure while gathering the will to carry on with his prayer. “I have never asked anything of you until now, because nothing has ever meant more to me than this. Until I met her, I hadn’t known the true meaning of happiness, what it felt like to be alive. And now, we’ve found our way back into each other’s lives and I cannot let her go. Not again.” He felt an ache deep in his chest, fearful that even saying these words out loud would turn them into reality.

“I fear that I have disappointed my parents greatly. I said some things I am not proud of, and I am not sure if I can take back the damage they have caused.” He sighed, his eyes opening and his head raising to peer at the sky above him. “I know she is special. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it, deep in my bones.” With his hand placed over his chest, it balled into a fist against his skin and he begged with everything he had left in him.

“Please, allow them to see her the way I do.”

~~~

Had it not been for your mother that day, you don’t know what you would’ve done. The walk back to your tent was unforgiving as you tried to hide the tears that were forming once more, not out of sorrow, but of pure disgust. The speed in which you declined Ta’olu’s invitation was utterly comical. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t consider it for a second, but all the faith you had in his proposal died as soon as you found out he was only inviting you to make the same girl he ditched you for in the past, jealous. You wished you hadn’t even stopped to give him the time of day because the whole encounter only made you feel worse.

You pushed through the fabric that served as a doorway to your home and crossed the distance that separated you from your mother, sinking to your knees and tears flowing from your eyes when she wrapped her arms around you without question. “I’m too late, Mama.” You hiccuped. Your tears felt like acid on your cheeks and it hurt to even speak. You hated crying, especially over something like this. The entire process of being upset, realizing your emotions, then having to find an outlet to rid them- revolted you.

“What happened?” Your mother looked down at you, her eyebrows furrowed with concern and a hint of apprehension. Her head moved to the side with an understanding sigh when your crying picked up at the nature of her question, resting her cheek against the top of your head and stroking your hair. She quietly shushed you, rubbing your back to aid in comfort. Your fervent emotions shrouded your will to elaborate.

You sniffled, inhaling a pathetically shaky breath and forcing your voice to come together and make words after a bit. “I’m too late. He’s found someone else.” Saying it out loud to her made it all the more real. You couldn’t stop your heart from clenching when you admitted the truth to her. In all your years of loving him, your mother had never had you come to her with anything he had done that wasn’t positive.

She slowly pulled away from your embrace, but only to look into your eyes as you spoke. She needed to make sure for herself that she was hearing this correctly. “No… How? The two of you were just together only two days ago.” She sounded as dumbfounded as you felt.

“Eyiti,” You shook your head, wiping the tears that had fallen without your permission off your face with the heel of your hand, annoyed at the fact that more appeared no matter how hard you tried to settle yourself. “She’s his date to the festival tomorrow. He’s probably talking to her parents about it right now.” Your voice got quieter, your shoulders slumping down as you sulked and studied the palms of your hands- staring at the lines etched into your skin as a getaway from your feelings.

Your eyes shot up when you heard your mother breath out a sigh, it almost sounded like she was *relieved*. She quickly geared up to explain once the expression on your face became one of slight betrayal and confusion.

She shook her head and laughed quietly, “There is still time, [Y/n]. Her being his date does not mean they are promised to one another. But it very well could, if you do not take your chance tomorrow.” She used her thumbs to clean the tears that had rolled down the side of your face, cupping it in her hands afterwards. “Did you bring what is needed?” Her eyes were soft and seeing her calm expression somehow helped you in doing the same.

“Yes, I…” You blinked to clear your vision, opening your mouth to speak but settling for a nod of your head. The small bag was brought around to your front, holding it open so she could see inside.

A grin from her was all that was required to strike you with the ambition you didn’t know you had left.

Your fingers were sore to the touch and swollen after hours of carving the marbles and stones you had found into small beads. The process was intricate and painstaking. It required delicate hands and utmost patience. Had you tried to speed up the process you were at risk of cracking the material directly in half, rendering it useless. And after doing just that almost three times while trying to rush through, you had absolutely no more room for error.

You used a thin twine to weave the beads together, crocheting intricate rows of stitches between the material to hold it together, making a clasp that would be easy for him to take on and off on his own. Your mom had taught you how to make jewelry and garments years ago, you eventually surpassed her in skill. You hadn’t the desire or need to make something for a while, but the talent you possessed remained. You constructed his gift with unbelievable precision, your eyes strained from barely taking time to blink. But you were still incredibly nervous that it wouldn’t be to his liking.

Unknown to you, Neteyam loved everything you did, even if it was as simple as breathing.

You couldn’t thank your mom enough for helping you with this. She had given you a deadpan look the tenth time you expressed gratitude, so you figured ten was a good number to settle on. You felt silly even asking, so you were more than appreciative that she had offered. At first, it was hard for you to understand why she had been so supportive. Then she explained to you that when she were head over heels for your father, she had no one to lean on but herself, not even her own mother. She was more than willing to help her daughter win over the one she loved, because all she wanted was to see you happy.

Eclipse had long passed, the sun tucking itself away after a job well done and the moon announcing its arrival with how the night now encapsulated the village. The necklace was finally complete. One could tell how much effort went into it just by looking at it, it was beautiful. The beads were varying shades of brown, orange, and red- Neteyam’s favorite colors to wear. You honestly had no idea why you decided on still making it, without even knowing how this whole thing would play out at that. There was a small part of you that feared it would go to waste after what you witnessed earlier, but there was an even bigger part of you that since rediscovered the hope you previously lost.

How dark it had become outside skated past you without notice until you finally looked up from the spot your eyes were locked on since this afternoon. The both of you had even skipped dinner just to make sure you finished in time for tomorrow.

“How are you even still sitting like this?” You collapsed backwards with a exhale of great fatigue, your eyes fluttering closed against your will and your back crying out in relief. You knew hunching over in the same exact spot would hurt, but you had no idea you’d come out of it feeling a hundred years older than you already were. “Do you think he will like it?” You mumbled, sleepiness hurriedly overtaking you.

By the time your mother turned to respond, an array of faint snores could be heard. Had you not been so exhausted, you would’ve awoken at the sound of her laughing due to your mouth hanging open obnoxiously. She smiled at you with nothing but endearment, gingerly lifting your head to slip a cushion under it and draping a light blanket over your body that was now curled into a fetal position- a mindless endeavor to seek warmth. She leaned down to kiss your temple, pushing a few braids from your face so they wouldn’t disrupt you. “He will love it.” She whispered.

a/n: y’all knew i wasn’t gonna make her accept Ta’olu’s invitation that’s toooo cliche for my liking 😭 also you literally have the best mom she’s so sweet

This chapter was so emotional to write omg! but can we talk ab the fact that Neteyam finally stood up to his parents about you, need a him in my life fr 💔

Please like + reblog if you can, it’s much appreciated! 💞

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#avatar 2 #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #avatar way of water #neteyam x you #avatar fanfiction #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fluff #neteyam avatar

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ohtobeleah · 2 years ago

Note

First time Iris stays over the whole night with Jake, and he’s trying to figure out all the ways to make it happen again. Maybe he brings her breakfast in bed?

I feel like Jake & Iris experience a lot of first together. But especially the whole next morning after the first full night together after they become ‘exclusive’ I.R.I.S Masterlist Here.

Warnings: Smut! Jake Seresin x F!mitchell!reader. Undisclosed age gap.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

After about a two hour debate, a solid rebuttal and a flawless conclusion as to why you should be let into the TopGun program again, Beau Simpson ultimately caved and gave you one final shot. He gave you one chance to prove that you could keep a lid on your temper, you’d admit that you knew you had to work on that. Guess hot headed egos ran in the family. But you made sure not to leave until you’d heard that Cyclone would take back the command he’d given to have your points pulled. He did, internal investigation be damned.

“The only reason I mouthed off in the first place was because you held a gun to my back, sir—“ You explained as Cyclone looked at you with an expressionless face. “You know I’m better than those guys, who my dad is shouldn’t mean shit—it’s not like he helped me get here?” You couldn’t have said anything more perfect, Cyclone raised a single brow your way, you were right. Pete Mitchell had never offered you a helping hand your entire career. “Fuck Bradshaw got more of a handout than I did! He’s a gold star! That’s nepotism too and Goose isn’t even around!” It was a dog shot, but in your case you needed every ounce of leverage.

“Okay, okay—I hear what you're saying, Lieutenant, I’ll expunge the record.” Tickled pink, you beamed, ecstatic you’d been able to plead your case and enter back into the program. “You Mitchell’s age me ten years every month I swear—“

“I still don’t think I should have to suppress myself because of what those idiots think of me. You would survive through this knowing one day your rage would truly be witnessed by the men who poisoned you with it in the first place. “But I’ll do it if that’ll appease them—“

“They’re a sensitive bunch I’ve noticed.” Cyclone smirked for a millisecond of time as you sat across from him at his desk—looking all kinds of like your father. Just a little scarier and a lot more unpredictable. “But it’s more to keep you in check than anything else, I’ll scratch your back and keep any allegations of nepotism off your back if you scratch mine and keep your nose clean and out of trouble, understood?”

It was game time. You were back in business and you were heading back to Jakes to celebrate such a victorious moment. Because fucking a superior officer didn’t correlate with keeping your nose clean and out of trouble did it?

“In abundance, Sir, you have my word.” But first? It was off to the Hard Deck.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“I’mnothometonight—“ You practically said it without so much as a second in between words. It all came out against your dads cheek in one single moment as you kissed him goodbye and headed towards the front door with a bag full of stuff slung over your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Woah woah?” Pete frowned as he looked up from his book, perched on his favourite recliner enjoying a good cup of tea. He was in full relaxation mode. “Where are you off to?” You’d prepared for this moment, you knew there was a chance Mav would ask you where you were going. So you’d already come up with a cover story to get you out of the house.

“My friends in town, Lily? She got a hotel room up at the gorge.”

“You didn’t tell her she could just stay here?”

“What? And have you all up in my business?” You groaned. “I’m not sixteen anymore dad, I’m an adult—I’ve got my work gear with me so I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Pete just looked at you over the top of his reading glasses, something was up, something was incredibly up here and he knew better than to trust your word. Why? Because you were his damn daughter.

“Alright well just don’t go crazy, you fly a multi million dollar fighter jet for a living—keep your wits about yourself on a Wednesday night, kid.” You couldn’t have rolled your eyes harder if you wanted to as you grabbed your keys from the key bowl near the front door.

“Bye dad, love ya guts.” You chuckled to yourself as you left, did you feel bad about lying to Mav? Not entirely. It was for his own good. The poor guy would have a heart attack if he knew what you were up to and who you were doing.

But did you feel any ounce of regret? No—because Jake Seresin was the perfect amount of thrill, the perfect high, the perfect rush to any thrill seeker. And you were addicted.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Jake knew you were coming over so he did his best to freshen up the place. That’s not to say his house wasn't clean–because it was. But he lit a candle and fluffed the pillows on the lounge and spent a little longer than he would ever like to admit researching what was the correct way for toilet paper to roll. Over and under he still didn't know. He went under.

“I parked down the street–” You made sure to tell Jake as he opened the door for you. “Mav grilled me pretty hard when I told him I was heading out for the night so I thought it was probably a good idea.”

“Hi to you too Iris.” Jake chuckled as you walked on it.

“Hi Hangman–” You cooed. Turning on your heels as you dropped your bag off your shoulder.” You look. Good.”

“Oh I am good Iris–” Jake smirked wildly as he backed you up against the wall in the entryway. Leaning on the cream painted dividing wall with his hands on either side of you, trapping you there against him. “I'm very good, but I'm even better now that you’re here.” Jake maintained his gaze as you drank in the sight of him, dropping your hands to play at the waistband of his sweatpants. Exposing the elastic band of his boxer briefs. “It's good to see you.” It was a nod to Jake's declaration that he was officially seeing someone, Hangman was off the market and very much invested in the entanglement he had going on with none other than Pete Mitchell's incredibly hot headed and beautiful daughter.

“You just saw me when I demolished you at pool.”

“Ah, ah, correct yourself there Iris, you mean when I let you demolish me at pool.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night there deadman–” Jake was the one who leaned in first, connecting his lips with yours in a fever dream kiss. His hands made quick work to cup your cheeks, spreading your legs further apart with his foot against yours. “Jake–” You moaned into his mouth as one of his hands came down to find its way into your sweat pants. Both wearing grey, just in different fonts.

“I wanna try something, but you gotta trust me.” Jake had a wicked glare in his eyes as he ducked his hand into your pants. The gentle motion he used to spread your lips apart and find the sweet, sweet spot that needed all his attention made you forget how to breathe. “Do you trust me Iris?” Jake asked as he slowly but surely worked the pads of two of his digits against your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come on baby, tell me you trust me?”

“I trust you–” You sighed out, rolling your hips as Jake used his fingers to expertly guide you towards your first orgasm. You weren't there yet, you weren't even close. But you were going to be very soon if Jake kept going exactly how he was. “Fuck, yes, I trust you–”

It was all Jake needed as he pulled his hand out from your pants and scooped you up. With a gasp you wrapped your legs around Jake's waist as he connected his lips to your once more and walked you to the living room. His bedroom was too far away, he needed you now and the lounge would just have to do. As he dropped you down carefully, Jake stood over you. He said one word that made you soak your panties right through, but it wasn't like you were going to need them anyway.

“Strip–” You didn’t hesitate as you saluted your Lieutenant Commander almost seductively.

“Yes sir.”

In a needy and almost giddy fashion, both you and Jake stripped down, articles of clothing were discarded in not so respectable piles on the floor before Jake was hovering over you, his forearms on either side of your head as he kissed up and down the expanse of your next, leading down to your exposed chest to take you nipples in his mouth one by one.

“God your tits are perfect, you’re perfect baby.” Jake mumbled as he looked up at you looking down at him with your tit in his mouth. It was truly a sight that made you feral. “Now I'm usually one for foreplay, you know me, but we’re gonna do things a little differently tonight.” Jake stated a matter of factly as he sat back and pumped himself a few times, just thinking about what he was about to do. He needed to confirm his suspicion because the unknown was killing him. “I know you're ready for me though–” It was true, you were, and as Jake jerked himself off, you reached out to help guide him down between your legs.

“Need you, now.” Slowly, inch by inch, Jake buried himself inside you. Watching as your jaw slacked and your eye rolled as you stretched and welcomed him to the hilt. “Ohh yess–”

“Fuck you’re so perfect, such a perfect cunt Iris.'' Jake made sure to kiss the pulse point at the juncture of your neck as he throbbed away inside you. Staying still for a second before he began to rock his hips. “Holy shit so good–”

“Love your cock so fucking much–ahh!” It felt so good to be so full, but this wasn't what Jake needed to do. He needed to call someone, he needed to fuck you while he called someone to see if he had really formulated a connection, if the idea of really loosing every he had got him off to a new extreme. Jake had called it the Mitchell effect, and he was as deep inside it as he could get. “What are you doing?”

Jake reached out to the coffee table, not once slowly his thrust as he grabbed his phone.

“Shhh–” Jake manoeuvred the two of you into a different position, he made it all look so easy with strong arms encapsulating you and putting you wherever he wanted, wherever he needed you. Where he wanted you was on his lap, warming his cock as you slowly rode his shaft, still with a curious expression on your face as Jake pressed the name in his phone that sent your blood pressure skyrocketing when he turned the phone around to show you who he was calling.

Maverick:

“Oh my god! Jake no what are you—!” Within seconds of your heart sinking into your stomach Jake sat forward to press a palm against your mouth. With wide eyes and a soft moan you looked at him as if he were crazy. He was, he was crazy because he was with you.

“Shhh, don’t let daddy know you're riding me baby.” Jake's phone rang once, twice, three times on loud speaker. “You wouldn’t want Mav finding out his daughter is a little whore now would you?” It made your core tighten around Jake's cock as he thrust into you. Keeping a hand over your mouth and squishing your nose. “Would you?” Jake was waiting for you to give him a response, you nodded softly as the fourth ring rang out and your dads voice came through the phone.

“Hangman—“ Pete’s voice was gruff as he answered the phone. “What’s up man? Is everything okay?”

“Hey Mav—“ Jake replied as casually as he could as he fucked up into your tight little pussy, your arousal dripping down his shaft like to tomorrow as he kept a palm pressed harshly over your mouth. “Yeah nah everything’s good, I was just ringing to see if Iris had any luck with Cyclone today?” It was a question Jake could have asked you, it was a question he could have asked you at the Hard Deck even—or asked Pete! But he wanted to wait, wait until you were riding his cock. “I didn’t get a chance to catch you.”

Jake placed his phone down beside him on the lounge as he pulled you forward against his chest, reminding you to keep quiet before he pulled his hand away from your mouth. Mouthing a silent ‘keep quiet’ your way before he took your arms and wrapped them behind your back.

“Yeah, yeah she said he’s gonna give her another chance, so long as she keeps a lid on your attitude and doesn’t get into any mischief.” Mav laughed to himself all the while Jake placed his feet firmly on the ground as he held your hip with your hand and your forearms behind your back with the other and fucked up into you. Deep and harsh.

“Oh yeah that’s real good isn’t it.” Jake smirked as he buried himself inside you. “She’s a good kid man, didn’t deserve that—“

Against Jake shoulder you sunk your teeth into golden skin to stop yourself from singing out in utter euphoria. This was wrong, so fucking wrong yet you felt like every nerve ending in your body had been set alight. Jake could feel you tightening around him, your velvet walls took him in without mercy and threatened to keep his length hostage.

“She is, just do me a favour and don’t give her any special treatment?” Mav added. “People know you’re like family, just like Rooster, if she slips up you pull her up no questions no hesitation.”

“You have my word Mav, no special treatment for little miss Mitchell.” Jake could feel his orgasm barreling towards him as he let go of your arms and let you sit up. Gripping your hips as tight as he could as he lifted his own and fucked harder and deeper and faster into you as you threw your head back and cupped at your own mouth to stop yourself from screaming. “Anyway, I gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Seeya tomorrow Jake, have a good night.” Mav signed off as Jake hung up with the single press of a button. The moment you knew the call was over you cried out into the heavens above.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!!” You hissed as you and Jake toppled from the lounge to the floor. “Ahh god I’m gonna cum, fuck!!!” You cried as Jake fell on top of you. Wrapping you in his arms as he continued to fuck you with force. He was so close.

Damn—his suspension was true. He had formed a connection. Fuck.

“I’m so fucking close, I’m gonna fill this little cunt of yours baby.” Jake babbled to himself as he reached between the two of you, rubbing small circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves. “Cum for me Iris, cum with me, cum on my cock beautiful I know you want to.”

“Jake! Fuck yes yes don’t stop!” It was nearly overwhelming but you were there. You got there in the end and with a moan that could have only escaped from God's golden gates, you came as hard as you ever had as Jake spilled himself inside you. “Ahhhh god yes!!”

“Fuck my life I’m screwed—“ Jake sighed and he buried his head in your chest. Kissing along the curves of your swollen breasts. “I’m so fucking done for.”

“Jake?” You sighed, both panting heavily as you came down from your respective highs.

“Yeah babe?” Jake looked at you, with golden hair clinging to his forehead and sweat coating his body, making him glistening in the dim light of his living room.

“You have three seconds to get off me before I fucking kill you for that.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

When you woke up in Jake’s bed to see he wasn't there, wrapped in the mess of tangled sheets next to you. Your heart sank for a brief second. The slight nervousness was quickly replaced by reassurance and the smell of bacon and eggs and what could only be the undeniable notes of burnt raisin toast. You weren't alone–Jake was just in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

He’d never cooked breakfast for anyone the morning after, because you were the first woman he’d ever wanted to cook breakfast for the morning after and he wanted to do it over and over and over again.

“Mornin–” You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes and padded into the kitchen. One of Jake's crew neck jumpers had become your attire of choice. It smelt like him in all the best ways. Notes of creamy vanilla and aged bourbon from his time at the Hard Deck, fresh ripe pear and hints of beautiful freesia coated the fibres of the navy crew–his scent of choice for cologne.

“Hi–” Jake sent you a smile when he caught sight of you. Bed hair looking all kinds of messed up and unruly, no makeup–although you never really wore much to begin with. His jumper adorning your body just barely covering your ass. The sleeves were a little long on you which made it even easier for the fabric to just encompass you. “You sleep well?”

“You run hot like a furnace.'' Jake chuckled softly as you came to wrap your arms around his mid second from behind, pressing your cheek into the warmth of his exposed back. “But I quite liked it.” A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as the sound of bacon sizzling away in the frying pan babbled away. “You make enough for two?”

“I didn't know how you liked your eggs so I just guessed.” There was a soft hume creeping across the apples of Jake's cheeks as he felt you unwrap your arms from his mid second. “Hope over easy is alright, and there's coffee in the pot.”

“Man of my dreams.” You sighed as you padded over to the coffee pot, working to pour yourself some liquid energy into the mug Jake had gotten out for you. “You treat all hookups with this kinda bed and breakfast service?” There had been a definite shift in your dynamic with Jake recently. Things were becoming real, serious, all consuming and suddenly it wasn't just sex. There were feelings here, real and raw emotions the two of you didn't exactly know how to navigate.

But there was no harm in being honest.

“Uh, no–actually.” Jake turned to face you, a pair of tongs in his hand as the other came up to rub the back of his head nervously. “I actually haven't cooked breakfast for someone before, you know, after–”

“Oh.” You caught what Jake was trying to imply. “I'm uh, honoured then, I guess.” As you took a sip of the coffee you'd just poured yourself and held the warm mug in the palms of your hands. You sauntered back over to where Jake stood with his low hanging sweatpants and his morning wood bulging through. “I'm very honoured actually, so much so I might just go back to bed with this amazing coffee and settle back in and wait–”

“Wait for what exactly?” Jake questioned as he dipped down to take your lips hostage with his for a fleeting moment. Pulling you closer by the small of your back.

“For you to bring me breakfast in bed.” You smirked, walking two of your fingers up the expanse of Jake's chest. “I'm still a little tired from last night, Lieutenant Commander–” Jake felt his heart skip a beat as you kissed him, he felt his whole world shift when you swiped your tongue across his lip to gain access to his mouth. He let you in with ease as he followed your lead and deepened the kiss. Only to feel you pull away seconds later. “Breakfast in bed, you me?” It was an open invite for Jake to join you, the corners of his lips curled into a cheshire cat grin as he nodded.

You really had become someone of import to Jake. Your weren’t just Mavs daughter anymore. You weren’t just Mavs daughter that Jake was messing around with. You were exclusive, dating, you were officially unofficial because no one knew. So as you smiled up at Jake, wearing his crew neck in his kitchen drinking coffee from his mug? He thought maybe you were worth all the risks that came along with being with you.

Because being with you made Jake Seresin feel more alive than flying ever had.

“Give me five minutes and it's a date.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Good Morning aviators, this is your captain speaking–” Maverick had somewhat coined this Basic fighter manoeuvres speech since he'd first done it with the dagger squad who were all now his friends and respected colleagues, some as it would turn out, were a hell of a lot closer to family than he thought. “Welcome to basic fighter manoeuvres–as briefed earlier, today's exercise is dogfighting.” If there was one thing about your dad you did admire, it was his ability to seamlessly and effortlessly get under your skin without even trying. “Guns only–no missiles.” He knew you were out for blood, he knew you were set on seeking revenge and this was his way of promptly and professionally telling you to pull your head in before he smacked it off your shoulders. “We do not go below the hard deck of five thousand feet, working as a team, you have to shoot me and Lieutenant Commander Seresin down, or else.”

“Or else what, Sir?” P:E smirked into the comms as you rolled your eyes. You knew, it was kinda a drag that you knew your dad like the back of your own hand. You were one in the same. You knew because well, if it was you in Pete Mitchell's shoes you'd be just as cocky, if not worse.

“Or else we shoot back–” Jake's voice came in hot and strong through the comms and the thought of taking him down a peg in such an exercise that could see you back in the game if you did had your whole pussy throbbing as your grip tightened around your throttle. “If we shoot either one of you down, you both lose.” Putting Jake Seresin in his place in the sky was your number one priority, especially after the stunt he pulled last night calling your dad.

“This guy needs an ego check.” Back on land in the rec room, Bradley Bradshaw had never experienced a case of deja vu harder in his life as Rebound rolled his eyes and puffed his chest. “We’ll see to that, won’t we boys?”

“Hangman, for a while there fellas, was the only aviator on active duty with a confirmed air to air kill.” Rooster didn't even look up from the written assessments he was grading on what it means to be a good TopGun pilot. He could tell right from the get go whose response he was reading before he even looked at the name. “He’ll be sure to make you work for it today, you can count on that.”

“Did anyone notice Iris was back in Normex this morning?” Lieutenant Davie ‘Trash’ White asked as he stuffed his face with a protein bar he’d just brought from the vending machine, he always needed something in his stomach before a flight. Something small and light and that would keep him full for a while because he wasn't gonna wanna eat for some time after landing. “Didn't take daddy dearest long at all to step in and pull the ‘But she's my daughter’ card on Cyclone.” Bradley's ears grew hot as he tried to mind his business. He couldn't help but to listen as the guys who all sat around waiting for their turn ragged on you. All taking turns obliterating your self worth, your value. “The fucks that about? I thought she quit the program after Hangman dragged her into Cyclones office for a double-teamed spanking?”

“She's wasting her time, as if the Admirals would allow a Mitchell to take TopGun, they barely let Mav himself back on sight after his stint.” Coen ‘Rebound” Rhodes smirked to himself as he flipped through one of the old aviation textbooks on the bookshelf. “I would've just taken the spanking.” Rooster, as professional as he was, was a prankster, a grade A shit stirrer just like his dad had been. He’d brought the nerf gun to piss of Coyote but in all honesty, the childrens toy that say in the bottom drawer of the study desk he was currently sitting at came in handy right about now as he pulled it out, loaded it silently and sent a single bullet flying into the middle of Coens big ass forehead. “Aye! What was that for?”

“I found out how you got your callsign the other day, just how the hell you ended up here really makes me question the state of the US Navy.” The group of aviators all chuckled and laughed at Braldey Bradshaw's comment that made Rebound go silent. “I’m sure you’re all aware of what Iris stands for, don't let her out of your sight because the second you do it's over for you lot and me and all the other guys around here don't need your poor performances to prove that she's already a shoo in for this, despite your ugly ass tactics to get her to bail on herself.”

“You know. I don’t think I like what you're insinuating there Rooster—“ Coen snarked as he stood his ground with his arms crossed over his chest. Fanboy was only just now coming in to gather the next group ready for preflight. “Sounds an awful lot like you're defending someone who you see as a sister to me?” Everyone went silent as Rebound thought he’d gained the upper hand, he hadn’t. There was an awful lot Bradley Bradshaw could put up with in life, but listening to people degrade his family, the small select few he had left, was not something he could tolerate in a professional or personal environment.

“You won’t like the foot that’ll go up your ass in three point five seconds if you don’t act your rank, Lieutenant.” Bradley fired another nerf bullet Rebounds way as he smirked and watched the sorry excuse of an aviator duck for cover. “Sit down and shut up before I report you for misconduct.”

“Ill take him off your hands, Rooster–” Mickey chuckled. “You too krod.” Spell it backwards and you'll understand why Levi ‘Krod’ Henderson was such a huge dork. “Up in twenty, on my time so move it or lose it lads.” Mickey sent Rooster a nod that asked if he was good. Bradley nodded back, explaining in a single motion that he was in fact, okay.

Just don't ask him to tell you that he knew for a fact Pete had pulled your name from the TopGun poll of potential candidates on at least three separate occasions because he knew that you'd get coined as the nepotism baby like no other person. Did Rooster agree with Mavs tactics, no– he didn't. But much like his own struggles with Mav pulling his papers for the Naval Academy, he grew to understand the motive behind his actions.

He just wanted to protect his daughter.

“What was that about?” Mickey asked as he walked over to where Bradley sat, watching as he stretched his arms above his head and let out a groan. Dropping his weapon in the process.

“Oh I don’t even know at this point, Iris has me all kinds of worked up as of late.” Bradley tried to shrug it off. “She doesn’t make it easy to defend her when she’s fucking around with Hangman and mouthing off to admrials and—“

“Woah woah woah, back up, Iris and Jake?” Mickey leaned over the desk Bradley was sitting at. “The hell are you talking about Rooster?” Bradley hadn’t even noticed what he’d said before it was too late to take it back. He looked at Fanboy like a deer caught in headlights.

Fuck.

“Fanboy you can’t tell a soul!” Rooster hissed as he stood, looking around the now empty rec room as he ran his hands through his hair. “Fucking hell and for the love of everything that’s good in this world don’t tell Mav!”

“Tell Mav what!? I don’t even know what you mean by Iris and Jake!” Mickey shouted through gritted teeth, he could already feel himself burning up. His Abuela would kill him if she knew he was harbouring secret scandals like this. “Are they sleeping together?”

“Worse—“ Bradley sighed. “They’re dating.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

#iris // jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fic

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bluebayousblog · 9 months ago

Text

RUMOR HAS IT (pt. 16)

(Drew Starkey one-shot)

Plot: in which drew and isobel address a false rumor in the most abstract of ways

Setting: Christmas Eve

Disclaimer: Isobel is an OC, 18+

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

PART FIFTEEN

Christmas Eve called for an illustrious dinner prepared by Catherine Starkey and Lora Cooper, so the two women had both went off to the kitchen. And Richard and Charles snuck off to the balcony to smoke cigars while their wives were preoccupied, too busy to scold them about the nasty habit. This left Isobel awkwardly still sitting on the floor from the intense game of spades everyone had been playing while Drew and Chandler sat on the sofa across from her in silence.

It was so excruciatingly awkward but no one moved to get up or leave the suffocating quietness. Isobel just pretended she wasn’t stealing glances at Drew whenever he wasn’t discreetly attempting to do the same. He was better at it, the sly looks, but she felt him—everything about him. The short glances, his presence, all the words she hadn’t allowed him to say to her last night and the ones he wanted to express because of it.

The thought of the mess she’d made of their relationship made her entire body cringe as she tried to expunge the negative thoughts from penetrating her mind. The thoughts telling her that he would never want to speak to her again, that he would never be able to look at her like he did before, that things would never be the same. And Isobel wasn’t sure what point in their friendship she would want to revert back to because as disorienting as their feelings for each other made everything she’s not sure she would ever want to be just friends with Drew again—or if it was even possible.

Her manicured nails scratched across her palms for some sort of distraction and looked over to Chandler. She hoped that he couldn’t sense the tension between her and his brother, but to her relief he seemed to be consumed by whatever was on his phone. That is until he threw the device on the cushion beside him, took one glance at them both—to which she smiled—and then his eyes squinted.

“What’s going on with you two?” He asked with suspicion heavy in the last two words. He definitely felt the tension.

“What do you mean?” Isobel tried to smile again, but the bored glare he gave made her muscles go taut.

She felt self-conscious for a multitude of reasons in the moment, but the most pressing was at the awareness that everyone knew she was being phony. As if she was just like them, sitting on the sofa and looking down at her pathetic self trying to make it seem like everything was fine. But there was also a part of herself that resented Drew for sitting there wordlessly while she did everything to seem at least the littlest bit of normal. Because she cared enough of about the both of them and he was making her feel like her efforts were for nothing. Like protecting them wasn’t even worth it anymore.

Isobel sometimes believed that she cared too much and it was mistaken for her being a coward and stubborn—which she was definitely being to some extent—but the majority of it came from the overbearing emotions for the people she grew close to. And she feels extremely hard to the point where it feels too good to be true because she knows it can all be ripped from under her just like it has before. It forces her to run, to break away so viscerally it makes her seem heartless when really it’s the exact opposite.

In reality, she is hurting inside, she is missing the simple thought of Drew being hers and his kisses and his mindless touch on her skin. Most of all she regrets. She regretted walking away from him as soon as her back was turned, but she’d made a decision and she needed to stick with it because if she doubled back she would be in his arms taking back everything she’d said in the truck. Isobel still wanted that, to throw herself in his embrace and explain herself, but the more time passed the more difficult it was to convince herself to do. Time allowed doubt to creep in and for Drew to realize all the reasons he shouldn’t be with her.

“You guys can barely look at each other,” Chandler assessed, “Which is quite noticeable for someone who has witnessed the two of you drooling at the sight of each other literally a day ago.”

Isobel’s heart wrenched. A day ago. When she and Drew had went on what could be considered their first date. It went so well but the memories were overshadowed by how badly the night ended. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel Drew shifting in his seat. She wondered if their thoughts were the same in this moment. “-so are either of you going to tell me what happened last night?”

“No, Chandler.” Drew finally spoke, the deep, gravelly sound causing her skin to break out in goosebumps.

His little brother’s eyes rose at his choice in words, “You’re not denying that something happened?”

“It doesn’t matter if something happened. I’m telling you to mind your fucking business, Chandler.”

His harsh words pulled a gasp from her throat that caught his attention, his usual soft eyes filled with frustration that he was misdirecting at his brother. It was discomforting he could feel such negative things about her that it was so visible in his eyes, yet knowing that he at least felt something towards her was oddly settling for her, “Drew.” She scolded before she could stop herself, hating how Chandler was getting caught up in anger she’d caused.

Drew’s eyes could not help but soften when he looked at her undeniably pretty face and heard her melodic voice say his name. Although, there was still a flame present, one that she knew just pretending nothing happened wouldn’t put out.

“Isn’t this what you wanted Isobel? To ice everyone out so you don’t have to come to terms with your bull shit.” Drew knew he was being cold, yet he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his lips. He just hated that Isobel wouldn’t let him in, that she didn’t trust him enough to do so. She’d given him so much of her but knowing that she didn’t have faith in him or what they had with each other hurt him more than he expected. He was being a hypocrite because Drew wasn’t exactly handling all of his feelings like someone who was ready to be with a woman like Isobel—like someone his father or Cooper would be proud for her to be with.

“Drew, you’re being mean.” Isobel thickly swallowed. The wavering in her voice making him want to reach out and hold her until it returned back to its full ability, but he was the one causing her voice to break like this. “I’ve never seen you like this, and if I can pull that out of you then maybe last night was for the best.”

Isobel knew she was the blame for how things ended between them, but she refused to blame herself for how Drew was choosing to react to it, especially towards his brother. And she hated how unrecognizable he seemed sitting across from her, the same man that was just making her smile so fluidly she was beginning to associate the muscle movement and feeling of adoration with him.

“Chandler come on I told you we would go into town together today, we can walk.” Isobel stood and brushed her hands against her leggings. He was up in an instant and moving toward the coat rack to grab their coats. Her heart squeezed at the sight, he could be just as sweet as his brother if not more.

“It’s freezing, Isobel.” Drew countered.

His tone shifted fiercely with so many varying emotions and she heard each so clearly in her mind as if only she could heed and interpret every chord of his voice. She could hear that he was genuinely worried for her wellbeing in the frigid temperature, hurt that she would rather be out there than in the warmth of the cabin with him, and she heard how the sight of her attempting to leave him once more added to the already open wound.

Because Isobel was just as immature as he was she grabbed her coat from Chandler and walked out without sparing Drew another glance.

“Can we not actually go into town, you know I hate the cold.” Isobel immediately pleaded when the crisp wind wept against her face. She knew it would be cold like Drew said, but she needed to get out of there before they caused a scene in front of everyone.

“That’s cool with me, let’s just walk the trail around the cabin.” Chandler smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets as he lead the way. She was glad to see him smiling, still desperately holding on to the hope that her and Drew wouldn’t affect everyone’s Christmas—that things wouldn’t change. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

When he first asked what was going on in the living room it scared her to think of having to detail anyone in on why they were being so weird, but now as they trudged through about a foot of snow she wanted to just tell him everything because it was starting to feel like if she didn’t get some sort of outlet she would combust. And if she didn’t confide in somebody now, she knew she never would, “Drew told me your father knows about me and him last night.”

“Shit, Chuck knows? That makes me feel a lot less special.”

“Chandler please don’t joke around right now.” Isobel mumbled but still couldn’t help but smile at the ground at how unserious he truly could be.

“Alright, alright sorry, when did he find out?” He asked.

Isobel’s mind returned to their conversation in the car like it had been doing all day. She had been the one to abruptly end it so she wasn’t completely aware of the details surrounding Charles knowing about their relationship, just that he supposedly had known since the day they got into town. Her entire body cringed at the revelation, at the fact that she thought she could hide something like this from her family. Isobel just didn’t want him to see her differently than he did before, she didn’t want any of them to.

“Remember when I used to tell you no boy would ever be good enough for you? Don’t you ever forget it.”

She froze at the memory of Charles randomly reminding her of her worth at the winter cocktail. She remembered how confused he left her as he walked off without an explanation. How she’d felt so disoriented until she turned around and saw Drew—that he’d been the one who was in Charles’ line of sight as he spoke to her.

Isobel could’ve connected the dots that night but she chose to ignore the odd moment between the father and son, but anyone who wasn’t blind with infatuation would’ve known what Charles meant.

“I didn’t really give him a chance to tell me before I broke things off.” She finally answered.

“Damn, Isobel you’re cold.” Chandler loved to be involved in gossip and people’s business and he could be extremely animated when retaining it, “Makes me kind of glad Drew’s on the receiving end and not me.”

“Chandler!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it! We both know I would let you treat me however you wanted.” He insisted and Isobel squinted her freezing eyelids back in response.

“-so you guys broke up, huh?”

Isobel and Drew weren’t together, they had a relationship but they weren’t official. They were merely two people messing around, two people who hadn’t even had sex yet. What they had was rudimentary, insubstantial, and nothing worth making a big deal over with their families. And despite all of this she still solemnly nodded her head because the grief she was feelings could only come from the demise of an actual couple.

Suddenly, she heard her father’s hardy laugh traveling from the backside of the cabin, and it made her hyper aware of how openly she was talking about this, “Come on let’s walk a little further down.”

“What’s so bad about everyone knowing, Isobel?” He asked the question she thought she knew the answer to, that she thought made sense the moment her and Drew crossed that boundary of friendship.

Now, after everything that’s happened, from the progression and abrupt ending of Isobel and Drew her reasoning didn’t quite make sense at all.

Because deep down it was in the best interest of Isobel to keep them hidden, not for the benefit of them both even if Drew did somewhat agree with her in the beginning.

“I don’t know, Chandler.” She groaned at the internal mental battle she was having, trying to articulate a worthy defense, “I just don’t want you guys to think of us differently especially if things don’t work out.”

She knew she was being presumptuous, already thinking the worse and banking on the failure of a real relationship with Drew, but that’s what she learned to do after getting her heart broken the last time. She’s never experienced anything different. “And you saw how Drew was acting back there, that’s not how things should be.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Izzy, but change is inevitable,” He sighed before pausing and finding the words to continue, “I hate that some douchebag took away your faith in family to love you no matter who you’re with—however you’re with them.”

Isobel couldn’t even deny his claim because it was true and it was just plain sad because she had let a man she hadn’t seen in years affect her just that much. She let what he did to her affect what she was building with another man.

“-Also ignore that temper tantrum he had in there, I would act the same way if I thought I lost you too.” His voice sincere as he gave her a gentle smile.

Isobel pulled him into a tight hug and pressed her face into his chest, which was nice because of the body heat but it wasn’t Drew. “You’re really sweet, whatever girl you swindle into a relationship is going to be lucky to have you.” Isobel squealed when his arms tightened around her shivering body.

“Really, Izzy? You have any friends that would be interested?” He joked above her head and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Stick to girls your age for now, Channy.” She looked up at him with a grin.

Eventually the wind picked up speed, running Isobel back inside while Chandler went around back to get on Richard and Charles’ nerves. As soon as she swung open the wooden door to the entrance of the cabin there was Drew with that same indecipherable look he’d been directing at her all day. Isobel was tired and was craving some time alone so she slid past him without any acknowledgment.

“Don’t put me in a position where I have to tell my brother to keep his hands off of you, Isobel.” Drew sneered at her retreating back

She slowly twisted her body around on the step she managed to get to as he spoke, her eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief at his words. It was crazy how one second she could feel so bad for him she was going to sulk alone in her room for making him deal with her insecurities and how in another she wanted to ring his neck.

“It’s pathetic how a girl who you haven’t even fucked yet can make you act so out of character.” She hissed and then continued upstairs to her bedroom.

Isobel didn’t cry when she shut the door and sat on the chest adjacent to her bed. She never felt the urge when it came to Drew, she never felt anything she went through was worth the tears not when things could be so much worse. It was easier to keep everything in for Isobel, to keep her pain in categories so she knew what she was dealing with, so her emotions didn’t come rushing out with no end.

She could feel the distance building between her and Drew, how every interaction was a tug and pull until one of them pushed the other to an unreachable edge. She wanted to erase how she reacted last night and then her fears would supersede her wants and when Drew decided to be a dick her needs when it came to him didn’t matter as much before.

So she shut down to the point where sitting across from Drew at dinner was hard, but not as hard as it could’ve been. Christmas Eve dinner was casual so they didn’t dress up once everything was prepared. She once again let a man affect something she thought to be sacred, happily spending the night before Christmas with her family. She was just as pathetic as he was.

Neither of them looked at the other at the table, and everything carried on as normal around them. Lora and Catherine lead the conversation as Charles’ listened with amused eyes and Richard roared in laughter at the simplest jokes. That seemed to be the things that pulled Isobel out of her Drew induced funk, hearing the familiar gossip and incessant howling from her father. Drew on the other hand seemed to still be withdrawn and quickly ate his food before he eventually excused himself from the table. Charles hadn’t spared her any glances in response unless he was actually directing conversation to her. Nothing felt different with him which abated her anxiety, but that was because they hadn’t addressed what was going—because he wasn’t aware the she knew he knew.

It was proving to make an extremely complicated situation to have love for any of the three Starkey men.

Their mothers insisted that they be the ones to clean up after dinner that ended up running later than expected, and Isobel didn’t argue knowing that was their way to get all the kids upstairs so they could wrap gifts to place under the tree. Alone once more in her room she was able to dwell on the possible reasons why Drew left dinner so quickly. She knew she was capable of doing this for hours, spiraling about all the ways she contributed to the nightmare of an evening she’d caused for Drew until she drifted off to sleep, so she did something Isobel before Drew would never even think of doing.

She called a friend.

Charlotte was the most qualified she thought to herself, she was logical, she wouldn’t judge her, and she most likely already knew what was going on if what she implied at the party before break said anything. As the phone rung, a part of of her desperately hoped, no prayed, that she wouldn’t answer, but she did because this was Charlotte and Charlotte was always there for her even when she thought she didn’t need anyone.

“Hello” Charlotte sung into the microphone as she always did, making Isobel smile at the greeting.

She didn’t realized how much she missed her friends until this very moment, “Hi, Char.”

“What’s wrong, Isobel? You’re usually too busy with family to call me on Christmas Eve.” Her friend asked, voice filled with a subtle amount of concern.

It had always been easier to tell Charlotte things compared to her other friends because she had a way of reading your voice and just simply listening to you for a few seconds or more and knowing something was wrong. She’d always appreciated that about her especially because she always struggled to express her feelings.

“Lottie, Drew and I started hooking up before break.” She blurted, not quite saying what was wrong but offering up a little of the secret she’d been keeping from her friends to see if it would piss her off and distract her enough to avoid talking about what she really needed to discuss.

“Is, you’re saying it like the two of you didn’t make it as obvious as possible before you left.”Charlotte’s smile was evident in her tone, “Thank you for telling me.”

Isobel’s eyes prickled with tears at the sound of her friend’s voice, at how genuinely sentimental she sounded. At how aware she was that it was truly hard for Isobel to simply talk about herself because if she did it felt like she would be burdening them to have to worry about her. But she didn’t let the tears fall, she blinked them away until nothing remained, just like she did with everything else. “You’re welcome.”

“That can’t be all, girl, you wouldn’t call over just that.” Charlotte spoke and every word caused her stomach to twist in regret for getting her involved in all of this despite how little she’d told her.

Isobel stayed quiet and Charlotte patiently waited, not checking to see if she was on the phone even when minutes of silence had passed. Finally, she thought about hanging up but that would make her worry more than just talking to her would. Nothing was worse than knowing someone you cared about was sad, but not knowing what was going on in their head. She knew that feeling all too well.

“Things were going well between us until there was a compromise and I broke things off.” She admitted.

“Why’d you do that if things were so good?” Charlotte questioned yet a knowing tone was present in her voice, like she knew just how destructive Isobel could be.

“I told you something came up-“

“Isobel.” Charlotte sternly interrupted obviously not in the mood for deflection.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as a way to stop the words from tumbling out—it was easier to want to admit something than to actually do it. So she closed her eyes and just breathed until the words eventually came out, “I was scared, Charlotte, I don’t how to be with someone like that anymore.”

“So you made the decision for the both of you?” Charlotte sighed and Isobel remained silent. She hated hearing her irrational actions being vocalized because then she was forced to accept just how wrong she was. “Isobel, you have to let go at some point, just have fun if you really want to be with him—and I can tell just from your voice that you do.”

Isobel couldn’t think of any point in her life where she was good at letting shit go. She had always felt hard, loved hard, and completely immersed herself when it came to the people she cared for. Then her past relationship happened and it was like she sunk into a suffocating pool of all of her emotions and hurt from being so brutally betrayed. And instead of swimming to the surface and processing everything she pushed it all aside allowing her unresolved feelings to haunt her like a large wave tall and threatening to destroy her the moment she turned around to face it.

“But it’s not ‘just fun’ feelings I’m having for him.” She whispered as if barely saying it would make it any less true.

“I know, Is, how could they ever be just fun feelings when you’ve known each other for so long.” Charlotte stated, “That doesn’t mean you have to push him away though.”

This made Isobel smile, thinking of how her girls used that same excuse to explain to her why they would never go for Drew. Never did she expect to be so grateful for her friends being so respectful of their relationship that hadn’t even existed for all those years.

Their call ended up being cut short by Charlotte’s mother who needed help wrapping gifts for her little siblings, and while Isobel was relieved she didn’t have to talk about herself any longer, the thought of having to sit alone in her thoughts didn’t sound too appealing either. So she occupied herself by taking a long shower where she thoroughly exfoliated and shaved her entire body and stood under the steaming water until her fingers pruned. When she finally got out she lathered her body with lotion and slipped on her red, silk pajama shorts and its matching long sleeve button up.

Isobel didn’t go to her bed when she was done, no, she paced around her room and thought over everything that happened in the last twenty four hours. The good things, the sad things, and the unexpected things. It all clouded her mind until she was moving without thought, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor until she was standing in front of his door and slipping inside his room before she could change her mind.

Drew was sitting on the edge of his bed with his feet planted on the floor. He was wearing plaid pajama pants, but nothing else on his naked upper body. His arms and chest bare for her dark eyes to slide over with no restrictions. The lights were off but the light from the moon and sky shone through the windows. When his eyes looked up to meet her own she could see the light dancing around in his eyes.

Isobel walked toward him, and as angry as she was with him earlier she still felt that pull she’d always felt when it came to him. She felt it earlier in the day when he was trying to ignore her, when she was jogging up the stairs away from him like coward the night before, and now as his eyes bore into her brown ones like he was trying to decipher each fleck of color in them despite them being in the dark.

She stopped right in front of him, just a step away from being in between his spread thighs. “What do you want, Isobel?” The question was broad, it could mean anything but she took it as him not wanting to be bothered, so she took a step back to retreat. Then his hand was gripping her right hip as he pulled her into him and she actually was between his thighs, his body heat warming the bare skin of her legs, “Don’t leave, Isobel, answer me.”

She couldn’t answer because she didn’t have the words to articulate just how much she wanted from him in her mind, so she leaned down and pressed her mouth to his soft lips. He didn’t kiss her back at first, her lips moving against his still ones in slow pecks until he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, running his hand up her back to wrap around the back of her neck and pushing her further against his mouth. It all happened so quickly how Drew was somehow dominating the now messy kiss, how he yanked her down into his lap and bent her knees so they were on either side of his hips. Isobel’s touch was gentle as her soft hands grazed his shoulders and back and shy each time she swiped her tongue against his greedy one, but they didn’t clash.

‘I want to have fun’ she thought as he groaned into her mouth, that’s what she could’ve said when he asked her what she wanted but she was too occupied to say it now.

And Drew like always seemed to know what she needed even if she didn’t say it.

TABLE OF CONTENT:

PART SEVENTEEN

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basillover32 · 25 days ago

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time to overanalyze an insignificant detail in LOTS

HELLO my LOTSERS. i was rewatching 1C to get the last pieces of lore out of it and something PB said made me loose my mental marbles so strap in and prepare for me to 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓽 [in STYLE!]

this is not beta read IM SORRY

said quote from 1C: "I, well, lived in the.. Hammer galaxy when I was alive..." --- so, to me, in the LOTS universe, the boundary between "living" and "non-living" seems to be a very... interesting concept what defines your status of being "live" and "not-live"? well. your position in the world! [referring to the s*n and the multiverse as "the world" btw] objects OUT of the S*n are considered to be "living" from the perspective of OPERATORS, and objects INSIDE of the S*n are considered to be "non-living" however, they will always be "alive" no matter what position they are in the planes of existence. let's both assume that "alive" means the biological property of still being able to physically and mentally function- this would mean that even if an object is conscious in/out of the S*n, they will still be "alive" by-definition. the only place, however, objects are NOT "alive", is inside of the weird floating pink void place between the "living" and "non-living" plane of existences this brings me to my next point, when patients are TERMINATED in the S*n, this renders them as being "dead" by biological standards [at least, from what we currently know]. being terminated means that you're gone, forever. deleted, expunged, wiped, ELIMINATED from ALL planes of existence- and sent to god-knows-where! so, there seems to be a bit of a double-label here... "living" / "non-living" defines what plane of existence you are currently in "alive" / "dead" defines your physical and mental awareness; your biological status and its funny, because the pattern is irregular, since operators see you from a 3rd person perspective, and LUMYNEX has total control over all of the patients' "living" / "non-living" statuses DEAD / NORMAL PLANE = ALIVE / S*N PLANE ALIVE / NORMAL PLANE = ALIVE / S*N PLANE DEAD / S*N PLANE = DEAD / NORMAL PLANE ALIVE / S*N PLANE = DEAD / NORMAL PLANE from the perspective of the operators, you are always "alive" from the perspective of other objects, you are either "dead" or "alive" i think my theorizing kind of turned into nonsensical rambling at the end BUT YOU GET MY POINT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [i hope] i wonder if lumynex would use a system like this to keep track of where patients are. those patients are chaotic and unpredictable! [CB slowly fades in]

#love of the s*n #malueslots #theories with basil

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middlingmay · 5 months ago

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I'm hoping to have the first part of Rebel!John and Pastor's Son!Gale on AO3 this weekend.

So for my own motivation, here's a preview from when Gale meets John:

"What you doing down there, Cleven?"

But Curt wasn't his daddy and Gale couldn't have held his tongue if he wanted to.

"Minding my own damn business is what I'm doing. You should try it."

Curt spluttered indignant and the driver Gale couldn't see barked out a laugh he tried and failed to choke off, before two car doors opened and they stepped out.

It sparked an eager thrum through Gale. This he could defend himself against. This could get him fighting - expunge the anger from under his skin justly.

He got to standing and set his feet right: centered for strength and balance, light for movement.

But Curt only leaned against the car door and put one hand in his pocket. The driver rounded the hood, and the open face and imposing body of John Egan came into view.

John clocked what Gale's body was telling him, and disarmed him with a smile and palms raised in contented surrender.

"Easy there, buck."

But Gale was prepared to cling onto his anger. How else could he push it out of him? "My name is Gale."

John folded his arms and flicked his eyes over Gale before he nodded; he knew that already. "I've seen you around."

Curt gave John a dirty look and Gale firmly ignored the tingling that set goosebumps on his arms and up his neck. It had gotten cold, hadn't it?

"Name's John," said Egan.

Gale had 'seen him around' too. Had watched him smile and laugh more than he didn't. Had seen him touch his friends good and easy and welcome their touches back. He'd seen him strut down the street ahead of him on long, strong legs. He'd watched him leave the burger joint, his shirt stretching across his broad, muscled back, riding up to show a thick waist as he slipped his heavy leather on like silk -

Yeah, Gale had seen him around.

Most of the fight slumped out of Gale as Curt and John simply watched him. It left plenty of room for the embarrassment to re-emerge.

Curt gestured at his eye with his free hand. "That's a nice shiner you got, there. Get a little rough in Sunday School?"

John's hand rapped Curt's chest sharp, and Curt tapped John's wrist unthinking. A rebuke, but gentle. Mutually understood. Gale had never seen such a thing.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #rebel!john #pastor's son!gale #todcl #mota #masters of the air #fanfic

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eretzyisrael · 4 months ago

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by Dion J. Pierre

The University of Florida (UF) has handed down severe and potentially life-altering punishments to seven pro-Hamas rioters who participated in occupying the campus in an attempt to intimidate officials into boycotting and divesting from Israel, according to Fresh Take Florida, a news service of the university’s College of Journalism and Communications.

UF’s disciplinary body was set on slapping the students’ wrists, sentencing most to probation only based on recommendations from “hearing bodies,” until its new dean, Chris Summerlin, intervened and issued full suspensions for as many as four years. The harshest suspensions — including four years for Allan Hektor Frasheri, 21, and three years for other students — while not being formal expulsions, are long enough to make it unlikely that the students serving them will return to the University of Florida.

The seven students have reportedly submitted appeals to overturn their punishments that are pending.

Summerlin’s suspensions may not be the only consequences that the students will face.

According to Fresh Take Florida, the students were part of a group of nine that were arrested by local law enforcement for trespassing and resisting arrest, charges that are being prosecuted by the Alachua County State Attorney’s Office. They are taking their chances at trial, the news service added, noting that all nine have rejected “deferred prosecution,” an agreement that would require them to plead guilty, or no contest, in exchange for the state’s expunging the convictions from their records in the future so long as they abstain from committing more criminal acts.

One of the nine, computer science student Parker Stanely Hovis, 26, — who was suspended for three years — proclaimed on Tuesday that they will contest the state’s cases.

“We did not resist arrest, and we are prepared to fight our charges,” Hovis said in a statement. “We’re standing in solidarity with each other, and collectively demanding that the state drop the charges against us.”

The University of Texas at Austin has also meted out lengthy suspensions to pro-Hamas protesters who violated school rules, a course of action that experts believe is a deterrent against similar behavior in the future.

#university of florida #university of texas #university of texas at austin #pro hamas rioters #fresh take florida #parker stanely hovis #chris summerlin #allen hector frasheri

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finniestoncrane · 2 years ago

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Okay hear me out: new goon/right hand interview, with AK Scarecrow. I read your chapter two of "Your One True Nemesis" (a superb story btw) and couldn't help but get curious about how you would portray the interview process with Crane instead of Edward (he's living in my head rent free, I'm so sorry ;_;)

But please don't feel pressured - if you don't feel like it, you absolutely don't have to write it. Your well-being comes first! ^///^🧡🧡

Competency Based

Arkham!Scarecrow x GN!Reader, word count: 2.1k losing my mind a little bit over this 💀 i'm so sorry this is longer than expected lmao but i just... where i knew i would be angry at eddie and his fast-paced bullshit, i knew it'd be a slow, psychological torture with a calm and collected jonathan. also i named it after my nightmare, competency based interviews, because they are what i fear the most. seemed appropriate 🧡🎃 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: interrogation vibes, threats, weird flirting from an old man, discussion of phobias/fears, smoking, sorry there's no smut but i find this intensely fucking erotic so warning for that i guess

A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling flooded the beige room with a dim and sickening yellow light. It would have perhaps felt sterile, clinical, at one point, before the pervading scent of black mould, the source of which outlined the cracked tiles on the floor. Walls which were stained with almost artistic formations of dripping, torn wallpaper so precisely reminiscent of some forgotten, horror B-movie that it might well have been staged. The desk, chipped on the edges, the plastic veneer giving way to the rotting chipboard underneath, scratched and etched on top, sticky underneath. One chair, empty. Metal, rusted at the joints, the screws threatening to turn to dust with a single touch, the other chair, in a similar condition of disrepair and notably uneven on the floor, occupied by you.

And there you sat, nervously twiddling your thumbs, sweat forming on your palms, a metallic taste plaguing your tongue as your heart refused to calm down, to stop thumping in your ears to allow you at least the safety of being able to hear him coming. You were nervous though, and noticeably so. Despite the week you had spent preparing, staring at images of Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, from newspaper clippings, screenshots from the news, on the websites, pro and against his particular brand of psychology based morals and ethics. Yet you knew, deep down, nothing could prepare you for sitting across from him, staring at him.

There was nowhere else to turn. Bridges were burned. Doors were closed. And Scarecrow’s power, his gauntlet encased grip on Gotham growing tighter every day. You needed this job. Better the devil you know, and everyone knew Scarecrow.

So deep in thought were you, that you hadn’t heard the door open, and you’d mistaken the subtle creak of the leg brace he wore for the movements of your own chair under your uneasy jittering. The buzzing of the light covered his breath, the drip, unplaceable, covered his steps, and not until he was passing your peripheral vision like a nightmare on the edges of your reality were you fully able to comprehend that he existed, in reality, your reality, in an enclosed and possibly inescapable room.

Without speaking to you, Jonathan sat in the chair opposite, the legs scraping along the tiles, your blood chilling in your veins at the sound. Clearly, and without even realising it, you had made a face, disgust or distaste, perhaps discomfort, at the noise. When you opened your eyes, having plunged yourself into darkness to satisfy the need to expunge the curdling sensation from your body, you caught Jonathan’s eyes. As you opened your mouth, willing an apology out, he spoke first.

“My apologies.”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, trying to suppress the shuddering exhale.

Impress him. Without letting him know how much you need this, how much it means to you. You are strong-willed. Brave. Stoic in the face of stress and even fear. You are perfect for him.

Your affirmations calmed you down, but only slightly, and only for a few moments before Crane spoke again.

“Thank you for attending. Your interest in the position, in any position, is greatly valued. I’m familiar with your previous work. It’s… a pleasure… to have you here.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t necessarily surprising that he would be aware of you, of your notoriety. You’d worked for them all, a valuable asset, trustworthy and skilled at what you did. Realistically, it was only a matter of time until your paths crossed. And still, you felt a flutter in your stomach, recognition from Jonathan Crane himself flushing your cheeks a, hopefully, dull pink.

Reaching across the table to initiate the introductions formally, you offered your hand. Your right hand. Only noticing this first mistake, likely to be the first of many, as he flexed his own right hand, the needles on the edge of the gauntlet twitching as the almost luminous orange liquid was jostled around in the vials.

“Perhaps we can leave the formalities for now.”

Offering a weak, polite smile, you put your hands in your lap under the table, nervously wringing them, hoping the motion wasn’t visible in your upper arms. You paused to wonder why he had chosen to wear the gauntlet to the interview, but he interrupted your internal panic.

“Why are you scared?”

“W-why am I… now?”

He nodded, silently, drumming his fingers on the table, the threat of the unholy screech of metal against metal as the needles, rusted and overused, traced over it, light enough that they remained as silent as Jonathan did.

“I’m… b-be… it’s…”

Raising his left hand, holding his palm flat to you, he mercifully let you stop stammering for the right words.

“Please. I only ask because in your time, you’ve come across larger men. Stronger men. Men with tempers far less balanced as mine. Sionis, Dent, Nigma. Each of them with something more dangerous than I have. But…”

He spread his hands apart, displaying himself, open to you.

“…here we are. Shall we get to know each other better?”

“I already know you pretty well.”

“Quite. And while I know of you, I don’t know what’s inside. What lies within you. What could be stirring within the mind of someone so strong, strong enough to associate with men like me, but not strong enough to answer a simple question.”

As you looked at him, eyebrow raising as though pulled by a string attached to his own sense of curiosity, he asked you again.

“Why are you scared?”

Swallowing your fear, suppressing it, the need for protection and stability in employment usurping it’s position at the forefront of your mind, you took a breath and licked at your lips, noticing that Crane leaned in lightly as your tongue flitted out and quickly back in.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. But that doesn’t answer the question.”

“Maybe you exude fear. Maybe you’re surrounded by a cloud of toxin, enough to have anyone in a state of lingering, but barely effective, terror.”

“An interesting theory, but not the right answer.”

“You can’t know that.”

You jumped at the sound of his leg brace creaking, a squeak and a loud crack from the hinge.

“Not if you don’t tell me the truth. I can’t really know anything in that event.”

“I need this. Fear born of necessity. Dread that I might make a mistake.”

The corners of his mouth, albeit stitched together and crooked, turned up into a slight smile.

“I like that answer.”

“I’m glad.”

“It serves its purpose, to an extent. Feeds the ego. Unfortunately for you, it is the id that I am intent on reaching, of digging my fingers into. Should you let me, of course.”

“And if I don’t?”

Jonathan’s clouded eyes focused on yours, his dulled pupils seeming to sharpen as he honed in on you, a glint of something beyond them that you couldn’t quite place, or didn’t have the confidence to admit to.

“What else frightens you?”

“Like… in general?”

He nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, boot clad foot tapping in the air.

“Heights, failure, the dark. Nothing… nothing abnormal.”

He shook his head and you laughed a little at the way he seemed to disapprove of your answer.

“Honestly! Nothing really scares me all that much.”

“Lies.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“I… what? No, of course not. But… around the toxin… it’s ok?”

He struck a match, holding it against the slightly crushed cigarette he now held to his mangled lips.

“Maybe… it’s more exciting that way though, don’t you think?”

“And you need my permission?”

He leaned into the table, elbows hard against the surface, and exhaled, a plume of acrid smoke floating towards you, clouding your own vision as you imagined his was.

“It’s only polite.”

You watched him, the way he held the cigarette between his slender fingers, chipped nails stained yellow, knuckles darker, calloused. You studied them so thoroughly you could almost feel them on you. Grazing over your neck, romantic, dangerous. Implied eroticism through the sheer terror of him. Clearing your throat, you refocused just as he resumed his questioning.

“Have you ever felt the effects of my toxin?”

“Never.”

“Would you like to?”

“Out of curiosity… probably yes.”

Crane smiled, blowing the remaining smoke upwards, his cigarette all but a stub.

“Your preferred method?”

“There’s choices?”

Jonathan stood up, suddenly but not quickly, a small movement of his knee to loosen it before he walked to the wall, putting the cigarette out against it and letting it fall to the floor, beginning to walk towards you languidly, until he was behind you, pacing back and forth, a surround sound effect as the heavy steps of his boots echoed around you.

“There’s always a choice.”

He spoke from behind you, but you remained still in your seat, staring forward at the wall, focusing your attention on the burn mark on the wall, your eyes boring the hole further into the wood beyond the charred paper.

“What would yours be?”

“I…”

You had no idea how to respond. There was every chance that your selection was going to lead to a violent nightmare within the four disgusting walls of the room you were in, those same walls seeming to get closer to you, creeping inwards, threatening to swallow you. But you couldn’t stay quiet.

“What would you recommend, Doctor Crane.”

“You’re asking for a prescription?”

“I’m asking for your valued opinion.”

He laughed, a sweet sound, almost. Higher in tone that his speaking voice, warm in a way that made you feel safer, reassured. An effective placating tool.

“Well, there’s the gas. A traditional method, if not slightly more ominous given the connotations. But that’s not always a bad thing.”

The boots, heavy on the ground, seemed to scuff more the longer he paced, only on his left leg though, as though it were growing more and more difficult to keep up with the movement. But you doubted he was the kind of man who would be willing to accept his constraints.

“Dust, pills, tabs, all previous transgressions I have experimented with, which I would be happy to synthesise again if you so choose.”

Considering the implications, you could feel the sweat forming on your palms again, your brow hot, cheeks flushed, chest heaving as your heart beat rapidly within the walls of your ribcage.

“But, for me, I’ve found the most effective method is my preferred in fact. The one I would recommend…”

Standing directly behind you, a position you could feel, instincts buried within your primordial brain causing the hairs on your neck and arms to rise, he leaned in, body against the chair you sat in. As the metal of his brace scraped against the leg of the chair, your breath hitched when you felt the almost imperceptible cold tingling of metal against your skin.

Out the corner of your eye, you could make out his arm, the gauntlet, orange, black, browns, flesh, the scent of oiled metal and leather, the pressure of the tips of the needles against you. Becoming still, solid, though your breath quivered as it escaped you in hushed, slow exhales.

“…it’ll always be the needles. Intravenous, muscular. My toxin coursing through your body, bringing forth what you’re truly afraid of.”

Leaning in further, the needles creating light scratches on your skin, but not far enough into the flesh to cause any immediate effects, he whispered into your ear.

“Why are you scared?”

As your eyes began to water from the stillness with which you held your body, you urged your mouth open, letting the words fall out clumsily, but honestly.

“I’m not.”

A soft, crackling laugh hit your ear along with the heat of his breath. As quick as he had appeared by your side, he was gone, the threat of the needles removed from your person, and you slouched in your chair momentarily before straightening up and clasping your hands on the table top.

Jonathan made his way back around the table, sitting back down in the chair, stretching his left hand out onto the table.

Smiling at the gesture, almost an inside joke between the two of you, you took it in yours. Warm, dry, his grip pleasant and civil until you felt his fingers tense around you.

“You will be though.”

Tighter, until you felt a dull pain begin to throb in your knuckles as they pressed into each other.

“After all, that’s the business I’m in. That we are in.”

#also thank you ;-;#your one true nemesis is so dear to me ;-;#finnie writes #batman #fanfic #scarecrow #jonathan crane #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #rogues gallery #batman rogues #scarecrow x you

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uncontesteddocuments · 6 months ago

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arianasuchi · 7 months ago

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tacticalmaladjustment · 2 years ago

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thinking about how diametrically opposed the way Rei was treated on his birthday by his found family and by his boss. Birthdays mark when we came to be, and we see very clearly in the show what his existence meant to these two.

his father boss used it to emphasize that Rei was brought into this world to be an instrument optimized for furthering the organization's agenda, in addition to siring the heir to this assassin nobility bloodline(lol). his existence was relegated to that of a utilitarian investment, whose worth was appraised and pegged to his continuing usefulness. In fact, he was given not a gift, but the gruesome task of offing someone, who--though belonging in the same group--undoubtedly held something for him, thus making sure to expunge any and all meaning from Rei which deviates from this terrible raison d'etre.

on the other hand, back at home--his true home--it's heart-breakingly beautiful how much Kazuki and Miri wanted to make him happy. They poured in all in the love and effort in the food and decorations and were positively excited to have him join in what they have prepared. And just when he was about to sequester himself away, Kazuki found him to make sure he does not miss it all, not even for the cold world he was raised to think was all he could hope for. to return to this warm place they made together, to be cherished and to be loved. to them, his existence was enough cause for celebration--his entirety validated beyond brutal, inexorable necessity.

birthdays mark when we came to be. At the Suwa house, there was nothing but a hideous role and purpose thrust upon him, but back at his family's home is where he found a place to just be .

#sorry this thought has made me so sappy #more brainrot #buddy daddies

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gloomyjulliette · 10 months ago

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💙Authors Note💙: Ah ha, so under the cut is my first post of the year; that ficlet you all saw little blurbs from last year. The pairings Crave(Chris x Sheva) and boy has it been a long time since I've written so be gentle with me.😅 I've really always wanted some post RE5! Chris and Sheva interaction and the scenario has been on my mind for awhile taking form as this little thought experiment. It takes place after RE6 but before RE8. Let me know if you're interested in a continuation eh?

*I've also provided the optional audio above via a text to voice app of the reading for those who have issues.

It was bleak outside, gray; the clouds that lingered overhead teased rain but they never quite let a drop fall. She could feel the cool breath of the evening, emanating from the pane of glass from her window as she absentmindedly gazed at the streets below. Sheva Alomar had been preparing all week psychically and mentally for her upcoming mission on the island of Madagascar, Operation Orchid.

This mission was something personal, for so long she had been searching for leads on the incident that took both her parents, Umbrella had a decades-long foothold in the motherland, and she would see to it that Umbrella, Tricell, or hell any other bio-terrorism cell would no longer continue to destroy lives.

Per her briefing, the lead involved was keeping things very close to his chest. On the one hand, it pissed her off; because of course it couldn't be that easy, but she was willing to extend a shred of empathy as he seemingly only had this information as his sole bargaining chip. This man shrouded in mystery would be accompanying her on her mission in exchange for a complete expungement of his record, seemed reasonable enough but she'd hoped this wouldn't entirely be a dolled-up escort mission.

The soft glow of the streetlights outside filtered through the curtains of her well-to-do flat, -bought and paid for by BSAA of course- casting shadows on the furniture. Sheva, clad modestly in a plain black camisole with a pair of basic denim jeans, paced back and forth in her bedroom surveying the tactical gear strewn about on her bed, double and triple-checking her equipment while her thoughts raced. The all too familiar adrenaline rush before a big outing was to be expected but even with the incessant resurveying, it couldn't push back the memories that were starting to bleed in— the feelings began to intrude— of missions shared with her ex-partner Chris Redfield.

She thought she'd compartmentalized that entire self-serving chapter of her life accordingly but those unresolved emotions she could feel gnawing their way back to the surface, reinforcing their presence via the butterflies in her gut.

He was in town. The twenty-three-year-old version of her the wide-eyed idealist and the young woman who was naive in matters of the heart would have girlishly thought; "He's here for me, to see me." But she was no longer that woman and she knew better than that, he was there for work, steadfast in his duty as a dedicated protector. Even after he'd been missing for months, worrying his sister-- hell worrying her to near death, even after a stint of short-term amnesia he conveniently told no one about, and losing Piers in China; she could feel him slipping away, walling himself off...occupying himself constantly with work.

She took her phone from out of her back pocket absent-mindedly scrolling through her messages until she saw his name:

Chris: Hey Sheva, in your neck of the woods next week for business. Mind if I swing by and catch up?

She remembered hesitating when she first saw the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. A flurry of emotions pushing back, dread, anxiety, relief, heartache...anger. A small part of her still hopelessly longing for the connection they once shared; the other part wanting to chew him out for ghosting and icing her out but then sending a message out of the blue after so much time had passed.

After a moment of contemplation, she had decided to respond.

"Sure, Chris. It's been a while. Swing by Friday evening? Round 6?...If that works for you."

Almost immediately, Chris's reply came through.

Chris: Understood. Six should be fine, looking forward to catching up.

He was never one to mince words, she honestly was shocked he had even sent a text in the first place, recalling a hazy pillow-talk session where he irritably groused about his distaste for it. But it was set and done and the pent-up tension came out on one haggard exhale as she arbitrarily slid the phone onto her coffee table.

Now here it was Friday evening, and she was standing there in her living room hating how it all made her feel. Was this all a mistake? Was she nervous? Angry?

She wouldn't have too much time to think about it as a knock on the door rattled her thoughts, jolting her back to the present. Sheva looked at her phone bewildered.

'5:45? Punctual this one. How could she forget?

Gathering herself, she approached the door; a soft exhale passing her lips as she hesitated slightly before opening it. Standing in the doorway was Chris Redfield, a rugged silhouette against the dimly lit corridor. His attire was rather morose not a hint of color, dark grays and blacks under a long coat. What was striking now was the silver cropping up slowly in his hair and beard, the faint beginning of all the wear-and-tear over the years, creeping up on his face. Still as handsome as ever though just with a bit more of a mature edge. Sheva couldn't help but set out for his eyes, they always betrayed him and she took a bit of pride in being able to find his tell, and when her eyes finally met his, for the briefest moment, the weight of unspoken words were laid bare.

"Hey," Chris said, his gaze breaking the line with hers, his voice low and gruff, a familiar warmth beneath the surface. "Mind if I come in?"

"Of course." Was all she could muster.

Sheva stepped aside, allowing Chris to enter. As he walked passed he still absolutely towered over her. The tension between them; already palpable, even after only a few brief moments a silent storm was brewing in the room. She closed the door, and as the latch clicked, the air grew even heavier.

"...I know it was on short notice, but thanks for having me," Chris said, his voice carrying a mix of formality and an underlying sincerity.

"Can I get your-" She motioned at the long trench-coat, trying her damnedest to keep up appearances.

Chris' eyebrows briefly rose quizzically and upon realizing what she was gesturing towards, he gently rejected the offer.

"-I won't be long."

Sheva winced just ever so slightly feeling her jaw clench, she led him into her living room directing him to the large sofa, while she took a smaller chair askew from him, and as they settled in, another bout of uneasy silence...

"So you wanted to catch up, let's catch up." her tone was cold, but her eyes burned and bore through him.

That didn't go unnoticed by Chris, a flash sideways glance in her direction turned immiedtly into a more defensive position, looking down and away.

"How are you? How have you been?"

"Busy...you know how it is."

"Yeah I do, in this line of work doesn't really afford much time for anything else..."

Sheva snatched her gaze away from him not responding.

Chris, ever perceptive, picked up on the palpable unease but decided to press on.

"I heard you transferred to a different branch," he remarked cautiously, choosing his words with care.

"Yeah, here in London." Sheva replied curtly. "Needed a change of scenery."

Chris nodded, his eyes studying her face for any hints of what lay beneath the cold exterior. "And how's that treating you?"

Sheva took a moment before responding, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Different challenges. More paperwork, less action."

Chris chuckled, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "You always did prefer being out in the field."

A bitter smile played on Sheva's lips but silent she remained.

"...Heard you were soloing the operation in Madacascar."

Shevas brows furrowed a bit.

"And how'd you hear about that?"

Chris leaned back, his gaze steady. "Word gets around. You know how it is."

Sheva's expression remained guarded. Of course he'd know he was a founding senior member, but had he'd be asking around specifically? "I guess so."

Chris, sensing the need to tread carefully, continued, "Look, Sheva, I didn't come here to pry. I just... wanted to see how you're holding up, solo missions can be difficult y'know"

Sheva nodded, appreciating the sentiment but wary of the unspoken history that lingered between them. Chris searched her face again, his eyes running down her form, searching for cues she wouldn't vocalize.

"You have a partner on this mission?" he almost seemed just to blurt that out and almost immediately regretted how that might sound to her; yet he still glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

Sheva's eyes narrowed at Chris' question, a flicker of irritation and suspicion crossing her face. She hesitated for a moment, debating how much to reveal, but then decided to keep it brief.

"It's classified." she replied tersely. "But, Chris please this isn't my first mission without you- without a partner". She hastily corrected. "I can handle this alone."

Chris nodded, understanding her need for discretion, a flicker of concern in his gaze nonetheless. "I know you can, Sheva. It's just... always safer with someone watching your back."

Sheva could feel her hands start to clench slightly. His concern was sincere; that she never doubted, but why now after all this time did he choose to sit before her?

"Is this your way of keeping tabs Chris? Making sure your conscious is clear hmm?"

He shook his head, his expression seemingly hurt and taken aback.

"Figured you'd know me better than that."

"Maybe a long time ago I would have; We were partners....a team. But things have changed...you've changed. "

Chris felt his shoulders tense up, his jaw clench, her response struck a nerve. "Sheva." He'd turned cold and stern. "We've been through this. We can't afford distractions in this line of work."

"Distractions!?" Her voice raised. She straightened her posture, turning to face him; eyes welling threatening to betray her actual feelings. She leaned in as if to extend her heartache towards him.

"No. Don't you dare..." You don't get to do this Chris! "You're the one who left." "You're the one who completely shut me out!"

"I had too!" He snapped, his face falling solemnly as he finally met her gaze.

"You are in danger when you're with me." " And I've lost entirely too many people I care about-" He stopped short; Sheva was watching him intently waiting with baited breath for what she assumed would be a poor excuse.

He was afraid that this would happen; but it was foolish of him to think this wouldn't boil over eventually; this was a conversation long overdue and he knew that at the very least he owed her an explanation...

"So do I just not get a say in any of this?" Sheva replied; a little despondent, the tears from earlier finally falling as she quickly went to remove them with the back of her hand.

"I fell in love with you..." He began, the words hanging in the air like a confession he never thought he'd utter; the softness in his voice amplifying the pain beneath the surface.

"Chris-" Sheva's voice was a soft plea, her eyes searching his, for the truth behind his revelation.

"And frankly, that scared the shit out of me," he continued, his tone laced with regret. "I couldn't afford that distraction. It compromised my judgment, my focus. I found myself questioning decisions, hesitating when split-second choices could mean life or death."

Chris looked up, meeting Sheva's gaze again, and in that moment, he felt like he couldn't remain seated any longer. He rose from the sofa, a mixture of sorrow and determination etched on his face. Closing the distance between them, he approached Sheva, kneeling before her; his hand gently cupping her cheek. His thumb tracing the path of a tear, wiping it away.

"You have no idea how hard it was for me to walk away from you Sheva; to walk away from us... but I had to."

Sheva's expression softened, the ice around her heart starting to crack as she absorbed the weight of Chris' internal struggle. The room felt smaller, the air heavy with the shared pain of a love that had been sacrificed.

"I could not... bear the thought of something happening to you because of me..." Chris continued, his voice now carrying the burden of regret. "Please. I just need you to understand that..."

His plea lingered, echoing in the quiet room, there was no more daylight outside, only the cold darkness of early nightfall and the street lights flickering from below.

Hestantily Chris removed his hand from her face, standing up he began walking past her just short of the front door; but not before stopping to look over his shoulder.

"While you're out there. One call, Sheva. Just say the word and I'll have a team there to back you up," he assured her, his tone conveying a mixture of sincerity and concern.

Sheva, still battling her emotions, felt a surge of frustration. Without thinking, she rushed forward out of her chair and grabbed the sleeve of Chris's jacket.

"Damn it, Chris," she muttered, her voice a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "You can't just waltz in here, talk about falling in love with me, and then just leave it at that."

Chris turned to face her fully, his expression softening. Sheva's anger faltered as she gazed into his eyes, and a silent understanding passed between them. In a moment of impulsive vulnerability, Sheva closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Chris, caught off guard but not resisting, hesitated before bringing his arms up and around her to embrace her in return, one of his hands thoughtlessly caressing the line towards the small of her back a gesture that hearkened back to a more intimate time in their relationship.

"Look beyond yourself and your own fears for once, okay?" she whispered, her words muffled against his shoulder.

Chris stood there holding her, his resolve wavering more than he'd care to admit. The proximity reignited a familiar warmth within, and as Sheva looked up at him, her soft brown low lidded eyes and the curve of her lips drew him further in. He found himself captivated by the woman before him, a cascade of conflicting emotions welling up inside.

Against his better judgment, and against the voice commanding him to put duty over his desires; Those eyes; her eyes had him where he could no longer resist, he would gladly let her consume him. Chris tilted his head just slightly removing what little distance remained between them. Their lips brushing softly ;almost timidly at first, but then quickly increasing to a heated intensity that spoke to the true volume of unspoken desires they had tried so hard to bury.

Sheva sighed into it with longing and frustration, her hands wandering a bit aimlessly, almost like if she couldn't grab a hold of something she'd cruelly be woken up or he would turn to dust at that very moment. While Chris brought a more grounded energy to his ministrations, his hand moving to cradle the back of her neck, deepening their kiss. Her head was swimming, he expertly worked her body like he'd never left; the room seemingly spinning around them and the weight of the past; the tension between them fueling the passion of the moment.

Sheva pulled away tentatively; breathless.

"You're so selfish..." She purred, panting between her aches of desire.

Her words left his expression beckoning, he so rarely let slip the iron mask and only a precious few saw underneath it. Maybe right now, here with her in this moment he wanted to be selfish, let someone else be the superhero...

Sheva leaned into him, on her tip toes to reach; she brought slender fingers to trace the faint lines on his face, before trailing and then resting her hand on his chest. With eyelashes fluttered shut, she tilted her head back just slightly. He knew her body language intimately enough to understand the gesture; his lips seeking hers once more but with a carnal urgency that wasn't present earlier. Both their hands began to wander, tracing the contours of each other's bodies, fingers entwined in a dance that spoke of familiarity and longing. The physical connection reignited a fire that had smoldered beneath the surface, and for a brief moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

One of Chris' hands stopped on her hip to draw her closer, the other resting on her back while Sheva grasped at the collar of his coat eager to feel anything other than the material of his clothing.

But then, a sudden realization jolted through them. The intensity of the kiss, the wandering hands, and their intimate past collided with the stark reality of their present situation. He couldn't push it to the side long enough; just this once, he wanted to be careless and vulnerable, even if it was for the one night, even if it meant just for however brief he could indulge in pure unbridled happiness. He wanted her and she wanted him, but they both knew. He knew; it couldn't stay this way, not without him hurting her again and with that Chris pulled away, his breath uneven, his eyes locked with Sheva's.

"We-...We can't," he whispered breath still shaky, lust tinged with a mix of regret and urgency in his voice.

Sheva, her chest rising and falling, her grip loosening on his collar nodded in silent acknowledgment. The room was charged with unspoken words, and as they stood there, their faces mere inches apart, the weight of the impossibility of their connection hung heavy in the air.

Chris took a reluctant step back, breaking the intimate spell. Sheva's hand falling into his as if to weakly pull him back into her embrace. The silence lingered, and in that moment of clarity, they both understood why they couldn't continue further. The unresolved tension remained, a bittersweet reminder of the passion they had briefly allowed themselves to indulge in.

"I should go. Before, I do something I can't take back." Chris said, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb grazing the soft delicate skin on the back of her petite hand.

Sheva nodded, her own emotions in turmoil. "Yeah, you should." She'd said that confidently but her hand still reluctantly pulled away from his.

As Chris turned to leave, the weight of sadness and regret began to fill the room. The line between duty and desire blurred for a moment, leaving them both grappling with the ghosts of what once was and what could never be.

"...Stay safe Sheva."

"...You too. Chris."

Chris nodded, closing the door softly behind him, and with that he was gone again. Sheva standing there alone with nothing left but the mission that awaited her, she would now have to focus on seeing that through till the end and leaving the past where it remain...

#resident evil #sheva alomar #chris redfield #gloomyscribes #im about to be annoying about these two so GET RDY lol #ships: crave

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ploo-toe · 1 year ago

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The Crow and the Mourning Dove - CH 1

SCP-049 x SCP!Reader

Series tags/warnings(18+): fem!reader, slowburn, (eventual)smut, horror, gore/violence, death, unethical experiments, dark, mentions of past trauma, happy ending

Chapter Summary: “I haven't thought of my time there in quite a while. Sometimes I long to go back and change things, however unfit for a healer the urges may be…”

Notes: This chapter was partially to get some more info on SCP-9528, but also things are starting to get interesting! Be prepared for things to start ramping up soon…

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Leeward tossed and turned for hours that night, 9528’s words echoing in his head.

“The Plague.”

He knew that it had lied, that it had some other motive for leaving. But, the tone at which it had spoken, it sounded almost haunted. Hollow. As if its lie still held some merit to it. It might not have been the reason it left, but perhaps there really had been a plague in Paris at the time. Leeward chose to give up on sleeping for the night in favour of sitting at his desk and delving headfirst into research. He had to find some break in this; make some sense of it all. His head was practically swimming with thoughts.

It had said the 15th century in Paris. But everywhere I look, I get the same result. The plague ran rampant through France for the 14th century, and came back in the 16th. The 15th was the only clean century for France, so why did it sound so certain? What Plague was it referring to?

Leeward groaned, leaning back in his chair to stare at the wall. At least this was more interesting than before. He let his eyes wander, lost in thought, before they settled on his calendar. More specifically, the messy scrawl of his handwriting dating just three days from now. Interview with SCP-049 @2:15pm.

His eyes widened and he shot up, knocking his chair back in the process. 049 devotes itself completely to curing the pestilence; it claims that every sickness falls under the category. And, it’s certainly old enough, what if it knows the plague that 9528 is referring to. What if it had been there? Leeward couldn’t remember the last time he felt this motivated for his work. But still, one question poked at the back of his mind. Why had 9528 lied? It was clear that there was something it didn’t want him to know. He was determined to find out what, however long it took him.

The days leading up to Leeward’s interview with 049, Leeward had done more research than he’d done in his entire career . He pulled everything that he could on 9528, trying to glean as much as he could from the spotty information. Almost everything he could find was heavily redacted, so much so that he could barely make anything of it, or it had been expunged entirely. He had almost given up on his search entirely, before he came across two files that hadn’t been as censored as the others. The first being an interview of someone who had heard of 9528 before its capture.

Witness:[REDACTED]

Date:[REDACTED]

Location:[REDACTED]

Translator:[REDACTED]

The “ange de la mort”; Angel of death. While some fear her, others revere her. She has traveled France for decades, leaving mountains of bodies in her wake. During the first few days she brings music and medicines, helping the ill, poor, or abused. People would come to her while it was performing, and pray. Some asked for a bountiful harvest and good health. Others prayed for protection from dangers. On the fifth night, she would become lethal. Lurking in the shadows, delivering retribution. With a flick of the wrist, she could kill a dozen men. She only targeted the guilty, and would disappear when they had been disposed of.

Witness to be [REDACTED] after further investigation

Leeward shuttered. He knew that the foundation despised loose ends, but to think what happened to that man, just for telling them what seemed to be nothing more than a local legend. And the fact that in its own twisted way, 9528 was helping people. It proves that it has the capacity for morals in a way that some of the other scp’s didn’t.

He switched over to the second file. This one detailed the capture of 9528.

SCP-9528 was found standing in[REDACTED] just outside of [REDACTED], surrounded by [REDACTED] that had been thoroughly mutilated. It was almost entirely covered in blood, a farming sickle made entirely of bone hung loosely in its hand. When asked why it had killed them in such a way, it simply stated “They were liars”. It was later discovered that they had traveled to [REDACTED] posing as doctors, cheating people out of their money. Why this aggravated SCP-9528 so much still remains unknown.

Notes:

[REDACTED] tasked with SCP-9528 reported seeing its eyes in their dreams for [REDACTED] . All described it as having an “unsettling and uncanny” look to it. Cover with bandage until further notice.

Sickle confiscated for further testing.

Is that why SCP-9528’s eyes were covered? Was there some type of anomalous effect, or was it just so ingrained in their minds that it was the subject of their dreams? And why had the people posing as doctors upset 9528 so much that it mutilated them? The amount of reading he had done left him with a splitting headache. Why was this scp so difficult to learn about?

Dr.Leewards interview with Scp-049 couldn’t have come sooner. He was itching for answers, and he was hoping 049 might have some. He wasted no time getting started.

“Hello Doctor, what do you wish to discuss today?” 049 sat with its hands clasped on the table across from him, as if it paid no mind to the restraints binding it.

“Hello 049. I was actually hoping you could help me with something related to my work.”

“Are you finally joining my arduous battle against the pestilence?”

“Not quite. I have some questions that hopefully your… expertise could clear up. In return, I’m willing to arrange for a human cadaver to be brought down to further your studies.”

049 took little time thinking it over before nodding its head lightly. “Yes, this is an acceptable agreement. What men of medicine would we be if we were to not assist one another?”

“My thoughts exactly, I appreciate your cooperation.” Leeward knew it was best to go along if he wanted to get anywhere. “I want to know if you have any knowledge of a plague taking place in France during the 15th century?”

“Ah yes! The pestilence was rampant during the time! I was still in Paris then, devoting my time to learning medicine. I had yet to become the great healer I am now… Although we always remain students, much to learn…” 049 began to trail off.

“So there was a sickness then? Why aren’t there any records of it?”

“You need only to open your mind, Doctor! This was not a sickness of the body, but a sickness of mind.

While he didn’t understand it completely, it was better than nothing. 049 began mumbling to himself lightly.

“I haven't thought of my time there in quite a while. Sometimes I long to go back and change things, however unfit for a healer the urges may be…” He spoke so softly that Leeward almost hadn’t heard him. The topic had certainly piqued his interest, 049 rarely spoke so openly of its emotions. Leeward had almost forgotten that he possessed the capacity for them.

“What do you long to change?”

“Apologies, Doctor. I seem to have gotten caught up reminiscing. There was… someone important to me in Paris. The pestilence there eventually led to their demise. It matters naught. I do hope you make those arrangements in a timely manner. I wish to further develop my cure, I feel I'm close to a breakthrough.”

“I’ll see to it 049, thank you for your cooperation.” Leeward gathered his things and made his way back to his office.

#scp 049 x scp reader #scp 049 #scp 049 x reader #scp049xreader #scp049 #scp foundation #scp containment breach #the crow and the mourning dove #scp 094 x oc #who's 049 talking about?#getting into the thick of it soon

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