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fen-luciel · 8 months ago

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The mistakes of a Acolyte

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him

Chapter Warnings: mild violence

I was momentarily stunned to see them clash. Yord glanced at me for a second before shouting at me to run again, which I did immediately.

I was terrified of turning around, afraid that the movement might reveal something about my form under the poncho. I assumed Qimir wouldn’t attack me, but the fear of being caught was enough to make my desperate run seem convincing.

I reached the corner of the corridor and saw Yord being thrown forcefully from the other side. Qimir turned toward me before running in my direction.

It was all a ruse, but I was indeed hiding a secret from him. Moreover, it would be a lie to say that Qimir’s mask didn’t scare me, especially when he was coming after me so menacingly.

I descended the first flight of stairs. On this side, there were more levels I had to cross. When I reached the last step, a familiar chirping called me. Sam was waiting for me, hidden behind a pile of stones. As soon as I reached him, he darted across the ground, signaling me to follow him. I wasn’t sure what he planned to do, as he advanced along the hallway away from the other staircases.

Behind me, the sound of footsteps made me realize that Qimir was likely about to catch up, with Yord probably just meters away. If the plan was to work, it was better that Yord didn’t see me with the Sith. After all, I was a pregnant woman, it made no sense for me to attempt to confront him.

I followed Sam through a door. It was one of the small rooms we had converted into a food storage area. I shut the door behind me, staying in the dark. A small window let in some artificial light, but with the thick material of the door and the already dim external sources, it was just a faint strip of light that didn’t even reach the floor.

I peered through the window and saw Qimir searching for me. Without my Force signature on display and with that mask, I doubted he’d even spot me. He turned toward the stairs and, peering for a few seconds, realized I couldn’t have gone that way or he would have surely seen me.

He didn’t have much time to think, though. The moment Yord appeared from the corridor, he heard the sound of his lightsaber approaching. Qimir also turned, and the two began to fight. It was clear that Yord was less trained or skilled than him, you could see it in the reactions to his parries, his rigid strikes. He was definitely at a disadvantage, and it hurt to watch them… On one side was Qimir, that I loved despite everything and for whom I was risking my cover to help us escape. On the other side, even though I had known Yord for less than two days, those few hours together had shown me a kind and caring person, one of the Jedi with a still-pure mindset within the Order.

Just as they passed by the door, I crouched to make sure they didn’t see me through the window. Sam dimmed the blue light of his eye. The sounds of lightsabers and the impacts on the stone were enough to cover my voice when I spoke to Sam.

“Why did you bring me here?” He made a few annoyed noises at not receiving the greeting he expected but then replied.

“The map?” I asked surprised.

He pointed with the light of his eye to a corner with various tools, and I immediately recognized the holomap behind it. I quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into my bag. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Sam. Now go ahead. I need someone to check the doors at the end of the landing area” I peered through the window and saw Sol and Jecki running toward the fight.

Kriff.

The whole plan would be useless if he got himself killed.

I turned to Sam and ordered him to be silent. “I need you to turn off the lights. We have to make a run for the ground floor” He chirped affirmatively, and as soon as he opened the door, I began my run toward the stairs. Fortunately, there was only one extra floor to cover.

Reaching the other side of the first floor, I arrived at the end of the room where the first automatic door opened. Sam approached the control panel, but I stopped him.

“Wait. I need to make sure Qimir makes it. Go to the panel at the end of the corridor and wait for me there” Sam bumped his metal head against my leg, making me hiss. “I know you don’t like it. But… I’ll explain later, okay? I need someone to watch my back. If everything goes as planned, it will be the last time we see him” He responded with a contented chirp, and I sighed.

I watched him pick up speed down the corridor, then I bent over the panel and used one of the tools from my bag to open the cover and cut the electricity wire.

In an instant, all the lights went out. I hurried to turn on the small flashlight attached to my backpack strap and fixed the control panel.

I stood up just as I received a call on the communicator. It was Sol on the other end. “Sabrina, where are you? Qimir has disappeared before our eyes” His tone was urgent, I could hear the sound of running footsteps through the device. “I’ve reached the door. Many cables are broken. I think the droid cut the power. I need to hurry” I looked up and saw Qimir jumping down the stairs. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “If I don’t catch up with him quickly, he might lock me out of the docking area. Hurry up” I ended the communication.

Qimir stopped a few steps away from me, giving a small nod. He didn’t seem to notice the bulge of my belly, so maybe the poncho was working. Or at least for those who didn’t know where to look.

“Let’s hurry before they see us. They’ll assume I’m slower than you, so don’t stick too close to me” I didn’t wait for his reply before turning away and starting to run. My hands were trembling, it was the first time I had seen him in person after five months. Maybe, with a bit of luck, it would be the last.

His presence was now impossible to ignore—his heavy breathing due to the mask, the light steps, the sound of the lightsaber partially lighting the way, and, most of all, the dark aura of his Force surrounding my senses like a warm blanket on a rainy day.

Of course, Jedi had their mark around them, but nothing compared to the reaction you felt in the presence of the dark side—a constant hand on your shoulder in a silent threat. But that was Qimir’s mark; like his physical presence, his Force presence was almost an overwhelming and suffocating figure, as if he had a hand around your neck as a warning. But over the years, I had gotten used to that smell, that warmth. I saw it more as a caress—a light touch on the side… like the first one shared years before, not painful, but sweet… almost caring.

He didn’t say anything until halfway through, when we could hear distant footsteps echoing, indicating that the others had entered the tunnel. Qimir stopped and, using the Force, bent one of the doors we had passed through and another one.

Sure, the doors were small. It wasn’t difficult to breach them once a hole was made with the lightsaber or with some force, but that was the point of the plan—slow them down.

Just as I was meant to slow down Qimir, now he was slowing down the Jedi. Even better, because if I had moved a few more meters away from him, I would have had time to close some doors behind me.

The communicator rang again, but I ignored it. Officially, I was fleeing from an angry Sith; they would understand if I didn’t bother to answer.

I glanced back at Qimir, closing another door before starting to use the Force to make the walls tremble. I stopped abruptly and shouted, “Are you crazy?! You risk making the whole gallery collapse on us!”

He turned around in silence, then let out a clear sigh and stopped. “We need to talk”

“This isn’t the time” I replied weakly before continuing to run. He was irritated, and the risk of him reacting with violence increased. My lightsaber was still at the bottom of my bag, and I cursed myself for not taking it earlier in the storage room. It would take too long to use it now, and moving the backpack risked exposing me to his eyes. Besides… would I really be able to fight him if things went bad?

Until now, I had taken for granted that I could face him and escape if necessary, but I hadn't really considered the idea of seriously aiming a weapon at him. Of hurting him.

I had been taking my feelings for granted, and now that I had him in front of me... the trembling hands, the heart in my throat... I could barely look at his mask.

To imagine his face beneath it, angry.

I took a deep breath before reaching into my pocket where I still kept the device to alert Sam. I could start to see the illuminated room in the distance with the ships ready for escape. I didn’t sense the Jedi, I imagined the jammed doors had been enough to buy us a few minutes.

I pressed the button in my pocket, and in less than a second, the doors in front of me began to close. I ran faster, passing the first two. I was starting to struggle, my feet burned, and my back cried out in agony. "Hey, wait!" Qimir didn’t waste time following me. I passed through the last door, but he was right behind me.

Great.

The plan to not get him on my back had now failed.

Just perfect.

"You could have warned me, kriff" he said behind me before removing his helmet. "We’ve closed all the corridor doors, do we have a few minutes to talk before we leave? We haven’t even decided where to go"

I struggled to respond, short of breath, my body protesting from the exertion, my head pounding.

"Can I know what’s going on with you?" I could hear him take a few steps closer, but with my arm outstretched, I sigh him to wait. Sam, who had been standing by the control console, approached and positioned himself between us, whistling angrily at Qimir.

I pulled myself up, taking a deep breath. My hands continued to tremble, it seemed absurd that I felt so bad. I was a trained woman after all. I didn’t know if my problem was physical or mental at this point.

Qimir was behaving naturally, after all, I was the one hiding a terrible secret, who had run away from him. Would he read the lie in my eyes? Would he notice the swelling of my stomach?

No. I just had to... move.

"We’ll talk when we’re away from here and the Jedi" Just then, the communicator rang again, but I turned it off. Sam, next to me, informed me that they were already more than halfway through the route, given the continuous damage signals from the doors.

I walked toward my ship, but Qimir’s hand tightened firmly around my arm, turning me toward him. "Can we talk just for a second? Can you tell me what the hell is going on?"

I winced in pain; he had grabbed me in the same spot where he’d left bruises the other night. I wriggled free, taking a few steps back, and finally looked him in the face. For the first time in months, face-to-face.

I couldn’t just close my eyes and make him disappear this time.

He looked at me confused, I felt like I was being scrutinized, or maybe I was just paranoid.

"I’m sick, okay? We need to go. Now." He took a few steps toward me. "Do we really need to keep up this act? If it’s about the archived data, we can get our hands on it again and..."

"No!" I snapped, interrupting him.

"You need to..." trust me? No, that phrase no longer made sense. "Listen to me. I’ve seen what they’re doing; it’s better this way. I’ll explain when we’re safe"

Meanwhile, Sam had opened the hatch of my ship, the automatic ramp lowering to the ground. I only had to take a few steps.

Hoping Qimir wouldn’t shoot me immediately from his ship in anger. I couldn’t afford to make him mad.

"Sure. But have you seen your face? You’re red. You’re breathing hard. What, do you want to have a heart attack while traveling through hyperspace?" He moved in my direction, but I took another step back. The instinct to shift the poncho to cover myself better crossed my mind, but the movement would only seem more suspicious, so I restrained myself.

"I’m fine. Sam is with me" He gave an ironic smile, and even in such a moment, I couldn’t help but think how handsome he was.

"Now I feel better. You’re delirious"

With two large strides, he reached me and grabbed my arms again. I flinched from the pain, I struggled. I could have used a Force push, but I risked exposing myself with the shockwave, and it seemed like an overreaction. Maybe I should just... just...

"Stop it, kriff. I’m worried..." but he suddenly stopped.

He looked at me intently, a frown on his face as he tilted his head slightly to the side.

Meanwhile, Sam was warning us of the limited time left.

"Let me go—" I began, trying to keep my tone calm, but he tightened his grip on my arms, and I moaned involuntarily, but he wouldn’t let go. It was as if he was deliberately pressing on the bruises.

"I dreamt of you the other night" He began in a low voice "You were crying and despairing in my arms. You were beautiful." I held my trembling hands on his chest trying to gain a few inches but his grip was firm and he wouldn't let go "I held you to me. Firmly. Like now. If I had been there for real... I would have left you bruised" if possible his tone became even lower, Thumbs pressing hard into my triceps.

"Qimir wait..." I hissed sensing panic forming in my stomach "Are you lying to me darling? You better say it now before I lose my patience. I've been so good to you. I don't deserve it, do I?"

Tears began to form in the corners of my eyes, I could have released myself, hit him, even shouted for help if it would have helped to get him off me at this point, but my body refused to react.

I was terrified.

I was a liar. I wasn’t able to fight him. I had lied to everyone but especially to myself.

"Please Qimir..." I whispered with trembling lips, he smiled at me, gentle, but the coldness I felt in my aching bones was a clear warning of how the dark side was stirring around us "This wasn't very nice of you. I thought you loved me. And you hide our son from me?" the grimace as he uttered the last word was one of pain, disappointment, he didn't look angry... but his eyes.

Those dark wells were cold. The hands that gripped me kept squeezing my flesh so hard I was afraid he would break my arms.

"I... can explain. P-please..." Some tears started to slide down my cheeks, my hands trembling uncontrollably as I tried to push him away.

I had to do something. Anything. But I remained paralyzed by fear.

At that moment, the distant sound of lightsabers distracted us, warning us that they were probably at a door or just beyond. It was enough for Sam, who had sneaked up and using one of his small arms, delivered an electric shock along Qimir’s leg, causing him to jerk back and release me suddenly.

"Little—" he lunged a hand toward the droid, but finally freed from his grasp, I gathered the courage to react.

Using the Force, I took advantage of his distraction to push him away from me, his body slamming against the door with such force that it created a crack.

I turned and ran with the last of my strength, tears falling freely, my chest heaving with sobs, Sam speeding ahead of me on the ramp, ready to close the door behind us.

Qimir roared my name in a snarl. I turned just in time to see him getting up. Behind him, the door swung open, and Yord, followed by Sol and Jecki, emerged into the illuminated room with their lightsabers drawn.

I stopped on the ramp, which had started to retract, locking eyes with Yord, and I swore I saw him nod approvingly, glad to see me ready to fly away. Just as the doors were closing, Qimir began to use the Force to push them away from him.

Sam was whistling next to me, urging me to hurry. I took a trembling breath and reached the cockpit, tossing my backpack into a corner and sitting in the pilot's seat. My hands were still shaking, but I managed to activate everything necessary to start the engines. Sam was helping me from the lower panel. I grasped the controls, and with one smooth motion, I flew the ship out of the cavern.

I flew over the temple in a broad arc as I left the planet's atmosphere. As I distanced myself, I noticed another small signal on the scanner, indicating that Qimir had probably managed to leave shortly after me, or maybe it was the Jedi, but at that point, I didn’t care.

I set random coordinates as far as possible and jumped to hyperspace.

The familiar blue light illuminated the cockpit as I finally allowed myself to slump into the seat.

The silence enveloping me was deafening after everything that had happened. There was a constant ringing in my ears, a headache that flooded my senses from my temples to my neck in a steady pounding, my hands almost numb from gripping the controls, and my back throbbing from the sudden physical effort.

Sam approached my leg and with a faint chirp, asked if I was okay.

I sniffed, once, twice, three times before a sob escaped my lips.

And another.

And another one.

My vision blurred with tears as I tried to wipe my cheeks with my sleeve, but to no avail.

I broke into hysterical crying, my arms wrapping around myself, the pain I felt a constant reminder of the physical and emotional torment I had just endured, my short breath giving no peace to my lungs.

I stayed there.

Crying for hours.

#the acolyte #qimir #star wars #qimir x reader #qimir x oc #manny jacinto #unplanned pregnancy #yord fandar #jecki lon #the stranger x reader

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lullabyes22-blog · 3 months ago

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Snippet - The Future - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi dislikes Jinx's new Bff...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

She forgoes the omnibus for a smoky roof-run toward the Promenade.

Late night, and a hallucinatory neon glow hangs over the urban landscape. A light drizzle has darkened the streets. The soles of Vi's boots go thwock thwock thwock as she jogs up the avenue, turning the corner and taking a flight of concrete steps at a single jump.

A lurid red X is spray-painted at the base. Here and there, Vi spies more.

They're all over the city. A clutch of sumpsnipes prowl the streets, graffitiing random spots. They call themselves X-ers: local kids on a mission to map the city's dimensions. Nobody knows why, or what the X signifies.

Some call it an eyesore. Others claim it's a hex. A few theorize that it's an ancient signpost from the Oshra Va'Zaun empire, meant to guide the lost home.

Vi has her own theory. The X is a mark of ownership.

All of Zaun belongs to the Eye.

Veering into a slice of alleyway, Vi nearly stumbles as a dark shape peels itself from the shadows. A shriek rings out. Vi ducks, and a crow—its wingspan nearly four feet—swoops past her skull with a whoosh of black wings.

Hateful fuckers. Sometimes Vi swears they haunt her, following the same routes she does. Once in a while, she'll take pot-shots at them with pebbles. Her luck's limited. The crows are pure Zaunite: they survive by devious reflexes and a talent for trickery.

Climbing a chainlink fence, Vi vaults to the rooftop. The cityscape spreads out beneath her: a sprawling labyrinth of flickering lights. The smell of diesel hangs in the air, diffused by seaspray. In the distance, the Aerie—Jinx's workshop—pierces like a silver needle through the gloom.

Tonight, a violet haze circles its tower. The glow resembles the residue of a fireworks display.

Viktor, Vi guesses, is paying Jinx a visit.

Her gut knots with ambivalence.

Viktor is Talis' former partner. The silent force pulling levers behind the scenes, while his pretty-boy counterpart dazzled the public with Hex-tech in the spotlight. Post-Siege, he and Talis parted ways. There were whispers that more sinister factors fueled the split: a freak accident in the laboratory, a dead assistant, and a mysterious explosion that altered Viktor's fundamental matrix into something beyond human.

Vi doesn't give much credence to hearsay. But she knows nobody comes to Zaun with unbloodied hands and a clean conscience. Viktor's talents with Hextech are undeniable: augmentations, armaments, you name it. He's the parallel force behind Jinx's innovations, adding deft twists to her zany blueprints. Week by week, they carve a path through Zaun's old wasteland of neglect—mutually siphoning each other's inventories and ingenuity in equal measure.

The cost of Viktor's brilliance, however, is a rapidly-diminishing body.

Sevika, in her manner of deadpan brutality, describes Viktor as "a smidge on the dying side."

Vi would say it's more than a smidge.

In person, everything about Viktor exudes an aura of disintegration. His breaths grind in his narrow chest like a coal train struggling for steam. His shoulders hold the perpetual stoop of a martyr weighed down by the mortal coil. His skin holds a pellucid sheen: half-cadaver, half-cyborg.

Most unsettling are his eyes. Two bionic scopes of hazard-yellow that measure you like an X-ray: stripping away meat and gristle, then welding the bones with steel.

You, his stare says, are unfinished.

Jinx adores him.

Whenever Vi spots them together at official events, she's clinging to him like a limpet: her arm threaded through his, or her head nestled against his shoulder. If Vi didn't know better, she'd think the two were romantically involved. Except Silco would never tolerate that. Much as he covets Jinx's intellect and encourages her to flaunt it, Vi has quickly learnt that he's got a figurative chastity belt cinched under her skirts. And the buckle's made of barbwire.

Nobody gets close.

On his part, Viktor takes the girl's fawning with a resigned forbearance. It's plain he sees Jinx as an intellectual peer. It's equally plain that there's a clinical quality to his appreciation. Never once, in the course of their encounters, has Vi caught him sneaking more than a cursory glance at Jinx's... assets. All of it—a coy pout, a peek of leg, a flash of cleavage—might as well be a chalk-scrawl at a crime-scene.

A dumber bystander would sum up theirs as a one-sided crush rubbing up against an alliance of cold convenience. Except at random times, Viktor will turn to Jinx with the closest expression Vi's ever seen to a smile.

And it's the strangest fucking thing, because he smiles like he's forgotten how, and Jinx has kickstarted the motor again.

The expression never lasts. But whenever it's there, Vi's blood boils.

Because whenever he smiles, she sees a peculiar edginess beneath. Like he wants to learn all that makes Jinx tick. Wants to peel apart the petals of her mind until the heart of her brilliance is exposed. And with the knowledge, he wants to bring upon the miracle which might save all lives: including his.

Progress: forced to bend the knee to mortal whims.

All of it wrapped inside a friendship that skirts too close to the boundaries of obsession, but never breaches it.

Jinx doesn't see it that way at all. To her, Viktor's driven by pure altruism. The liberation of the human condition from suffering. She thinks he's "Super-duper-neato!" and "Uber-ultra-smart!" and rhapsodizes about how the world (Topside) doesn't deserve him. Each time he'll send a missive from his workshop in Emberflit alley, summoning Jinx for a 'consultation,' or a 'brainstorming' or a 'tinkering session,' she'll break into such a megawatt smile it'd eclipse half Zaun's nightscape.

Then off she'll skip, with Sparky at her heels and a basket under her arm: full of medicinal Shimmer vials to keep Viktor's ailing lungs in working order and his frail frame humming in top-notch condition. There is also sweetmilk: glass bottles clinking like bells against tins of homemade cookies with gooey caramel centers. All of them crammed together in an endearing, heartfelt gift to ward the encroaching specter of death from her darling's door.

It's all so disgustingly sweet. But so fucking sad.

It's plain that Viktor is terminal. Each week, he builds himself up with more complex cybernetic implants: legs, arms, spine. But within the superstructure, he's fading.

The clock's running dry; there is no reset. And as the last grains slip away, his plans are no longer certainties. Only last-ditch gambles to delay the inevitable.

The deadline doesn't soften Vi's wariness.

After six years in Stillwater, she has a finely-tuned radar for danger. Whatever drives Viktor is powered purely by himself—a lonely enterprise with a dismal dead-end. But all the same, he is a silhouette around whom other lives have fallen off-balance.

For this alone, he deserves close scrutiny.

Silco, it seems, shares Vi's caution.

He will tolerate Viktor and Jinx's collaborations for three bells, maximum. Anything beyond that sets off his barometer of suspicion. He'll order Vi to go fetch her sister. Vi, her own barometer fritzing, readily acquiesces. Each time, she'll find Jinx already waiting at the door, her clothes and hair rumpled. Not like a tramp after a wild romp. More like a kid who'd fallen asleep facefirst in her homework. Her face, enigmatically glowing, will resemble a transfigured version of a sepia snapshot: Powder's sleepy smile after too many cherry sodas.

What the hell do they do together?

"Work," is Jinx's answer, when Vi dares to interrogate.

It's delivered with a sly grin, and a grave stare. It is, Vi senses, a half-truth. Whatever they're up to is not work. It's something bigger. Something that necessitates its own strange intimacy: loaded looks, double-edged sentences, an entire shorthand of gestures.

Something that makes the rest of Silco's dealings look like child's play.

Jinx's next words make it worse. "We're making the future."

And she'll laugh until all the hairs on Vi's neck stand on end. A laugh that could've fled from a different cosmos, crackling with alien glee.

The promise of a reckoning.

Under her thundering boots, the roof terminates, Vi springs across a narrow channel: her shadow crossing one precipice to the next. The crow from earlier—creepy bastard—hitches a ride on her slipstream: black wings spread, its mismatched eyes reflecting tiny mirrors of the cityscape: red and blue.

Overhead, a streak of greeny brightness fractures the dark.

For a moment, Vi swears it's a dragonfly. The crow is giving chase: its black beak parted like a rapier angling for the kill.

Then her feet hit concrete, and the mirage fades.

"Get stuffed!" she snaps, swatting in the crow's general direction.

An indignant caw echoes. Then the crow careens away: a dark comet splitting through the night. A flock of feathers, drifting down, reminds Vi of cinders after the Day of Ash. The bodies on the Bridge: each pocked with bullets and exuding a heatless smoke.

And Vi and Powder: hand-in-hand, picking their way through the carnage.

Vi's eyes burn briefly. Then she is in freefall.

Down, down, down—into the heart of the Promenade.

The neon engulfs her in a rainbows halo. In that final second before landing, her body dissolves into rapturous light.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane vi #violet #vi #arcane violet #arcane viktor #viktor #arcane zaun #zaun #jinxtor #jinx and viktor #vinx science bros

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preservationofnormalcy · 1 year ago

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[As I climb the multiple levels of stairs to the ranger tower, I take a moment to stop and reflect. I’m exhausted - after the hike to get here, the relief that I felt upon seeing the tower was tempered by the realization I had several flights of stairs ahead of me. I was in Washington State, flown here by my handlers to talk to seemingly the only Esoteric Ranger that would be available for the next month. Not for the first time, I wondered what it meant that they heavily suggested my interview subjects. The best person for the job, or the best PR face in the department?

I reach the top and stop again, and take a drink of water. A figure sitting inside the room at the top turns and sees me, and gets up to open the door. He is young, in his mid to late twenties, long brown hair done up in a bun, a large scraggly beard over the top of his ranger uniform. He has a look of amusement on his face, a sort of polite smile doing its best to cover up a smirk. His accent is thick, Appalachian, and his demeanor still manages to convey a sort of genial calm.]

S] Meghan, right?

M] Yeah. Hold on, let me…catch my breath.

S] Aint no worry. Take the time you need. I’ll just leave the door propped open. And if it helps, there’s iced tea in here waiting for you.

M] That does help. I’ll just….be a second.

[After a moment, I joined the man in the observation room. A cot, a shelf of supplies, a desk with a radio setup, a laptop on a table. A simple room for an apparently complex job. The tree-eye logo of the Rangers is plastered on many surfaces, well worn.]

M] Sheamus Doyle, right?

S] Yes ma’am.

M] I’m Meghan.

S] Pleasure to meet you. Lemme just….

[He takes a jug of iced tea from a minifridge and pours some into two mismatched cups, sitting at the small table and glancing at his laptop for a moment as I sit across from him.]

S] Pardon me, just watchin’ the ‘squatches.

M] Watching?

[He turns the screen around - a topographic map of the area is displayed, black with white lines, with about a dozen white dots congregating in two places.]

S] We’ve been watching the cryptid migrations. They been odd since….well, since. Ain’t been following their normal routes.

M] Is that what the Rangers do? I’m sure you know I’m here to ask questions, so….I guess that’ll be my first one.

S] A large part of it, yes ma’am. Cryptid watch.

M] I guess that’s the “catch and release” part of the poster I saw.

S] Mhmm. It’s hard work, y’know. Better here’n in the Everglades taggin’ skunk apes though.

M] Let me look at my notes…kind of scrambled after the hike here.

S] Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Everyone’s gotta do a stint in the firewatch, and we pull double duty takin’ notes on the ‘squatches while we’re here.

M] Tell me a little about the Esoteric Rangers.

S] We’re older than the Office is. Bet they ain’t told you that.

M] How so?

S] Office was founded in ‘27, right? E-Rangers were a secret division of the National Park Service, founded –

M] 1916, eleven years earlier.

S] That’s right. Even then they knew weird stuff happens in the forests, so they had a little bit earmarked for people to investigate or protect people from the weird stuff, and the weird stuff from people. When the Office came around later, we got folded into them instead. But by that time, y’know. Eleven years. That’s enough time for a place to develop a sort of….culture.

M] How do you mean?

S] We’re under the jurisdiction of the Office for the Preservation of Normalcy, ma’am, but between you an’ me, the Rangers have our own ways of doing things, our own rules. Was a requirement of the merger.

M] I see. So forested areas are your jurisdiction?

S] Anything that takes place on ‘r around a national park or a nature preserve usually has at least one of us onsite. We have our checklists, our methods for findin’ out what’s going on. Weird shit happens far from civilization.

M] Like what?

S] Reality sorta…gets weak, out here. I heard y’talked to Wren.

M] I did.

S] They’re always on about that noosphere stuff. Out here, with no people, noosphere kinda gets a little…wobbly. It’s like…if enough human minds are the bungee cords holdin’ down a tarp. It’s fine most of the time, but sometimes there’s a wind, you know? The noosphere don’t have the guidance to tell it what to do, so you get…

[He trailed off.]

M] What?

S] I seen weird shit, ma’am. Woodpeckers that move backwards, sealing up holes in trees. Hikers from twenty years ago, missing their faces. Places where the sun never shines, like that old song. Areas that looked like Lucifer’s vacation home, all burned and sulphur-smoke. Deer speakin’ in the voices of dead relatives, antlers shining blue. Gunshots where there shouldn’t be people. Realspace is weak out here. Veil gets thin when there ain’t no one to see it.

M] Is all that true?

S] As true as Mama’s promises.

M] Mmh. Tell me about the….cryptids. What is a cryptid? I know it’s like…unknown creatures, but for you they’re clearly….known, right?

[He sat back after a drink of his tea, giving a wince and a so-so gesture of his hand.]

S] That’s the mundane definition, yeah. The Office’s definition of a cryptid is….a creature whose existence ain’t really evolutionarily plausible, that would raise a lot a’ questions were it known. Jackalopes, you know, no other bunny has antlers, sort of thing. They probably didn’t evolve, per se, so…

M] What about the sasquatch? Wouldn’t it just be seen as a missing link?

[He nods, thinks for a second, looks at his computer, and then jerks his head to the door.]

S] Lemme show you something.

[On the platform outside, bolted onto the railing, is a telescope - or I assume it is. Attached to the long barrel of the device are a lot of wires, a plastic casing that looked like it housed a small electronic assembly, and a revolving series of lenses that look like they can be rotated into the eye ports like an optometrist’s testing machine. He looks into the scope, adjusting the lenses and a few knobs on the side of the device, and locks it into place.]

S] Here, take a look.

[I look into the scope - for a moment, I think there’s something wrong with it. I can see a clearing in the forest, and three….shapes. Smudges on the lenses? No, he’d have seen that. The shapes are blurry blobs from this distance, out of sync from their sharper surroundings. I’m about to take my eyes away from the scope and ask what I’m looking at when I feel him reach over and adjust the lenses again, rotating a new set into place. It’s accompanied by an electric click and a soft whine from the device, and now I can see them clearly. The three blobs were large, humanoid figures, covered head to toe in rusty brown fur. One stands guard in the clearing, while another sits on a stone, grooming the fur of a third, possibly a juvenile. They are...impossible. Majestic creatures, even from this distance.]

S] We call it an Obfuscation Field. They’re sort of always….blurry. In the 30’s we developed techniques to see through it, y’know, but it’s one of those things people can’t find out about.

M] Unbelievable.

S] Somethin’ wrong?

M] It’s just…this whole time, you know?

[He leaned on the railing, taking a vape pen out of his shirt pocket.]

S] Yeah, I heard they kind of threw you into all this. Sink ‘r swim. I wager most people get a slower introduction.

M] Did you?

[He took a hit of his vape pen.]

M] Should you be doing that on the job?

[He gave me an amused look, gesturing around to the forest. I could almost imagine a hypothetical camera comically zooming out to show the remoteness of the tower.]

S] Nah, I grew up in all this. My family’s been practicing “The Work”, so to speak, since they came here four or five generations ago. I never got the hang of witchcraft, myself. You get a dud every other generation, so they say. My sister’s a natural though, she’s interning with the Office in Archival.

M] Some people are sort of…born into knowing this stuff.

S] We call it being “in the community”. At a certain point it all blends together. Your family does folk magic at a certain level, you grow up with your best friend bein’ a lycan, that kinda thing.

M] I feel like I’ve missed out.

S] Ma’am, sometimes it’s more trouble’n it’s worth.

M] Yeah?

S] I love my friends, my family, but….you think I wouldn’t flick a switch, give all this up? Be Sheamus the hipster and not Sheamus the cryptid hunter? Be a hell of a lot more simple. Weird shit attracts more weird shit.

[He took another hit, exhaling a thick cloud. For a moment, shapes in the cloud coalesce - the prominent brow of an ape, a rabbit with antlers. I wonder if he was being modest about his lack of magic.]

M] I’m not really sure.

S] You’re letting it get to you, all of this. So quick, so extreme. I think you need an industrial grade chill pill, ma’am.

M] Maybe I do.

S] I got a guy coming in to bring me supplies tonight. Stay here, watch the sunset, you drive back with him.

M] Are you sure?

S] Hundred percent. Take the evenin’, ma’am. You need it.

(Buy the poster here!)

#office for the preservation of normalcy #interview #esoteric rangers #cryptids #Bigfoot #sasquatch #jackalope #cryptidcore #in the pines in the pines #ooc: sorry I’ve been so quiet. hopefully back on the horse <3 #urban fantasy

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the-californicationist · 1 year ago

Text

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 07)

Soap/Reader

TW: sex

MDNI/18+

AO3 LINK

I'm so sorry for the wait!! I hope this long chap made up for it. I really appreciate all the comments and reblogs. It really keeps me going. The next chapter is gonna be rough. Hope you're ready for it. I'm not!

CHRISTMAS EVE

The lecture hall slowly began to fill with graduate students and professors. A gaggle of undergrads huddled to the side with their notebooks, surely attending by someone else’s command and not of their own volition. They were all dressed in various layers of warmth. Anoraks and sweaters rustled and stretched in the cloth seats, the odd peacoat was hung carefully over the edge of a chair. It was nice to have a small crowd, but you were sure everyone had somewhere better to be. The only people that would show up to the long-standing tradition of a Christmas Eve colloquium were the die-hard academics and those desperately needing extra credit in their year-long lab classes.

You liked this lecture room the best. The big arching stadium seating made you feel like a surgeon in her theatre, carving up your poems and displaying their abnormalities, arguing in favor of their spectacular forms, illustrating your skills with grace and ease. It was all well and good not to be the patient on the table. Today’s victim would be Sonnet 91.

The projector light blinded you in an unnatural blue, making you turn away from its lens, and you pretended to busy yourself with your notes as you waited for it to warm up. You shuffled the papers again, and you had a sip of water. Just fidgeting. If you stopped moving, you’d think about him, and you didn’t want to think about him.

He’d gotten your message from Gaz, that much was clear. You knew because you started receiving sunrise texts again — just the pictures, though — and when he needed to go out on a mission, you’d get your little promises. You sent him back what you received. If he sent a sunrise picture, you returned it with your own. If he said that he promised, you said it, too. You wanted him to call. You wanted to drag it out, to gut it like a fish, to see all the entrails of your feelings and the bloody evidence of your battle to be together, all of its innards smeared across a cutting board, sterile and measurable.

But, for some reason, you couldn’t do it. You tried to type out what you’d wanted to say, but none of it made sense. It was all just begging and pleading and wishing for things you couldn’t have. So, you stopped. You kept up the replies. You matched his energy. It wasn’t until he sent you a screenshot of his flight itinerary that you started to realize the other shoe was dropping on you very soon.

He was supposed to fly in sometime this very afternoon, but it wouldn’t be only him. You’d heard from Pidge that his whole team was coming with him, eager to meet her and Hamish, apparently. You didn’t know what emotion you felt about that, but its anonymity didn’t stop you from feeling it.

You’d sent him back a Google Maps screenshot of your apartment, since he was supposed to be your ride up to Old Kilpatrick, and he sent you back the thumbs up emoji.

It was embarrassing to you that the slight change in send-reply patterning made your heart race. You felt like your brain could benefit from a hard reset, like an iPhone that had chosen to get stuck on the same application, unable to move forward to the next task.

So, you’d tried to put him out of your mind. When your labmate begged you to take her place at this colloquium, you jumped at the chance. A presentation would take up so much time and energy; surely it would cure you of your obsessive behavior. Unfortunately, Sonnet 91 felt all too timely.

You watched it populate the screen, the first four lines occupying the cold, unembellished center of your slide, professionally stark:

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

You wondered where your glory would come from, if you ever had any. Then, as if to answer your question, the hall door opened and he walked through it, carefully propping it open behind him and letting his three enormous friends through. Johnny was freshly shaven, and his mohawk was back, trimmed on the sides and groomed to stand in a tall, brown shock. You could see the prominent scar on the side of his head, a sharp cross where the hair could no longer grow.

There was an observable air of confidence to his movements, as if this was his hundredth colloquium, as if he attended them every week. His surety silenced you, and you stood staring, rapt.

He met your eyes. The bright, glassy blues found you, set in a pleased way, fully at peace. It was the face made when something lost had been found, when a gift was unwrapped. A knowing gleam.

If you didn’t start talking, people were going to ask you if you were alright. So, you introduced yourself, shakily but smoothing it out as you went,

“Good evening, and thank you for joining us at the 2023 Christmas Eve Colloquium tonight. I love this tradition, and I really appreciate you all being here. If you didn’t get the, uh… the handouts,” you pushed the stack across the desk toward the undergrads who all crowded around them like seagulls with an old French fry, “Okay...”

You pointed up to the sprawling slide,

“In looking at Sonnet 91, most would argue that it is a confession of love. But, it is a tentative one, at best. The speaker claims that despite whatever glory others may have, his glory is found in his lover. We don’t learn until the couplet that his affections are at risk of not being returned.”

You flipped the slide, showing the next four lines:

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:But these particulars are not my measure,All these I better in one general best.

It was all very simple. This was an easy sonnet, and there was no real mystery, but as you came to the end, you tried to reiterate your thoughts quickly, feeling the pressure to let people get on with their lives,

“The speaker makes quite a substantial claim here, so much so that the audience may be led to believe that he is being intentionally facetious, especially if one were to consider the content of Sonnet 92.”

“No,” a deep voice from high in the back protested, “I mean, I think I disagree with you, lass.”

The whole room woke up. Everyone turned quietly in their seats, generating a symphony of creaking and rustling of chairs and coats, craning their necks to look at Johnny who, for some reason, had stood up in his aisle.

“Oh, how so?” You said politely, trying to be deferential.

It was more than a little uncomfortable in the room. No one ever asked questions during the colloquium, even though that was its intended purpose, and certainly no one ever stood up when they asked it. Everyone usually just allowed the speaker to drone on and on about whatever topic they were into that week, and there would be polite applause at the end so you could all go home early. Ironically, Johnny had committed an act of rebellion a mere five minutes into your talk.

“Well,” he crossed his huge arms over his chest, shoving his muscles against each other. Amongst the mostly lithe, soft-bodied academic crowd, he and his friends looked out of place. He raised his voice, sending it arching down to you like an arrow, “I’m pretty sure he’s genuine. Look at the next four lines.”

He pointed to the glowing screen. You sighed, flipping slides.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,Of more delight than hawks and horses be;And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

“Look, bonnie,” Johnny chuckled, “I dunno about you, but if I’m boastin’ about a wee hen who’s more than all that — more than wealth, more than all men’s pride? She must actually be somethin’ to boast about.”

You countered, trying to get the talk back under your control, flipping to the next slide:

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst takeAll this away, and me most wretched make.

“Then what of his lamentation in the couplet?” You asked pointedly, listening to the sounds of creaking chairs again as everyone turned back to look at you as you responded, “Surely he has some reason to doubt this uniquely prideful love.”

Johnny shrugged,

“He doesnae doubt the love; his life cannae be separated from his love. Love is all there is. Ye ken it from Sonnet 92 when he asks: But what’s so blessed-fair that knows no blot?”

You smiled, slowly, knowingly, and then finished the couplet for him,

“Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.”

You were aware of the implication you were wielding like a knife down there in your theatre, staining your hands and hurling your scalpel at him, accusing him through verse of the same sin you’d thrown in his face the last time you spoke to him: of being false, of betraying Pidge.

Johnny shifted his weight, frustrated, but standing his ground,

“It’s not… he doesnae think it’s false, hen. Tha’s not it.”

Were you still arguing about the poem? You couldn’t tell. His face had become serious and a little pleading. So, you responded in verse since it would fit the conversation either way,

“How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.”

“And I would bloody eat it anyway, thief. False or no.”

There was an awkward silence and then a short, if a bit unsettled, polite applause. People began to shuffle out, standing, stretching, and chatting with each other as they made their way back into the hallway. A few of your labmates waved at you, and a friend from your cohort wished you a happy Christmas.

Johnny sauntered down the stairs toward you, leaving his friends lounging in their seats, and as he came closer and closer, you felt like you were the one on the slab of your own theatre, open and vulnerable to the empty room, fully at the mercy of your operator.

You thought he might pause, that he may stop walking and stand a few paces away, ready to talk things out, but he didn’t. He didn’t even slow his pace. Johnny grabbed you around your jaw with his enormous hand, his wide palm hot against your chin, and he pulled you into him, your lips sliding into his, pressing together like the last piece of a puzzle, completing a picture.

His body was so warm as you crashed into his arms, and he held you down, pinning you like you would fall away from him if he let go. You couldn’t do much else other than submit to his strength; you didn’t want to do much else. You grabbed him around his waist, feeling him through the thin cotton of his shirt, tumbling into him as he forced your mouth to take his tongue.

Johnny let go of a low moan, a sigh that couldn’t escape, and the hand that had been holding your face was now fisting your hair and running thick fingers through your soft strands.

He pulled back without warning, gasping as he whispered to you, speaking with his forehead resting on yours and his eyes pinched closed,

“Did you mean it, what you told Gaz? Am I right? Is this right?”

You took a deep breath, smelling his soap and his cologne, the scent of his skin so familiar to you it seemed like home. His eyes remained closed, and he wore a mask of pain, holding himself back from truly letting go. You nodded, whispering back to him,

“You were right.”

Then, his eyes shot open, finding yours immediately, looking back and forth to peer into both of them at once, searching for even the slightest hint of deception,

“Are you fallin’ for me, mèirleach? ‘Cause I’m… I cannae go halfway. I’m in, or I’m out.”

“I’m in,” you smiled, laughing a little at your confession. He kissed you again, softly petting your hair, holding you close. But, you paused and looked up at him with a warning glare in your eye, “But, look, she cannot know. Maybe after the wedding, but… she cannot find out.”

“She won’t,” he was smiling back at you, making it look like it would be on his face forever, “I’m a professional spy, lass, or did you forget my wee entourage back there.”

He nodded up to his friends. The captain was asleep with his hat over his eyes, snoring in long, regular rhythms. Ghost was using a datapad, staring intently at the screen, and Gaz was using two hands on his cell phone, tapping vigorously, engrossed in some sort of game.

Johnny whistled, quick and shrill. The men stirred, peering down at him and making their way toward you. When they reached the bottom, they all towered over you, ready for polite introductions.

“John,” the scruffy, bearded one shook your hand first. His fingers were dangerously strong, and it shocked you to feel it against your own palm.

A young man was next. You knew it was Gaz, but you hadn’t seen a photo of him yet.

“I’m Kyle,” he smiled. He was even nicer in person, “We texted, before.”

You nodded, smiling back, and introducing yourself.

Then, it was the big one.

“Simon,” the tall blond shook your hand for a brief moment, just enough to squeeze and release.

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” you said, “I’m glad you made it for the holiday.”

“We try to stick together ‘round this time of year,” Price explained, but you weren’t sure you fully understood his meaning. You just smiled and nodded.

“You ready to head out?” Johnny asked you.

“Yeah, just need to head back to my place and get my bag.”

“Alright, hen,” Johnny smiled, “Lead the way.”

You led them up and out of the building and into the cold night air. Your apartment was only a short walk from this side of campus, so you decided to forego the bus ride.

Johnny had your hand clasped in his so tightly that you wondered if he was alright. You looked up at him, and he smiled. You didn’t know how to say all the things you wanted to say, so you just commented on the most obvious one first,

“Where did you learn Sonnet 91? Or 92 and 93 for that matter?”

Gaz interrupted you, turning his head to talk over his shoulder as you walked behind him,

“Bloody stuck in his Kindle for months, he was. I think he read them all, and then he read them all to us. We’ve had more of the Bard than fuckin’ Lizzy the first.”

You gasped and made a face at Johnny, waiting for him to answer for his actions. He just shrugged, his cheeks flushed either from the embarrassment or the cold.

Price walked up beside him and knocked him a bit on his shoulder, ribbing him along with Gaz,

“Especially that one. What number?”

“Fuckin’ 145,” Ghost groaned.

Then, in unison, the three soldiers all started reciting it aloud, their voices sing-song and purposefully annoying,

“Those lips that Love’s own hand did make breathed forth the sound that said “I hate” to me that languished for her sake…”

Johnny shoved Gaz back to the front of the group with his free hand, laughing it off,

“Alright, alright, you bastards. I may have read it two or three times…”

“Two or three hundred, Sergeant,” Price rolled his eyes.

You grinned up at Johnny, humming your pleasure,

“Wow! I’m impressed. Didn’t know you were such a Shakespeare fan.”

Gaz scoffed,

“It’s not the poems he’s a fan of!”

Price smacked him on his arm, stopping Gaz from being too mean in his playfulness, aware that Johnny had his limits of what he would allow to be said in front of you.

“Mmm,” you answered noncommittally, squeezing Johnny’s hand as it held yours, clutching at you like the end of a rope, holding you like an anchor to his hull.

As you made it to your apartment, you pointed to the small coffee shop on the corner of your block,

“Do you wanna wait somewhere warm? I’ll only be a minute.”

Price snorted, grinning as if he had just remembered a private joke,

“Go help her with her bags, Sergeant. C’mon, lads.”

The trio left you together, and Johnny waited for you to open the door to the lobby. You buzzed in and waited for the elevator in the quiet foyer.

He was silent the whole ride up to your floor. You thought he’d have more to say, especially after just getting back from a tour. You wondered what was keeping him so quiet.

You jiggled your key into the lock and pushed your way inside. Marlowe was on the futon, lounging in her favorite position, but when she saw the strange man in her house, she bristled and fled beneath your bed.

“Marlowe,” Johnny said, recognizing her.

“Yeah,” you smiled, grabbing your vitamins from the kitchen cabinet to put in your bag, “Sorry, she’s afraid of strangers.”

“It’s alright, hen. I love your place. Look at that view. You can see the river and everything. That’s class.”

He was being polite. Johnny was way too big for your apartment. With him in the space, it felt like you may as well have lived in a tent. It was such close quarters that you spent most of the time edging around him to get to your stuff.

“Can I…?” He was pointing down at your bed, asking to sit.

Recognizing your rudeness, you nodded,

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Can I get you a water or something? Tea?”

“No, I’m good,” he sat and smiled, still looking around the space, taking it in. To be fair, there wasn’t much to see.

You continued to pack, trying to hurry knowing his friends were downstairs waiting for you.

“Okay, toothbrush… I think I’m all set. Are you ready?”

“No,” he was looking down at the floor, and his tone was so soft that it made you stop your packing whirlwind to listen to him.

The silence deepened between you, and you tried to be patient. Neither of you dared to move, but he met your eyes.

“What is it, Johnny?” You asked, still waiting.

He stood and walked the half step it took to stand before you. His huge shoulders blocked out the light, and you could tell he was chewing on his words, working them over and over to make sure they were right.

“I need to know…” he said quietly, running his fingers through your hair again, “I need to know if you are havin’ any doubts about this, lass. I dinnae want to pressure you, and I know I shouldnae be asking you to lie to her, but I need you, mèirleach. I need to know you’re not still havin’ doubts about the way I feel about you.”

Were you? You weren’t sure. You knew he cared about you, and you didn’t have any evidence that he was playing you, but Pidge’s warning still raged in the back of your mind.

You sighed,

“I don’t doubt that you have feelings for me.”

“But, you think they willnae last?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. It’s just hard to have confidence in a secret.”

He furrowed his brow,

“I’d call her and tell her now, if you’d let me. You wanna wait, hen. And I’m fine with that. I am. But, how am I supposed to show you who I am when I’m not supposed to be showin’ you anything at all?”

You didn’t know what to say to him, and it made you feel discouraged. Maybe you were wrong. Perhaps you should have kept your promise after all, and this was just too complicated.

Johnny watched the guilt spread across your face and chased you down with his eyes, his tone laced with dark suggestion,

“Unless you want me to show you now, thief.”

You did. You wanted him to show you everything he was. And, you understood what he was asking you for. The nerves between your legs pulsed, and blood rushed down your arms, excited for whatever he was threatening you with. You wanted him to fuck you right here in your apartment. But, you hesitated, very aware that if you said yes, if you let him show you what he wanted you to see, you wouldn’t be able to come back from that. The guilt would eat you alive.

“Your… friends…” you picked at the zipper of his thick coat, stepping close enough to him that you could feel his heat radiating from inside the fleece lining of it.

“My friends can wait, thief. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.”

The same way a bear trap snapped shut, its teeth digging into the writhing flesh of the creature inside its metal maw, that was how he caught you in that moment. You looked up at him, eyes wide and expectant, and you were greeted with a hunter’s smile. He knew he had you, and he went for the kill, putting you out of your misery. His arms wrapped around your body as he kissed you with a high fever, moving from your mouth to your neck as quickly as he could, devouring your soft flesh there, nipping and sucking at you frenzied and harsh. All of his gentle reservedness was gone, pushed aside in favor of sating his wild craving.

You were on the bed in a second, your back flat, pressed into the mattress by his heavy weight. He didn’t readjust. He allowed his body to pin you down, crushing you beneath him. You tried to rid him of his jacket; there were so many layers between you, and you were eager for there to be none.

He helped you, shucking off his coat and shirt layers quickly before returning to your mouth and throat, breathlessly panting as he kissed and licked your throat. His chest was bare to you then, and the cold metal of his tags stung your chest as they jingled out of his clothes, falling onto you like two silver coins. You rubbed his body down, pressing into the muscles of his neck and back, feeling them jerk and lunge as he moved above you. He kissed your mouth again, moaning through his nose.

Then, he was peeling you apart, taking your clothes and tossing them away, pulling off the tissue from a coveted gift. Johnny didn’t even take time to pause at your bra; he just yanked it over your head with the rest of your clothes, unceremoniously. While you were sucking on his tongue and kissing down the scruff of his jaw, you heard his boots thump onto the floor, one after the other.

All that remained between you were your slacks and his jeans, and he was forced to leave your mouth to deal with the barriers. He made his way to your breasts, sucking on them hungrily, but not playing. He was done playing with you, it seemed.

He popped the button on your pants and tucked both of his hands into the waistband, grabbing your panties along with it, and ripped them down your legs with a deep grunt. You were naked, and the denim of his jeans raked against your sensitive skin. He was grinding his body against you as you were trapped beneath him, and you felt his hips rock back and forth as he rubbed his cock against your core, trying to use the friction inside of his jeans to find some pleasure, returning to your nipples to lick them into stiff peaks.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, your thighs halfway between the skin of his ribs and the bite of his belt, letting him thrust against you.

“Johnny,” you whispered, “Take them off.”

“Not yet, hen.”

You moaned, feeling his crotch pressing hard against yours, but not being able to find any sort of consistency in the texture.

“Why not?” You asked and begged at the same time.

“Because…” He kissed his way down your belly, settling his face between your thighs, “As soon as I do, I’m gonna fuck you, mèirleach. And I’ve not tasted you, yet.”

His mouth was wet and hot and just what you wanted. Johnny ate you like he was on a mission. There was no careful exploration like the first time. It felt like he was eating you to satisfy his own craving, and your enjoyment was merely a fringe benefit.

You keened as loudly as you dared, crying out for him as he lapped at your folds, hunting down your flavor.

Then, he began to speak to you as he sucked on your clit, pausing to say his words before returning to his font to swallow more of you down into his throat.

“Do y’know how long I’ve waited for this, hen?”

Suck, lick, kiss…

“How many nights…”

Suck.

“...in the sand…”

Lick.

“...in the bloody dark…”

Kiss.

“...waiting to have you in my mouth like this.”

Lick. Lick. Liiiickkkk…

“Oh, fuck, Johnny!” You bit down on the back of your hand, reeling from the pressure building in your center, feeling chills on your arms and chest, “Please…”

“And when Gaz told me…”

Suck.

“...I didnae believe him.”

Lick.

“But, I wanted to. I wanted to believe…”

Kiss.

“...that you were really mine…”

Suuuuckkkk.

“...mo mèirleach…”

Liiickkkk.

“...mo ghràdh.”

You started to come, your hips vaulting into his strong jaws, and his eyes found yours, bright and clear, staring at you, watching you fall apart in his mouth. At the last moment, just before you fell over the peak, he wrenched his eyes shut and sucked even harder, yanking you into a furious, crashing orgasm.

Then, desperately scrambling to taste the result, he thrust his tongue deep into your hole, his entire mouth suctioned to your pussy, reaping his soaking reward.

“Johnny,” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the power you felt growing inside of you, bursting across your body like hundreds of little fireworks.

He was back up by your face in a moment, cradling you and kissing you with your come smeared all over his lips and cheeks,

“Shh, shh… it’s alright, lass. I know what you need. It’s what I need, too.”

You heard his zipper and watched him slide out of his jeans, kicking his socks off with them, naked with you once more, and now with full intent. His cock was drooling onto your belly, the precome leaving long, sticky trails as his swollen shaft traced its way up and down through your folds. Johnny’s cock was so hard that it felt like a warm, iron pipe was pressing into you, threatening and dangerous.

You must have worn the concern on your face because he chuckled down at you, kissing your forehead sweetly as he humped himself against you,

“Too much for you, thief?”

You let your hands meet in the middle, holding his dick with one on top of the other, effectively jacking him off as he thrust forward and back, wetting him with his own lubrication, and you watched him throw his head back in sharp need. You smiled up at him,

“Not yet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he paused, holding his position, poised like a viper. Then, he looked down at you, suddenly serene, “Do you need a condom?”

“No, do you?”

“Fuck, no,” he said, and he immediately sank his head into your softness, melting into you with a slick slide, trusting you implicitly, believing you like a disciple.

Your body hadn’t experienced a cock as thick and as hard as his. It wasn’t uncomfortably long, but its upward curve was particularly cruel. It was built to torture the soft pleasure-ladden spot inside of your walls, dragging across it as he fit himself inside of you. It took a few thrusts until you felt his hilt, but you were wet enough that your pussy didn’t need much coaxing. He was sighing above you, audibly and full of relief, his face bent and twisted in a perfect torment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… thief, holy fuck. Oh, Christ. I cannae… oh…”

His thrusts were audible. Flesh pounded into flesh, and the wet noises coming from you seemed unreal. Each and every time he entered you, pressing through you and molding you to his shape, you felt sparks of bliss within your belly, expectant and eager.

“Johnny… it feels so good. You feel…”

“You alright, mo ghràdh? Do you… mmmph, fuck… do you need me to slow down?”

You imagined what that would be like, and your pussy railed against it, feral and wanton, fighting any semblance of gentility with sharpened teeth and greedy claws.

“No, please… don’t.” you kissed his cheek as he lay his head into your shoulder, deep in concentration, rolling in his passion.

Your kiss made him turn to face you, kissing your mouth so softly, with loose, relaxed lips, gently sliding his cheek across yours like a huge cat, rubbing himself all over you. He didn’t stop, but he spoke to you darkly,

“I’ll do whatever you want, lass. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“This,” you sighed, moaning as another wave of pleasure made you clench down around him, gripping him from within you with a fluttering squeeze, “You. Just you, mo chridhe.”

You tested out the nickname you’d used before, hoping to encourage him. You may as well have poured kerosene on a fire. He narrowed his eyes at you in disbelief, obviously hearing it and using it like war paint, covering his body in it, staining himself in it, changing himself from the inside out to fit its definition. He lay his head next to yours as he worked his cock within you, grunting through gritted teeth with each heavy thrust. His body started to tremble, shaking with his need to come, and the low, long whine that came from his throat made it sound like he was boiling over with blinding pleasure.

He took both of his arms and crossed them behind your back, grasping your shoulders from behind in a painfully tight hold. Then, pressed to his chest, he lifted you, settling you in his lap in the lotus position, keeping his cock sheathed deep inside of you. You grabbed onto his neck instinctively, holding him like a lifeline, rocking your hips into him to chase that friction.

Johnny sighed, pressing his forehead to yours,

“Yes, yes, yes, thief. Take it. Fuck yourself on me, hen. Use me. I wanna feel you come, mèirleach…”

He begged so sweetly, and you were happy to oblige. You used his shoulders to brace yourself while you pushed your body down onto him, spearing yourself over and over. At this new angle, his cockhead hit your g-spot every single goddamn time, and you were dizzy from his menacing shape. He snaked his hand between you to press on your clit, not even rubbing it but applying force, giving you something to grind against. The combination of his hand and his cock and his growling whines of struggling for control were enough to do the trick, and you saw white behind your eyes as you fell into a chaotic, plunging orgasm once again.

“Fuuuuckkkk…” He groaned loudly, his voice turning vicious, “You are mine.”

Your body fell back to the bed and he shoved your legs onto one of his shoulders, fucking you as deep as he could go, stretching you as he did, throwing himself into you as you came down from your high. He was shouting, curses and praises, all in a filthy, animalistic snarl. Johnny just kept repeating the same phrase in a cultish chant, mindless and recursive, completely beyond himself, past reality.

“You’re mine, thief. Mine.”

As he came, he searched for your eyes, staring into them, showing you his elation. You ran a hand across his scalp, your fingernails dragging through his mohawk, and you saw the whites of his eyes as he rolled them back into his head involuntarily. You held onto his hair and gave it a little pressure, holding his skull in your hands as he filled you with his spent pleasure, his cock throbbing, pulsing rope after rope of hot come into your belly, frothing and foaming around the base of his shaft as he fucked you through it.

20 MINUTES LATER

You were so worried that his friends would make some sort of comment. As you walked back to the coffee shop, tucked under his heavy arm, you prepared for the playful banter and the jeering. His mohawk was destroyed, and you were both glowing with a sheen of sweat, matching in your states. You knew that they knew. You could also tell that Johnny was bracing himself for the worst, steeling his resolve before entering the cafe. And you thought you would get, at the very least, some mention of how long it had taken to get your bags. But, when you made it to the coffee shop, they didn’t say a word. They smiled, and although they smiled knowingly, there was more affection in it than mischief. It shocked you. After all the ribbing from before, to have none now seemed like some kind of gift. When Johnny realized they were going to let him keep his prize for himself, uncontested, he began to glow with pride as much as pleasure.

The ride was not quiet, though. All of their stories from Urzikstan and its many dangers started to come out. Price told you about how Gaz and Ghost were almost incinerated in a cobalt mine, and Johnny was showing off his newest badge - a retro SAS pin Price had given him for rescuing the other two from said mine. The blue wings and the motto surrounded a bright sword.

“Who dares, wins?” You asked, trying to see the words in the dark backseat.

Ghost, who had needed to sit in the front with Johnny because of his height, nodded, taking the pin back from you to admire it.

“Well deserved,” Price commented beside you.

“Sounds like it,” you agreed.

Johnny had been so sweet to you after his ferocious lovemaking, you thought all the medals in the world might not be enough to thank the man. No one had ever been so kind nor so attentive. Most of the time, you and whatever lad would clean up separately, maybe watch a show or two and then say your goodbyes. Not Johnny. He spent most of his time admiring your body, making sure you were intact and unharmed. Then, after covering you up with your softest throw, he came back with a hot towel and cleaned you up meticulously. He lay beside you until you felt good enough to get dressed, and still as you were putting your hair up, he made you a tea and finished packing your bag with the things you’d forgotten; your vitamins on the counter and your phone charger.

When you came out of the bathroom, he had stripped your sheets and put them in the hamper, and Marlowe’s food timer had been set. Her litter box was clean, and the automated litter keeper was reset. You wondered fleetingly if he had wiped down the counters as well.

The drive felt shorter than usual, especially since your thoughts were on other things. But, when you pulled into Old Kilpatrick, Johnny spoke up to the whole car,

“Look, no one says a fuckin’ thing about us to my sister. To anyone, alright? She’ll find out when she’s bloody meant to.”

The men agreed to keep quiet, but Gaz mouthed off beside you,

“Sure we can keep a secret, Soap, but what about you? I wouldn’t give you a medal for impulse control, mate.”

Johnny eyed him in the rear-view mirror with a stern glare,

“Aye, but then that’s my problem, you daft bastard.”

Gaz rolled his eyes, grinning all the while.

By the time you’d arrived, the only open spot to sleep was a big pallet on the floor of the living room. Hamish was the only one awake to welcome you, and he set you up with pillows and blankets to camp out like a row of sardines.

“Hey, lass,” Hamish told you, “Go sleep with Pigeon. She’d murder me for leaving you on the ground.”

He looked worn out, and although you didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, you didn’t have any real reason to insist. So, you hugged all the boys good night, making sure not to take too long on Johnny’s turn, and retreated to your post.

Pidge was snoring softly as you entered the room, and you got ready for bed as quietly as you could, plugging in your phone to the nightstand. It buzzed, and you saw his message flash up on the screen:

Mo Chridhe: miss you

You: i miss you too

Mo Chridhe: im still in a wee shock

You: why

Mo Chridhe: you. cannae believe youre mine

You: i am. and youre mine johnny mactavish.

Mo Chridhe: promise

You: promise

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Waking up with Johnny and sitting around the tree together with your coffee was every bit like Christmas morning as when you were a child. Instead of presents, you were content to sit as close to him as you dared, pretending to be making room for others by finding spots on the floor beside the gifts and stockings.

All together, it was Johnny, his three soldiers, you, Pidge, Hamish, Hamish’s mum and dad, and Roger. Rodger had crashed on the couch last night, the Hamiltons had taken Johnny’s room, and now you were all crowded up in the small den, passing gifts around and chatting as you opened your presents. There weren’t many, but it was enough to feel like a holiday.

Roger got the Playstation he’d been begging for from his brother, and his parents had bought him the games. Pidge had given Johnny a new set of headphones since his had melted in the cobalt mining fire. She also got him a pound of her shortbread cookies, which he was stuffing into his mouth with absolute abandon. He’d bought her a tea set off her wedding registry, and Hamish had landed a very aggressive knife from him. The professor was already being given a tutorial by Captain Price, and you tried not to laugh as he practiced stabbing the air with him in the kitchen. Price was scary when he did it, but Hamish looked downright silly.

“Okay, alright. My turn. Here,” you gave out your cards to everyone in attendance, but pulled out a box for Pidge.

“What did you do! I told you not to, hen. I am going to give you a laldy, and you’d deserve it!” She hugged you around the neck and jiggled the box.

Satisfied with the rattle, she tore into the paper and gingerly lifted off the lid. Inside, she saw the MacTavish tartan, woven into a full shawl, embroidered with a tiny pigeon in the corner, just for her. She inspected it with wonder, her breath fully stolen away.

“Did you… You made this? Are you doin’ your weavin’ again, babe? I thought you gave it up.”

You shrugged,

“I found a reason to give it one last shot.”

Pidge started to cry real, honest tears, and she reached out for you, clutching the shawl to her chest, sobbing,

“Thank you, hen. Thank you so much. After they buried mum in hers, and I didn’t… I couldn’t touch it anymore, I just…”

You held her and rocked her back and forth, smiling at her outpouring of love,

“I know, babe. I remember you saying so. But, now you’ve got one of your own.”

For a moment, you stole a glance at Johnny. The whole room was a little moved by your gesture, but he looked… unwell. He was standing behind everyone, and you were the only one looking at him. His hand was clasped over his mouth, and he had tears coming from his eyes, unblinking, letting them roll down his cheeks one after the other, staring at you, frozen in place. He was so unsettled that, for a moment, you thought you’d made some error. But, as Pidge recovered, so did he, and he wiped his face to return to normal; putting on a mask of an expression, hiding whatever he had just shown you.

“You’re the best damn friend I’ve ever had, hen. And I love you. Dearly.”

“I love you too, Pidge.”

“Here, here, open mine! It’s not as braw as all tha’ you did, but still.”

You were handed a gift bag, and you peeked inside. You found a book of poetry with some incredible illustrations inside, and a charm necklace with a silver boar hanging from it.

“It’s our wee clan beastie. You may as well be a MacTavish by now, hen. So, I thought you should have it.”

You smiled, letting her put it on you. Then, you hugged her tight,

“You don’t know what that means to me, Pidge.”

Pidge laughed through dried tears, still emotional,

“Ha! Says you, miss weaver. Honestly.”

You let her gush over it a little more before you retreated back to your position beside Johnny. You pulled out the four smaller boxes from your bag and handed them to the soldiers, indiscriminately since they were all alike.

“What did you do, thief?” Johnny’s voice was low, and he was grinning up at you, staring at you through those dark lashes.

“Open them,” you urged him.

They did, and one by one they all pulled out small compasses, made with built-in flint strikers, hanging from tied paracord. It was the most tactical practical thing you could find on such short notice, but they all seemed pleased. Gaz shook it at Price,

“This would’ve been bloody helpful in South Tobraka!”

You laughed,

“Well, I’m sure it’s a little too low-tech for you, but Merry Christmas anyway.”

“It’s bloody perfect,” Gaz smiled, clapping you on the back. Ghost nodded, and Price hooked it to his lanyard without questioning it.

Johnny bent over to whisper to you as discreetly as he could,

“Gotta sneak off to give you mine, lass.”

You smacked him on the arm, whispering back, watching Pidge like a hawk as you did so to make sure she couldn’t see you,

“Don’t be naughty.”

Johnny laughed,

“No, no. I’m serious.”

“Alright!” Hamish clapped his hands, causing you to jump out of your skin, “Who’s ready for crackers?”

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

You and Johnny were curled up on the couch with a steaming cup of sweet wassail, scrolling through the photos you’d taken that night. You popped two crackers together, pulling out your paper crowns, your gold and his blue, snapping selfies and reading the jokes to each other. Everyone was in their crowns by the end of the night, and while Price smoked cigars on the porch with Gaz and Ghost, Pidge and Hamish had driven his parents and brother home.

You were finally alone after having such a full house, and your gift for him was burning a hole in your bag. You were dying to give it to him, but he beat you to the punch.

“Alright, mèirleach, are you ready for your wee gift? It’s probably gonna earn me extra PT for a few months, but it’s worth it.”

“Why?” You asked, setting your cup down on the end table and turning your body towards him.

“‘Cause I’m not even supposed to have these off-duty, much less hand them over to my American lassie.”

Johnny dug into the neckline of his shirt and pulled out the dog tags that you had encountered last night when he took you to bed. The coin jangled on the chain as he pulled it over his head, and like a medal for an award you had not won, he looped it behind your neck, letting the coin fall between your breasts, still warm from his body and now warm from yours.

You pulled it up to read its stamp, staring at the words:

O POS 2073521 MACTAVISH SAS RC

“Wanted you to have it, lass. A wee piece of me to keep safe, if you will.”

It was hard to know why you started crying, but you felt the searing tears fall down your cheeks as you stared at the tag. His blood type was what started it all, and you began to imagine all of the times that this thin coin would have warranted such a label.

“It’s alright, mèirleach, if you dinnae —”

“No,” you raised your hand to his face, closing your other hand around the coin and pulling it in to your chest, eager to keep it safe just as he had asked, “Thank you, Johnny. I love it.”

He turned his face toward your hand as you caressed his scruffy jaw, and kissed your palm, holding your hand with his so you couldn’t escape.

“I got you something, too. But, it’s small, and now I’m afraid you won’t have anything to hang it on.”

You dug in your bag and pulled out a small cardboard box with a thin red string tied around it. There was no card, there was no name printed on it, but he knew it was him nonetheless. He took it from you, almost snatching it, excited and surprised, not waiting for it to be given.

“Thief! You didnae have to do that,” he was grinning, and his eyes gleamed, full of sudden joy.

You’d found an old locket at the charity shop, and your gift had fit inside perfectly. When he opened the clasp, he froze. You’d use a scrap of the shawl that you’d woven for Pidge and cut a little circle from it, embroidering a tiny map of Scotland over the threads, planting a little red heart over what was almost Glasgow.

“Mo mèirleach…”

“Mo chridhe.”

As soon as you said his name, his eyes found yours and he leaned in to kiss you, clutching the locket in his fist, tight, tight, tight.

BEFORE DAWN

That night, in his bed, smelling his oranges and cloves, his scent filling your nose, covering you with his sheets, you lay buried in his chest where his tags used to lie, your cheek now warming the skin beneath. You imagined the compasses that dangled from the four sets of keys strewn across the kitchen counter. You thought about the shawl that was wrapped around his sister as she slept in her bed. Holding his locket in your hand, you ran your fingertips over its tartan, borne of the same threads as hers. You wondered about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the year ahead of you, and you felt a tightness in your own chest as you considered the timeline stretching out before you, woven from the choices you and your lover had made together. It was as if you had altered fate’s plan somehow, shunning your intended path and forging one of your own making. What future had you created? Did you have the guile to craft the right course? You held his hand, his fingers laced between yours, and whichever way you went, you hoped that he would be braving it with you.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #guile and guilt #soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish

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adonisoneca · 5 months ago

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#aircraft ife #best portable IFE systems #flight map displays #aircraft flight map #aircraft ife system

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johnwickb1tsch · 11 months ago

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Vino Veritas

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. chapter map.

The Gate to Hell

You’re not sure what it is about airports, that somehow makes them feel like a special little extension of the circles of Hell. Or maybe purgatory, is more the like. All you do there is wait, and wait and wait, praying that soon it will be time to move on.

It probably doesn’t help that you’re absolutely fucking dreading your destination ahead.

Frankly, it will be a miracle if you survive this weekend with your sanity intact.

And then, there’s this dude behind you. You keep seeing him out of the corner of your eye. He just keeps pacing back and forth, rolling his stupid bag with him, and you just want to whirl and tell him to be still or sit the fuck down.

Instead, he comes to stand next to you.

You give him a glance. And then, you’ll admit, a double take, because he is stupidly handsome, even while frowning, staring churlishly at the flight monitor as though it had personally insulted him. And, to add insult to injury, he is tall. And well dressed in jeans and a button down and a nice sports jacket. And you inwardly sigh for some indefinable reason that has to do with longing and your acceptance that the universe does not bestow such gifts upon you for free.

“Nice dress.”

You blink, not having expected him to speak to you.

“Thanks.” It’s a 50’s style robin’s egg blue halter swing dress, your favorite color. You needed some bright color therapy, to face the hell you’re about to be stepping into.

“Is there a sock hop in San Luis Obispo I’m missing?”

You guess with your cat-eye Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, you do look rather on brand.

From his sardonic tone you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. “All the cool kids are going.”

You kind of deliver it like a dig, and you see the corners of his mouth twitch. “Ah. That explains everything.”

You look him over. He…really is ridiculously handsome, if you’re being honest. High cheekbones. Trimmed beard. Piercing eyes. Casually well dressed. A bit older than you, not that that’s ever stopped you.

“I hope our flight’s on time.”

You check your phone app for the airline. “Supposed to be.”

“Let me guess. You’ve got an app for that?” The way he says it, just this side of snide, like you fucking millennials—it kind of pisses you off. And maybe you’re overly sensitive to patronizing comments from older men, but with your history you have a right to be.

“Do you have a problem with me?”

He stands up a little straighter. “What?”

“Like what’s your deal? I was just standing here minding my own business, while you’re creeping around behind me—”

“I was not creeping. I was trying to see the board.” He gestures at the display screen by the gate.

You look him up and down. That’s a tall drink of water, if you’re being honest. “Because Mr. six foot six over here can’t see over my head—”

“I’m only 6’1”—”

“Okay, 6’2” in your shoes, and then you come up here, give me a backhanded compliment, and make fun of me for having the means to keep track of what’s going on with our plane?” You glare at him. “Holy shit, are you trying to neg me?”

“I don’t…even know what that means.”

“Ok, boomer.”

“I am not a boomer.”

“Whatever.”

Then he has the gall to step away—in front of you.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re going to butt ahead in line too?”

“On a flight that holds eight people?”

“Wow. Ok, be my guest.” You wave him on, and he rolls his eyes. Then you have to stand there, and look at his stupidly broad shoulders in that nice sports jacket, and his dark softy waving hair that just brushes his collar��you’re not going to look at his butt.

You’re not.

Your eyes slide down.

Fuck, but that’s a nice caboose.

The Fight Or Flight Response

As you sit in your backseat of the plane, there is one seat left beside you, and when you see who boards last you want to throw yourself down the stairs before they close the door.

“Anyone want to trade seats?” he asks, bent over practically in half, he’s so tall and the plane is so small.

Crickets.

With a resigned grumble he settles into the seat next to you, as though the world might end if he has to spend a handful of minutes in your general proximity.

Then, of course, the universe further conspires to embarrass you by sending you a defective peanuts bag, which you cannot for love or money get to tear open.

“Dear god, tear it at the notch,” grouses the rude man beside you, driven insane by you fighting with it.

“There is no notch.”

He’s there with his big hand extended, making an annoyed give it here gesture. It’s distracting, truly, how long and elegant his fingers are.

“Give it here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Give. It. Here.”

You’re so disgusted with this whole day, you hand it over. Then watch with smug delight as he can’t get it open either. Finally, he uses his teeth in his frustration, undoubtedly spitting all over it. When he tries to hand it back to you, you raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

With a sigh, he offers you his less molested bag.

You take it like accepting his sword on the battlefield.

You both make faces as you quickly find that the seasoning on the nuts tastes like hot trash, and you reckon it’s probably a metaphor for how the next few days are going to go.

This is going to be the weekend from hell.

“So what brings you to San Luis Obispo?” the man asks resignedly, almost like he can’t quite stop himself from talking to you. There is an exhaustion in his tone that would have pulled at your heartstrings, if you weren’t so generally pissed off.

“You don’t have to try to talk to me.”

He shrugs, throwing up those big, beautiful hands in a gesture of annoyance. You can’t help but stare at them—they really are a menace.

“Just trying to be pleasant.”

You can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes you at hearing that. He frowns over at you, and you cover your mouth, hiding your smile. You know you must look like a crazy person—but it’s just too ridiculous.

“Was it that funny?”

You sigh, and for some reason you feel better after the involuntary outburst. Okay. Maybe you can make an effort. No one is ever in a good mood at the airport, after all. “I’m actually going to Paso Robles.”

“Row-bulls.”

“It’s pronounces ro-blays.”

“Everyone says Row-bulls.”

“Well, not the fucking Spanish who named it.”

He looks away again with that thunderhead of a frown. Why does he have to look extra handsome, when he’s pissed off?

You sigh again. “Look, I’m sorry. I swear, I’m not always such a bitch. It’s just…this fucking wedding I’m going to.”

This catches his attention; he turns to look at you like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse. “Not��Keith and Anne’s wedding?”

“How do you fucking know Keith and Anne?”

“Keith and I share a mother.”

“Holy shit, you’re Frank?”

“Who are you?”

“I was engaged to Keith, years ago.”

“Oh my god, you’re y/n.”

You can sense by the way he says it that you’re infamous in the family’s lore. It’s been a long time, but still, it fills your heart with a familiar leaden despair.

You close your eyes, and look away.

“You’re just as horrible as Keith always said,” you say to the window.

“I find you equally disagreeable, I assure you.”

waiting for death the car

“There was supposed to be a car,” Frank grouses the second you exit the airport. Patience is clearly not his strong suit.

“The flight was early.”

“But it seemed so long.”

It’s a good dig, truth be told, and the corners of your mouth twitch despite yourself. You sit down on a bench, and to your surprise he sits on the other, though on the side closest to you. “So what the hell are you doing here?” he asks. “Didn’t Keith break your heart?”

“Shattered it into bits.”

“Well?”

“I was invited.”

“And…you’re a masochist?”

“Look, I’m not…whatever Keith must have said I am. I was practically a fucking child when he started dating me. It was not…” It was perfectly legal, of course, but the imbalance of worldly experience, looking back, had not been kosher.

You feel the tide of all the pain and insecurity that man caused you raise up in your heart. Usually you’re pretty good at shoving that shit down down in the deepest dungeon you can, like a healthy person, but the wound is feeling a little fucking raw at the moment, considering.

“Keith is an asshole who only cares about himself. I am aware.”

You sigh, and the tide miraculously recedes. Goddamn. It almost feels like he’s on your side. “Okay, yeah. There you go.”

“Why do this to yourself?”

“You know, before he broke it off, we had a fight the night before because I told him I would never get breast implants, of all fucking things, and Keith told me I would never amount to anything without him.”

“Sounds like something asinine he would say.”

“I wanted to go back to school, and he didn’t like it. He wanted a Stepford wife, and I was becoming alarmingly aware of the world outside his own making of it, the way children do when they grow up. If you’re wondering why he dumped me.”

“That tracks perfectly.”

“He invited me to be a shit and rub my nose in it, so…I’m here as a fuck you. I wanted to show him I’m doing fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“You do seem rather well adjusted.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

This, surprisingly, makes him smile a little.

A few moments of slightly less awkward silence pass before he asks, “So what did Keith tell you about me?”

“Oh, he told me plenty.”

“Such as?”

“What does it matter?”

“Don’t do that,” he snipes. “Don’t dangle the tidbit then refuse to deliver it.”

“Fine. He said you’re a grouch who hates everyone.”

“Oh. I was afraid he might have said something untrue.”

You glance over at his ridiculously well-sculpted profile. He glares ahead, his brows furrowed, and you strangely get the sense that maybe…he’s a little sad for it.

At fucking last, the shuttle car from the hotel arrives.

Tbc...

#destination wedding #keanuverse fic #frank x you #frank has no last name!#destination wedding frank x you #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #destination wedding fic #vino veritas destination wedding fic #part 1 #i think there will be maybe 5 parts?#frank x reader #frank x y/n #keanu reeves #enemies to lovers #sunshine x grump #frank reeves x you #frank reeves x reader

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thebrokenbean · 6 months ago

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... Somehow I fully anticipated you being the first/only person to respond, and I thought I was prepared for the angst I knew you were going to throw my way.

I wasn't prepared.

I had to re-read LL #25. It's been a year and a half, and it hurts just as bad.

Anyway, 3 hours, two wiki pages, and too many tears later… I think I'm done? Might do a better proofread tomorrow when I'm not tired, might not. Either way, enjoy the angst!

"Your eyes… your aura… have you been drinking?"

The door hisses shut behind him as he enters his habsuite. He leaves the light off.

The flight back to the Exitus was… fine. Thunderclash greeted him personally, which was… cool? But his optics were sympathetic, observant - even more than what might be called for, when a friend is grieving a loss. Which is ridiculous, because Rodimus is fine.

...Ratchet's gone.

It's fine.

Rodimus glances at the datapad that was handed to him on his way to his quarters. The screen is dark. The bot who handed it to him seemed so hesitant, like they were trying not to spook him or something. Captain Thunderclash said not to rush you. It's only a few reports. They can wait.

He drops the pad on the table as he passes by with a light flick of his wrist. It skids across the surface to join the rest, all addressed to 'Assistant Navigator'.

He's not putting it off because he needs time. He just hates reports.

Magnus knew that.

Meg- Everyone knew that.

He swipes a cube off the counter, only half-filling it from the dispenser in the corner.

He glances at the board on the wall as he takes a slow sip of energon. Scribbles of drawings are pinned there. A few photos he printed off. A daily to-do list he rarely follows. The board was a gift, years ago - from Magnus, of course. A way to keep himself organized.

A ping comes across his HUD, cheerfully reminding all crew members that tomorrow Captain Thunderclash will be leading the Exitus out of the Acklaw System, towards their next exciting destination! Captain Thunderclash encourages all crew members to be prepared for the next adventure in-

He dismisses the ping and drops his unfinished drink on the counter. He's not really hungry.

His foot catches a bottle as he moves further into his habsuite, sending it spinning into the shadows under his berth with a clink.

Another grand adventure.

"It's not the same though, is it?"

One of his friends would have said that it's impossible to recreate something we hold dear, especially when it comes to treasured memories. It would probably be Drift who said it, or Cyclonus. They're both poetic enough for that. Rodimus is pretty sure there's someone else, but he can't quite remember who he's thinking about.

It doesn't matter anyway.

"A few quantum jumps into the neighboring system and back - with no detours, no mishaps, and no mutinies. One last jaunt."

He still has the top of his desk, from his co-captain's office. The worn, scarred slab is leaning in the corner against the wall, his lovingly-carved map on display.

Hedonia. Temptoria. Scarvix.

The Nanocons. Time-travel. The Vis Vitalis.

"As far as I can make out, all you do is argue, crack jokes, and get sidetracked doing pointless, silly things that only you find amusing!"

He scoffs at the memory of what Skids recounted to him, amused for a moment. The Lost Light did far more than that!

Delphi. Luna 1. Swearth.

The Functionist Universe.

Necroworld.

… Far more.

"I suppose you had to be there."

The berth creaks when he flops down on it to stare up at the ceiling, his feet still brushing the floor. He should recharge. He really should. He doesn't feel tired, but his energy readings are low enough Ratchet would have smacked him upside the helm with that wrench of his.

Ratchet.

"Even in death, he chose life."

"…A month, a week, a year… what's the difference? There'll always be an ending - and if you're lucky, you'll get to see it coming."

Rodimus blinks a few times, his brow furrowing as he fights the sudden stinging sensation.

"If we're doing this, I'd rather do it properly. A proper ending. No going back."

"We'll all drink to that."

He presses the heels of his palms to his optics, inventing sharply. The air catches in his throat, his ventilations stuttering. He grits his teeth.

Not everyone came to the funeral.

Not everyone could.

"Do you think I should-" "Go. Go with him."

"Shut up! I gave you that-" "819 years ago, yes. It's never left my possession."

"…They've reached a verdict."

"Whatever happens next - whatever my fate…"

A frustrated noise escapes him as he pulls his feet onto the berth and rolls over, curling up. His ventilation cycle refuses to keep from stuttering, no matter what he does.

His hands are resting on the berth in front of him, now. They're trembling. He curls them into fists with a huff and tucks them close to his chassis.

It's fine.

Everything's fine.

Everything's great.

"… Do you think it worked?"

Ha.

… No going back.

#transformers #maccadam #brokenbean writes #mtmte #idw #rodimus #angst #lost light spoilers #my writing #asks #fanfic

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sweetsdereese · 8 months ago

Text

When the darkness comes

summary: Maybe Leo isn't fine after all

pair: Leo Valdez x Jason Grace

warnings: ptsd, hurt, eventual comfort (in part 2), memories of character death, some angst, panic attack

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 981

requested tag: @aspenii

part one | part two

4th of July, in Leo’s opinion, is one of the best holidays. Not only could he show off his amazing pyrotechnics, but he could also stuff his face full of food. This year’s celebration is going to be bigger than ever as it will be a collaborative event between both camps. Leo was a bit hesitant when the joined event was first suggested since Camp Jupiter kids are so strict and rigid but hey, some of his best friends are from there so they can’t all be sticks in the mud.

His day started off with a lecture meeting led by Reyna and Annabeth. Schedules and maps of each activities zoned areas had been handed out during it. It was times like these that Leo wished he kept a better track of things given to him, he thought as he and his team of fellow Hephaestus kids rush to set up the fireworks after a much-needed reminder of the time from Frank. Double-checking that the others were able to handle everything, he slipped away and ran towards where Festus was lounging.

“Theres my favorite mechanical marvel, it’s almost showtime buddy” excitement clear in the tone of his views as he practically bounces in place.

A puff of hot air comes from the mechanical dragon as it huffs in response.

“Common don’t be like that. I’ll give you a good polishing and oiling if you do it” Leo negotiates as he pets Festus’s snout.

All he receives is a small mechanical growl of irritation, but Festus relents and sits up, looking down at the giddy curly haired boy.

“Thank you, thank you! Por eso eres mi favorito!” Leo exclaims as he hurriedly attaches the accessory to Festus’s abdomen.

“When the eagle shaped firework goes off, you’ll fly over the crowd. This will open, dropping tons of patriotic confetti and a healthy amount of glitter down onto the crowd” Leo explains, ignoring the eye roll he gets from the dragon.

Once the compartment is secured, Festus takes flight as to be closer to the event site. Meeting back up with the others, they set the timer before joining the celebration. Weaving through the dense crowd, Leo manages to find his group of friends.

“No need to worry, the life of the party is here!” Leo exclaims as he comes to stand beside Piper.

“The ‘life of the party’ almost missed out on his own firework display” Piper retorts back, playfully rolling her eyes.

“Me? Late to something? Never. I’m going to snag some food, save me a spot on the blanket?” he asks while batting his eyes at her.

“I’ll try but the good blanket real estate is getting snatched up fast by the love birds” she says gesturing towards the others.

Frank and Hazel sat beside each other, talking about what happened at their respective booths. Off at one of the corners of the picnic blanket, Will is helping Nico put on protective ear covers. While in the center of the blanket Percy is trying to get Annabeth to stay and relax, assuring her that everything is going according to plan.

“I’ll be quick, plus Jason isn’t here yet so as long as I’m back before him I should have a spot” he hurriedly says, already heading towards the food stalls.

“And leave him out in the cold because you stole his spot?” Piper jokes.

“Yet he’ll still love me” he quips back, sticking his tongue out at her.

“Bring me back a drink while you’re at it!” Piper yells after him, getting a thumbs up from the shorter boy.

Managing his way to the booths, Leo gets in line for some of that mouthwatering assortment of smoked barbecue pork. It felt like ages were passing by as he waits, barely having budged an inch since he first got in line. Tapping his foot as he fidgets with some gears he keeps on hand in his pocket. Leo jolts, fumbling as to not drop the gears he had just been mindlessly toying with as a loud explosion goes off. Panicked amber eyes searched around for distressed people and the source of the explosion, only to be met with awestruck faces looking up towards the sky. Bringing himself to look up, he catches sight of the dissipating colors of the fireworks. Relief had started to wash over him till another firework went off renewing that panic brewing in him.

Leo flinches as more explosions fill the air, a tight feeling growing in his chest. Abandoning his place in line, Leo stumbles away from the loud, increasingly suffocating crowd. As the suffocating feeling grows, Leo soon breaks into a run towards his dorm building. Fighting for each breath as he forces himself up the seemingly infinite stairs. Fumbling to unlock his dorm as his hands shake like leaves, having dropped his keys on one of the attempts.

Barreling into his dorm once the door opens, slamming it shut behind him as he staggers toward his bed. Mindlessly grabbing his blanket from his bed, he seeks refuge under his table. Leo cocoons himself in the blanket, trying to fight off the memories of countless pieces of shrapnel pierced into his skin. Rubbing the palms of his eyes to try and stop the flowing tears.

Each loud bang brings him back to that day, his body broken and unable to move as he fell watching Festus try to reach him – try to save him. His hands moving to cover his ears as he screws his eyes shut, trying to ignore the sounds from outside. That voice that’s haunted him as long as he can remember whispers to him. You’re a child of Hephaestus, a pyromancer, why are you crying like a baby? Are you seriously scared of fireworks? You’re ruining this for everyone. People have gone through worse, and you don’t see them acting like babies.

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miercoooles · 2 years ago

Text

Home

Summary: Everything is all set with the first snowfall coming around, now all you need is your husband to come home.

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: cursing, angst if you squint (I think?), teeth-rotting fluff (hopefully), strangers to lovers (kinda) bee- cause why not hehe, and Seb being adorable >:(

A/N: I know I said this was meant to be out on Seb’s birthday but I got caught up with college work and got lazy, so I apologise to those who waited. This is not proof read or beta read (so advance apologies for the terrible writing).

Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

December finally came around Switzerland, and you were currently residing on the couch, holding a mug of hot chocolate as you tuned in on the television listening to the weather news report. When you heard the announcer mention that the first snowfall will be seen sometime this week, the corner of your lips curled upwards, forming a grin as you squealed like a little kid getting candy.

While others dreaded the coming of winter and its sub-zero temperature, it was no secret to anyone that knew you that it is your favourite season. From its white snow covering the houses and streets that allows you to make snowmans and snow angels to the Christmas lights that brightened up the long, pitch black, endless nights, to the cold weather that makes it absolutely perfect for cuddling.

Now all you needed to make everything complete was for your husband to return to your arms. Actually when you first met your now husband, it was like a usual cliché love story.

You were ordered by your boss to fly all the way to the Netherlands for an official work trip. Or well that was what you were supposed to be doing when you arrived in Amsterdam until the client you were supposed to meet up with ditched you.

Now here you are miles away from your hometown, lost in a whole new foreign land with only a fair amount of pocket money and few changes of clothes.

You staggered along the streets, your phone in your hand as you made your way to the busy and crowded area trying to find the hotel your office booked for you while on the said trip.

Looking back on your phone, you sighed as you followed the directions on Google Maps. But after a few more minutes of this wild goose chase, you gave up and sat on a bench somewhere. Leaning your head on the bench, you rubbed your eyes, completely exhausted and jetlagged from the flight.

When you opened your eyes, you saw the setting sun slowly descend towards the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the vast expanse of the sky. The sky transformed into a canvas of vivid colours, blending shades of orange, pink, and purple, creating a breathtaking display that captured your heart and soul.

You exhaled heavily, getting up from where you were seated as you carried on your venture to seek for your hotel. Turning on your phone, you followed the nearest route shown on the screen.

“You’ve arrived at your destination.”

Your ears perked up as soon as you heard those words. But the moment you looked up, the excitement you regained dissipated in a blink of an eye as you wince at the sight of the hotel. While you expected a cosy hotel that exuded an immediate sense of warmth and comfort, that would create an ambiance that felt like a home away from home, instead you were greeted by an odd and peculiar hotel that stood in stark contrast to its surroundings, defying conventional architecture and exuding an aura of eccentricity.

And as if the world knew your reluctance to step in, rain began to come down from the sky.

“Just my luck! Don’t tell me it can get any worse than this, right?” You groaned to no one in particular, your things starting to get soaked from the pouring water.

But like jinxing yourself as you said those words, it did in fact get much worse because when you went up the steps and tried opening the front doors, it was shut tight.

You kicked the door out of frustration before remembering that your things might be wet. Grabbing your luggage, you carried it up and placed it under the portico of the hotel before sitting on one of the steps, letting your skin seep the rain.

A few moments have passed and your body started shivering from the cold. You placed your arms on your thighs as you buried your face on your shaking hands, trying your best to warm yourself up.

“Stupid boss sending me on this stupid business trip. Fuck me!”

“You know you shouldn’t say that out loud when you’re alone in the dimly lit part of this street.” A voice suddenly piped up, making you jump from where you were seated, your hand holding your chest as you felt your heart race.

You quickly whipped your head to where the sound came from and you saw a man with a messy, short light brown hair and blue eyes that was sparkling even in the darkness. He had a stubble growing on across his defined jaw that made him look mature.

“Don’t do that! Are you trying to kill me?” You sneered at the man who was holding back his laughter.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I saw you as I was walking past and I heard you say that, so I just wanted to warn you…”, he explained, looking genuinely sorry for his sudden appearance.

When you felt no rain on your skin, you looked up to see a black umbrella over your head being held by the stranger who frightened you.

“A-and you were getting drenched from the rain, so I was going to offer my umbrella…”, he proceeded to explain, gesturing at the umbrella he was holding up for the both of you.

There was a deafening silence that came after what he said as you pressed your lips in a tight line.

“Sorry, I should have minded my own business.”, he spoke up once more when he realised that he won’t get anything from you.

You let out a soft chuckle that only the two of you can hear before turning to face him, “You talk too much.”

His eyes widened at your remark, his cheeks turning into a shade of light red as he became flustered and self-conscious.

“It’s okay though… It’s honestly quite comforting that someone would be so kind to tell me.”, you followed up, noticing his embarrassment from your comment.

Now it was his turn to stay quiet, stunned as he heard you speak. He looked away, hiding a small grin that was forming on his lips. When he managed to control it, he turned back to you, tilting his head as his gaze fixed on you.

You felt his eyes bore holes into you and you can’t help but feel naked. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think of finding yourself in this situation, but here you were with a stranger who was willing to share his umbrella with you, observing you like a hawk.

“I’m assuming you have a question…”, you spoke out, returning his stare.

His lips fell into a thin straight line as he realised that he must have been obvious. “I… Well, I was curious at why you were sitting here all alone at night. That hotel has been under renovation for months already…”, he explains in a small and soft voice.

You looked at him appalled, completely speechless at what you heard. “Y-you’re telling me that this place has been closed for months?” He nodded meekly in reply, seeming embarrassed as he moved his hands to his nape and rubbed it softly.

There was silence that surrounded you both as everything happening to you started sinking in. This must have been a set up from your company, knowing how much they despised you and wished for your downfall.

As the man beside you felt that you were in distress, he removed his coat and immediately placed it over your shoulders, squeezing it gently. “I know it’s not my place to ask, but if you want you can stay over my place? It’s not that far from here.”

He pursed his lips as he awaited your answer. He knows he’s just a stranger, but he couldn’t help feeling pity towards you. Besides you seem nice enough to be a killer acting helpless, so what could go wrong right?

“How am I sure you’re not some sort of murderer trying to lead me into a death trap?”, you ask after a few moments that definitely assured him you were not a killer.

He lets out a soft chuckle that breaks the stillness and awkwardness of the atmosphere. There was something about his laugh that made you feel warm and fuzzy despite the cold settling on your bones.

“Fair enough, but trust me if I was a killer, I would have gone a different way.” He says reassuringly before standing up and grabbing your luggage.

“Come on! Or would you rather stay here?” He gestures, carrying your things as he goes down the step.

Shaking your head in utter disbelief, you stood up and followed him, keeping a safe distance in case he tried to do something. You heard his laugh as he led the way, the fuzzy feeling growing and when he looked back at you, he gave you a wide and goofy smile that made your heart flip.

“Oh by the way, I’m Sebastian Vettel. But you can call me Seb.” He mentions before turning his back on you and starts walking again. You suppress a smile as you calm yourself down, reminding yourself that you just met the man and you should not trust him easily.

You quietly continued following him, shivering as it got colder even though it stopped raining already. As you both approached an apartment building, you felt a light and cool touch against your forehead.

As you look up to the sky, you witness a mesmerising spectacle unfold before your eyes. Delicate snowflakes, like ethereal dancers, descend from the heavens, gracefully floating in the air.

“S-snow?”, you said dumbfoundedly, halting in your tracks. When Sebastian noticed that you weren’t following him anymore, he turned back to look at you looking enthralled as snow continued to fall.

“First time?”

As he broke your train of thoughts, you hummed and nodded in response as your eyes never left the sky.

“Guess I’m lucky that I’m the first person you get to experience a White Christmas then, huh?” He chimed, his tone filled with excitement as he watched you.

A few days after the weather report, you started setting up and decorating your home for Christmas as you waited for your husband to come home.

Grabbing your phone from the side table, you texted a message to your husband.

You: Love, when will you be back?

Sending the message, you threw your phone to the side, as you stood up from the couch, and started pacing back and forth in your living room. Minutes have passed and you looked at your phone for the nth time, debating whether you should send another message as you waited for his response.

As you were about to grab your phone and decide to send him another text, your phone notification pinged.

Seb Sugar Pie Honey Bunch: Sorry, liebling. I don’t know if I’ll make it in time to spend the first snow with you. I know how much this means to you, but I promise to make it up to you once I get home.

Can’t wait to be back in your arms. I love you xx

Reading his message, you couldn’t help but feel bummed down. The first snowfall was a special moment you annually celebrated with your husband. You shared many memories with him that included the first winter fall. Your first meeting, first official date, when you answered ‘yes’ as he asked you to be his girlfriend, when he proposed to you, when you got married, all those things happened during the first snow.

And experiencing the first one this year without him, it felt dull and meaningless. So as the next days came by, you did nothing but mope around, spending your morning and afternoon sleeping in your bed or eating ice cream while snuggling under a blanket as you sobbed to cringe, sappy romantic movies.

When the day of the predicted snowfall arrived, you excitedly hopped off your shared bed with your husband and ran down to the living room, waiting by the window.

An hour came by and seeing that there wasn’t any snow yet, you went to the kitchen to prepare yourself something to eat. Opening the fridge, you looked for ingredients you can use to make the easiest and lightest meal possible. Once you got it cooked and prepared, you sat by the island counter, beginning to chow down on it as your gaze never left the window.

Finishing your meal, you washed the dishes and cookware you used, placing them inside the dish dryer and wiping the kitchen and island counter. After cleaning up, you shuffled back to the living room and sat on the sofa as you looked out and waited for the snow.

While anticipating for the first snow to arrive, you kept yourself busy and distracted with everything you see, as well as trying to stray away from your phone. Turning on the television and stereo, you started playing music to liven up the mood, dancing around the living room.

Later when you checked outside, you saw little specks of white falling to the ground. Feeling the course of excitement filling your body, you grabbed the nearest shoes and slipped it on, not bothering to change out of your pyjamas before running to the front door.

As you emerge into the stillness of the wintry landscape, a hush blankets the surroundings. The familiar sounds of everyday life are muted, replaced by the gentle whispers of falling snowflakes. The world seems to hold its breath in awe of the transformation unfolding before your eyes.

While everyone went indoors, preparing for the incoming chilly weather, you stood in the middle of the lawn piling with snow, capturing the beauty it provided. Each snowflake falling from the sky, a unique masterpiece, intricately crafted by nature's hand. They fall gently onto your face and eyelashes, instantly melting upon contact, leaving a cool kiss on your skin. The air feels fresh and invigorating, carrying the scent of winter and a hint of pine.

Letting out a soft sigh as you let the cold envelop you, seeping through your skin, settling deep within your bones. Your breath becomes visible, a cloud of mist that hangs in the air for a fleeting moment before dissipating into the icy abyss. And looking around, you witness the gradual metamorphosis of the scenery. Every surface becomes a canvas for the delicate white flakes, transforming the landscape into a pristine, ethereal landscape. Trees, rooftops, and the ground itself are gradually covered in a soft, velvety layer of snow, as if nature has carefully tucked the world in for a peaceful slumber.

As you stand still, you can't help but be captivated by the silence. The snow absorbs the sound, creating a serene and tranquil atmosphere. The only audible presence is the gentle whisper of snowflakes landing on the ground, adding to the symphony of nature's delicate touch.

Looking up, you see the sky adorned with a tapestry of white, as countless snowflakes continue their descent from above. The world feels transformed, as if transported to a realm where time slows down, and worries and stresses melt away in the purity of the moment.

You hold your palms out to catch the falling snow, closing your eyes in the process as the cool snowdrops meet your skin. You let another sigh out as snowflakes gently make contact with your cheeks, nose, and eyelashes. At that moment, time seems to slow down. You become fully present, completely immersed in the serene beauty of the winter moment. The world around you takes on a dreamlike quality, as if you've entered a quiet sanctuary, a realm where worries and cares momentarily fade away.

Shortly after settling down with the cold, you felt something heavy on your hand, startling you as your eyes jolted wide open. Looking down you see your husband and his chin placed on your palm. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, thinking that you might be hallucinating from missing him too much. But when you opened your eyes the second time and still saw his goofy grin, your eyebrows furrowed.

When your significant other saw the perplexed look your face held, he pursed his lips tightly thinking that he must be doing something wrong.

“Is this not how I’m supposed to be doing?” He asked, looking at you through his eyelash.

You blinked a few times, your face contorting into an even more confused expression as your eyes showed mixed emotions at the thought of the man who told you that he won’t be home is the same man right in front of you right now.

“S-Seb? You’re-”

“Home... Surprise, liebling.” He interrupted, finishing your sentence as he suppressed a smile.

Still resting his chin on the palm of your hand, he tilts his head slightly, his famous gummy grin once more appearing on his face.

You stayed silently still, pursing your lips as your mind continued to process everything before letting out a soft sigh escape your lips as you come to the conclusion that you must be daydreaming.

“Pinch me, I must be dreaming. You’re not really here, right? Because you told me that you won’t make it in time for this.” You went on, speaking about how he was not supposed to be here yet and other excuses.

As you were in the midst of your rambling, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and words, you suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of his laughter. It cut through the air like a burst of sunlight, breaking through the cluttered maze of your thoughts and drawing you into the present moment.

The sound was like a gentle symphony, harmonising with the cadence of your own voice. It carried a warmth that permeated the room, infusing the space with a sense of joy and lightheartedness. In that instant, it felt as if the universe had conspired to align your words with his laughter, creating a perfect harmony.

The laughter flowed freely, like a bubbling brook that cascades over rocks, each note infused with genuine amusement. It was a melodic dance, rising and falling, as his mirth embraced your rambling thoughts. The sound of his laughter was pleasing that it distracted you from what you were saying.

And as the delicate snowflakes descend from the sky, gently blanketing the world around you, you find yourself standing in a moment that feels like pure magic. After months of longing and separation, your eyes finally meet those of your husband, and a rush of emotions swells within you.

The air is crisp and alive with anticipation, as the snowflakes create a soft, ethereal backdrop. The sound of muffled footsteps and hushed whispers seems to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you standing together in this wintry embrace.

As you draw closer, a nervous excitement tingles in the pit of your stomach, a mix of anticipation and relief that the long wait is finally over. The world around you seems to fade away, and all that matters is the connection between you.

Your gazes lock, communicating a depth of love and longing that words could never capture. Time seems to slow as he reaches out; his right hand cupping your cheeks while his left hand makes its way to your waist, snaking his arm around you as if he was afraid to let you go. The warmth of your touch contrasts with the coolness of the falling snow, creating a tender juxtaposition.

“How about I do this instead?” He whispers softly, his voice filled with happiness and love as his face advances to yours, his lips mere inches away from touching you.

And in that magical moment, your lips meet. The softness of the kiss feels like a gentle dance, a blending of warmth and tenderness that melts away any remaining distance or time apart. The taste of familiarity and love lingers, as if reuniting with a part of yourself that was temporarily missing.

As the snowflakes continue to descend around you, he tilts his head as he deepens the kiss, a fusion of emotions and longing that has built up over the months of separation. It's a moment of reconnection, a reaffirmation of your bond and the strength of your love.

The world around you seems to hold its breath, as if honouring this intimate and sacred exchange. The soft sound of snowflakes touching the ground becomes a gentle symphony, underscoring the significance of this long-awaited reunion.

As the kiss ends, a sense of contentment washes over you. The weight of the months apart is lifted, replaced by a renewed sense of togetherness and a shared journey moving forward. The snowflakes continue their graceful descent, serving as witnesses to this beautiful moment.

“Y-you’re really here?” You asked once more as the realisation finally settles down, your voice still filled with disbelief.

“I’m really here, my love”, Sebastian assures you, letting a soft chuckle out as he nuzzles his nose against yours, his arms still not letting you go.

You let out a giggle when his nose touched yours, tickling you in the process. You then wrap your arms around his neck, watching him. As you stare at him, your eyes become magnets, drawn to every curve of his face, every twinkle in his eyes, and every subtle expression that dances across his features. Your gaze is filled with wonder, as if you are discovering a masterpiece that was created just for you.

“I missed you so much, Sebby!” You murmured excitedly against his lips before connecting your lips to his once more.

And under the first snowfall, after months of not seeing your husband, the kiss becomes a testament to the enduring power of love and the joy of being reunited. It's a cherished memory that will forever be etched in your hearts, a reminder of the strength and resilience of your relationship in the face of time and distance.

Parting his lips away from yours, he gazes at you, his crystal blue eyes swirling with love and passion then enveloping you in a tight embrace, placing his chin on your head. He soon realised that you must have been cold to the bones as you shivered against his hug and when he pulled away, he laughed a little, noticing that you only had your sleepwear.

“You must have been quite excited that you did not have time to change clothes, huh?” He jokingly asked, teasing you.

You scoffed and gently shoved him, making him chuckle once more before drawing you near him, his arms wrapped around your shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you inside and I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate to warm you up.”

“Cuddles too?”, you meekly ask him and he nods, guiding you towards the porch.

“Mhm. And I missed you most ardently too, schatz.” Sebastian uttered softly, gently planting a tender kiss on your temple as you both made your way inside your sweet little home.

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