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silantryoo · 2 months

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BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — EPILOGUE 3, begin again

jo yuri and choi yena's wedding.

WARNINGS ; implied depression, mentions of overworking, slightly suggestive, mentions of broken homes (2.4k)

y/n wished that it was her up on that altar with wonyoung.

the hues of white and gold twinkled against the sunlight, the heat of the californian sun blinding everyone in the venue. yuri's dress, a hanbok beautifully accentuated with gold, ruffled in the wind, yena standing across from her soon-to-be wife with tears in her eyes.

y/n couldn't focus as they began to open their letters, the couple's vows written in great length (and the last time y/n asked yuri, she had almost two pages).

all she saw was jang wonyoung, standing across from her with a soft smile, watching the couple exchange their speeches.

the wonyoung she knew was still there, bits and pieces of the shy, caring girl she fell in love with years ago making herself known through each smile and laugh. her smile was still angelic, but gone was the burden of her last name. she walked lighter, the shackles of expectations now released from her .

she wasn't jang wonyoung, the daughter of a politician. she wasn't jang wonyoung, the promising volleyball player and the hope of suma, nor was she 'victory' jang, yoo 'the ace of korea' jimin's shadow.

she was wonyoung, just wonyoung.

and somehow, despite the years apart, wonyoung looked as beautiful as ever. she seemed much older, wiser, yet it was all the same. with her hair slightly shorter, y/n could tell she had gained some weight in her cheeks. her eyes, still doe-like, never seemed brighter, and from where she stood, y/n could see someone familiar.

she didn't know why, but y/n wanted to fall in love with this wonyoung, just like she she fell in love with her wonyoung.

y/n's eyes tore away from her ex, the entirety of the venue cheering as yena and yuri kissed.

she clapped half-heartedly, her mind and eyes wandering to the tall girl standing on the other side.

she was happy for the two, knowing how hard it must've been for them. y/n knew about their rough patch and the long-distance relationship they had during yena's overseas training. she admired them honestly, the way they pushed through it.

y/n wanted to be like them, so sure they'd be better for the other person.

she glanced at wonyoung, their eyes meeting.

it was pathetic, honestly. she was still hung up on her ex from college despite graduating so long ago. even through her multiple counselling and therapy sessions, she couldn't let go of it.

she did all the steps. she explored her options, dating around but nothing truly sticking. she took care of herself, both mentally and physically. she focused on her career, finally a well known actress.

but it always ended with wonyoung in her heart, no matter how much her mind wanted it to stop.

yuri and yena walked down the aisle, and beside her, jiwon and minju had already begun to cry.

(she was sure after their toasts later, jiwon would sob a river.)

it was bittersweet, knowing that when she was young, she had always dreamed that she and her wonyoung would be walking down in a similar fashion, somewhere in france.

wiping a stray tear on her cheek, y/n smiled. they followed suit with the now-wedded couple, cheers erupting as flowers littered the hot air.

y/n looked forward at the couple.

wonyoung didn't.

the after-party started right after aeri's toast.

they had moved to a much bigger, more ambient venue once the ceremony had ended. it was a couple minutes away from the vineyard, yet it was enough to fill the entirety of the one hundred guests and the couple's requests.

wonyoung knew coming in that there would be a huge bar with a plethora of fine wines and liquor. yena had asked her months ago about the most expensive services money could buy. beside it, a photo booth with yena and yuri's cardboard cutouts stood. tables littered the floor, the front designated for the two brides. in the center was the dance floor, a huge, rave-like stage sat in the middle.

she was surprised that the two didn't bother to buy a disco ball while they were at it.

"yeah," yujin hiccuped, raising a glass of champagne in her hand. she watched as yena messily made out with her now-wife in the middle of the dance floor. "that's my friend!"

wonyoung smiled. part of her wished rei could've come to humble yujin a tad, but things were already hard on her with the mention of jiwon. if she were to see the kim, fully dressed up, she was sure to have a mental breakdown.

gaeul sat yujin down, the taller girl leaning on her fiancée.

"is yujin-unnie drunk already?"

her eyes wandered for a moment, settling on the actress who constantly invaded her mind.

unlike wonyoung who was mostly known for her brand, l/n y/n was a name you heard everywhere. her face was on billboards, her smile on screens. everywhere she looked, everything she heard was y/n, or at least adjacent to her.

it hurt for a while, seeing the girl you loved everywhere but not hearing from her. wonyoung had waited months for a text back, for a call.

nothing came, and it was enough for wonyoung to know that y/n was done with her.

but the years of drowning herself in horrible music, expensive wine, and using work as a distraction paid off. VKY took off, and the bigger it got, the worse and worse her mind became.

the first few months of success felt like a failure.

"she was drunk during the ceremony, actually." gaeul clarified, ignoring the sulking girl beside her.

wonyoung was thankful for them, dragging her away from her desk and forcing her to face everything she worked so hard to push away. gaeul, rei and yujin urged her to go get help, and despite her parents raising hell to prevent wonyoung, she did.

she hated taking those stupid pills though.

"i was not!" yujin sulked, clinging onto gaeul like saran wrap. "i was tipsy."

wonyoung glanced once more at her ex, y/n smiling at some joke yuri had made.

she got over it, the ghosting. it took a year or two (or three), but she did. she cried, she drank, she tried to forget. wonyoung even journaled, her baby blue leather book filled with tears and pain.

still, she could never get over y/n.

it was by accident. wonyoung had found out when she was going through her contacts with yujin, the two talking about other notable people to model for her newest collection. yujin, always making sure never forgot, mentioned the actress. out of curiosity, she checked, only to realize that her number was wrong.

and then she panicked even further.

('wrong number.' she had double-checked with jiwon.)

"baby," yujin whined, her eyes watery. "i wanna dance."

the olympian tugged on her fiancée, huffing at gaeul's sluggish movements. yujin's emotions always got amplified tenfold when she drank, and years later, it was still the same.

"i'm gonna go with her." gaeul grinned, gathering her purse as yujin tugged harder. "she'll start telling people we're married if i don't."

"we are!"

"we are not." gaeul's voice blended into the background, finally giving into yujin's request. "our wedding is next year, yujinnie."

the music continued to blast around them, wonyoung watching as they walked into the surprisingly active crowd (but what did she expect from yena and yuri's friends?). their figures blurred into the horde, leaving wonyoung alone at the table.

she looked at her glass, dripping as the cold mingled with the hotter air.

it was lonely, being twenty-six years old and watching your friends get married. she achieved success, all the things her father was sure she would never reach. but not once was she date. she didn't want to date anyone, and when she did, it wasn't her.

it wasn't y/n.

wonyoung felt like she was back in that stupid bathtub, drinking some wine she grabbed from the dollar store, and playing some music that someone probably dedicated to their ex. her eighteen-year-old self would probably sit beside her, crying in her arms. she'd probably even throw up on the ta-

"hey."

l/n y/n.

familiar yet different, everything and nothing, hers but no ones.

"hi." wonyoung smiled, her grin soft but her heart hammering.

y/n's nerves crackled in the dim light, the sun setting behind her. for years, she had dreamt about this, pathetically so.

"can i sit here?"

the designer nodded. "go ahead."

the decorated chair scraped the floor lightly, y/n taking place on it. she was close enough to feel, the heat of her skin permeating onto wonyoung's, their knees nearly touching. wonyoung strained her ears, hyper-aware of every move, every breath, everything that was y/n.

she was over the hurt, but wonyoung would never be over y/n.

"congrats, by the way."

wonyoung glanced at the shorter girl's hands, watching as she rubbed her knuckles. "on what?"

"on your brand." y/n whispered, her words coming out slightly forced and awkward. "i remember you always liked stuff like that."

she always tried to hide it, but y/n remembered freshman year, and the little pastel blue notebook wonyoung would hide in her nightstand.

"i did." wonyoung fought the urge to look up, to steal a glance, afraid that this was just another dream. "i just never had the time to."

fear always ruled jang wonyoung.

the fear of imperfection, of loss and pain. it lingered in the halls of the jang household, long before wonyoung was born. it was a birthright that she had no say in, one acquired through her father's actions and her mother's words.

wonyoung wasn't scared anymore.

the taller girl's eyes met with y/n's, a soft sigh escaping her mouth. y/n was way more beautiful than she remembered, her cat-like eyes and her mole pairing with her smile.

"how's hyunseo?"

"she's good." wonyoung closed her eyes, letting out another breath as she relaxed. "we visited hannah's grave a couple weeks back."

y/n had never heard of hannah, her name a foreign word to the actress. she tried to wrack her mind for any memories, but every single one came out empty.

"hannah?" y/n sighed softly. "who's hannah?"

wonyoung stared at her, her eyes softening. it felt so freeing, finally being able to say her name. "hannah was someone who meant a lot to me."

even after years, a near decade, y/n could still read the bits and pieces of wonyoung. how she'd look away, contemplating on telling more. how the girl take a sip of water, trying her best to calm down.

wonyoung was still so similar to the girl she met, the girl she loved, and the girl she let go.

"why didn't you tell me that you were the deleted number?" her mouth moved before she could process her words.

"huh?" wonyoung froze, and from the corner of her eye, she could see the crowd getting larger and larger. "oh, um, i didn't think it mattered anymore."

if wonyoung was eighty percent sure she let go, then she was sure y/n definitely did.

and before, as soon as those words left wonyoung's mouth, y/n would already be in hysterics. her heart would be ripped in two, and she'd go silent, trying her best to figure out what she did wrong.

"it mattered to me." it felt like the world lifted off her shoulders. "you should've said something."

their eyes met once more.

"i panicked." wonyoung's voice was sheepish, a small dust of red coating her face. "it was stupid of me, i know. i just..."

y/n's fingers twitched, her mind itching to touch her wonyoung again, to figure out who was in there.

"an old habit, i'm guessing?"

she'd love any version of wonyoung, whether it was hers or not.

"a very old habit."

the air danced around them as the night continued, the smell of booze multiplying with each minute. neither moved from their spot, worried that this was the last time - the last chance - they'd get to see each other. so the two sat, stealing glances and people-watching, content with whatever was going to happen next, whether it be good or bad.

a soft whisper traveled into wonyoung's ears, and if she hadn't spent the past eight years yearning for the sound, she might have missed it.

"i'm better now, wonnie."

wonyoung loved that nickname more than life itself. "sorry?"

"my promise." a smile flickered onto the actress's face, and wonyoung found herself afraid of losing her again. "i'm better now."

old habits die hard, but time marched forward. wonyoung knew that they changed, for better or for worse. she knew that no matter what, in sickness and in health, she'd love y/n. they weren't the same two naive girls who were hurting, and even though glimpses of them flashed through, wonyoung was willing.

y/n held her hand, and everything fell into place.

"thank you..." wonyoung could barely hold her tears back. "for keeping your promise."

"anything for you, wonnie."

y/n squeezed her hand, and the room fell silent. wonyoung felt like she was floating. she wasn't sure where she was gonna land, if it was gonna hurt her or anyone else. all she knew was that somewhere, y/n was waiting for her, just like wonyoung had been too.

to love someone was to do the right thing.

"are you seeing anyone?"

"no." a grin splayed across y/n's face, one that was only ever reserved for wonyoung. "i'm not."

jang wonyoung would wait forever. she would wait for the perfect time, sitting idly in the corner of the room. she'd count the seconds as they go by, watching as each hand moved at a snail's pace, but a pace nonetheless.

"good."

l/n y/n couldn't wait. she couldn't sit by and let nature take its course. she could prevent earthquakes and hurricanes if it meant protecting wonyoung. she'd move planets, shapeshift, become someone new... someone better.

"good?"

wonyoung stood up, her hand trembling. she reached out to her y/n, offering a hand. she couldn't keep waiting forever, and she knew y/n couldn't be the only one changing for rest of eternity.

(wonyoung was too grown to keep being an idiot, anyway.)

"dance with me, y/nnie?"

love.

it was still there.

"gladly."

THE END.

masterlist

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@moontealemonpie @rikisgeef @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @blue4hour @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @awkwardtoafault @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @perfectsunlight @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @wlwgirlsworld @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @jihyostolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @bearseulgs @marimo-anura @wonyoluvr @serenitygrace24 @ddeonutz @noiacha @livelaughchoerry @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

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schrijverr · 2 years

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Honestly, I'm a bit in tears, thinking about Jonathan going on to be a famous photographer, bringing out a book of his early work (late 80s/early 90s) in, like, the 2010s or something and it's just full of queer joy and the queerplatonic family they all made together with the Upside Down gang.

Like it starts with Steve giving Robin a piggy back ride, both laughing their asses off. It's 1989, they had just moved to the big city bc most of the kids had graduated. It's late at night and they went to a Rocky Horror screening. Robin is dressed as Brad, Steve as Janet.

There's a full spread of Eddie on stage, he's shirtless save for a leather harness, sweaty and alive, hankerchief hanging out of his pocket. The next page is him with Steve is his normal clothes in his lap, the rest of the band and Robin around them, all stuffed in a booth in a diner. Nancy and Argyle hadn't been able to make it, but that's okay. It was Coroded Coffin's first big gig.

Argyle has a page dedicaded to him, most of them in the early mornings, sharing the bed with Nancy, the place where Jonathan is supposed to be obvious.

One is Jonathan's favorite, Eddie and Argyle are sharing a joint. They're on the roof, Eddie is gesturing with one hand, holding the joint Argyle is taking a hit from in his other hand. They often had these late nights on the roof, before their lives took off, when insomnia got too band and company was needed.

Nancy and Robin are pictured, they're kissing. They had a short fling in 1987, before Nancy got back with Jonathan and Argyle, and Robin found her current wife.

The wife, back then a girlfriend, is more femme than Robin and there are pictures of their 'wedding'. It wasn't legal, but they didn't care. Robin wore a suit, her wife a dress. There is one page dedicated to the most traditional wedding pictures they took as a joke.

Then the following pictures are more like them, posing with their collection of garden gnomes and taking goofy pictures with everyone, as well as more serious ones.

Jonathan's favorites are the one where Steve is dancing with Robin, her second dance, both having been disowned by their parents. It's obvious they're both crying. The other one is Robin covered in lipstickstains, both her and her wife grinning like madmen, clearly a little tipsy.

There are also pictures from that first summer after Hawkins split open. Nancy on Argyle's shoulders, Steve's on Eddie's, the four of them fighting in the quarry. Robin floating nearby on a floaty along with Max. In the background the boys are jumping down, only held in posed in the air like that by El, who had taken an interest in photography after she realized how easy it was to forget.

There is also thanksgiving at the Hopper-Byers, 1986. Murray is there as well and they're all pushed together on the table, far more people than they thought would survive. Everyone is laughing, because Jonathan is sprawled over Agryle, having tripped in his haste to get seated for the timer.

It's the intimate domesticity that Jonathan has gotten good at capturing that makes the book pop.

Steve, dead asleep, head resting on Eddie's chest, legs thrown over Robin's lap. Eddie is pressing a kiss onto his forehead, Robin is holding his hand. The photo is called: Nightmares

A picture taken by El is in there as well, properly credited. It was taken when visiting Nancy, Argyle and Jonathan in 1991, the three of them are all half asleep, sitting at the table, all wrapped up together, but doing their own thing. Nancy is making notes on a notepad, Jonathan is rolling film and Argyle is doing the crossword in the paper.

There is also one of Coroded Coffin sitting around, crammed into the tiny apartment Eddie, Robin and Steve shared when they first moved out to the big city. They're writing lyrics, obviously mid argument about something. What is noteble is Steve in the background, leaning against the doorframe, looking very fond, dishtowel slung over his shoulders.

Naturally there is also one with all the kids around the table, dice scattered about, Eddie in the midst of a dramatic narration, seemingly oblivious to Steve, smiling dopily and nearly sleep, from where he is draped over Eddie's lap.

There are also pictures of Robin painting Steve's nails, because while Steve knew he'd had to take it off before work, he likes the way it looks.

As well as Steve doing Eddie's eyeliner, because Eddie used to be baby about it, before he got used to doing it before shows.

Will is also in there, alseep in the backseat with Mike, draped over the other guy. They're both in the remnants of cosplay, on the way back from a convention.

All the kids are, though they feature less, having been younger and in different phases of life.

There is a picture of Max and El asleep in Max's dorm when she went to college. Her skateboard is leaning against the wall along with her crutches. Max's hands are in El's hair, it's half braided like they fell asleep before finishing it.

Lucas is pictured with Steve, sweating on a basketball court, what is more obvious is Eddie and Max in the foreground. They're both leaning on their knees, oggling the two players. Max's eyes peer out through thick lenses, but that doesn't hide the moon eyed expression that matches Eddie's.

Another intimate moment that Jonathan captured was Steve, Eddie and Dustin, the three of them in front of a mirror, shaving. Eddie is just dry shaving, but Steve and Dustin both have foam beards, by the looks of it, Steve is teaching Dustin how to shave.

There are also just a few pages dedicated to cheek kisses, both platonic and romatic. They have big grins, soft looks, tears and blood in them. All of them look meant.

One double page is Argyle, Eddie, Nancy, Robin and Steve painting protest signs. There is laughter, but a somber atmosphere too. A heartbreaking point in history to be alive.

The next page is Eddie, Steve and Nancy, the three of them black eyes, Steve even missing a tooth. They're on the steps of a police station, Eddie is giving it the finger, his other arm slung around Steve. Nancy is getting checked over by Agryle, looking determined. Robin is running towards Steve.

Furthermore, it's filled to the brim with pictures of them doing dishes, playing games, backstage with Eddie, Nancy interviewing leather daddies at pride, hands twined together on the dashboard.

Nancy has provided the writing, telling their stories of those times. They might not be able to say it all, but they can say more than back then and their stories deserve a space too. Their interlinked dynamics, their ups, their downs. The family they built together.

Just Jonathan's queer photography of the late 80s/early 90s y'all.

On AO3

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nadvs · 5 months

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omg, please more reader and rafe in the future after college and their baby, love it

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

blurb continuation from the watch and learn series

Your toddler has officially started walking, and with walking comes grubby little hands wanting to explore everything.

One day, your daughter’s pulling out the contents of the closet in your spare room out onto the floor while you and Rafe sit with her on the hardwood, letting her have her fun.

She’s babbling as Rafe absentmindedly runs his hand up and down your back. He always does this, likely not even conscious that he’s touching you. You love it, how he intuitively needs to have contact with you.

“Be careful with that one,” he calls out to her as she yanks out a yearbook. When she promptly kicks it away, you giggle into Rafe’s chest, feeling him shake with laughter.

“She’s so destructive,” you say.

“Just like her mom,” he mumbles.

“I know you meant to say dad,” you scold.

“Hey, what’s this?” You laugh at Rafe’s attempt to distract you. He picks up a photo album you put together back when you first moved in.

He opens it to a random page, which happens to be a photo of you two at your college graduation.

“Your fuckboy hair,” you say, purposely shushing so she doesn’t overhear the swear word. Your eyes travel over his bangs peeking out beneath the black cap in the photo.

“You loved it,” he reminds you. You smirk, running a hand over the buzzcut he’s sporting now.

He flips to another page, full of photos from your post-college road trip. You point to a picture of him at a restaurant sitting in a booth.

“God, remember how dingy this place was?” you laugh.

“Only restaurant for miles,” Rafe groans. He can recall how much you two laughed over breakfast that day.

When you skim to another page, you see a photo of you two on the beach almost a year after getting married. You recall how you found out you were pregnant the very next day.

“Whatever happened to that shirt?” you ask, gazing at the open striped button-up he’s wearing in the captured memory.

Rafe points to your daughter.

“We were playing outside and I got a grass stain on it, remember?” he says.

Now you do remember. Your daughter was merely crawling at that point, but when she got too close to the concrete pathway, Rafe dove to grab her, ruining his clothes in the process.

“That was 100% on you,” you reply with a shrug. Rafe smirks. It’s true. In his eyes, his daughter can do no wrong.

When she tries to pull down clothes from the hangers in the closet, he jumps up to pick her up, kissing her cheek.

You watch your husband with a proud grin. He was once so afraid of affection and now he wears his heart on his sleeve. Only with you two, though.

Rafe meets your eyes and feels enamored by your smile like he always does.

“Thanks for putting that together, baby,” he says, glancing down at the album. He remembers the photos you had all over the walls of your college dorm. He always appreciated your sentimentality.

“Thanks for making me so happy that I wanted to,” you say sincerely. He leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Can you give a kiss, too?” he asks your toddler. She erupts in giggles at the way he holds her, swinging her above you as she plants a kiss on you.

“So nice!” you cheer, gently pinching her cheek.

Rafe straightens and squeezes her into a tight hug. Even now, years into your relationship, he wonders if he really truly deserves this happy of a life.

But the way you look at him reminds him that you think he does and that’s enough for him.

#i am so touched that yall like wal rafe this much 🥹#help this is so fluffy #ask #wal #walblurb

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theneighborhoodsave · 7 months

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And that's a wrap on P. Mondrian High School and O'Keeffe Auditorium! The very last builds of V1. I was basically ripping my hair out finishing all the versions of the auditorium and playtesting them, but seeing the sims interact with the lots/events was truly heartwarming. A family gameplay save really wouldn't feel right without a school!

Click below for more photos of the auditorium and event spaces ↪

The regular auditorium holds "events" which your sims can "participate" in- a LAN party, chess tournament, debate club, and sports club gathering. Career Day is eh, career-y with booths set up to fit various job types. Prom and Graduation Day are my favorites with "Night Under The Stars" and "Best Days of Our Lives" themes respectively. Both of these events have a sneaky little party on the roof... just don't rat out to the adults there's a keg and make out couches there.

This lot will be up for download separately soon-ish!

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901dreamy · 11 months

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#photobooth #photoshoot #props #propshop #wedding #corporate events #bat mitzvah #parties #reunions #salsa booth #Save the date #quinceañera #graduation #rental #photo booth near me #photobooth memphis #luxury photo experience #fun photos #retirement parties

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seancekitsch · 18 days

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Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER ONE: The Party's Crashing Us

Y/N Stark and Aegon Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen and Y/N Stark. Inseparable since both eldest children met at Kings Landing University, until they weren’t. One night of drunken passion ruins it all.

Five years later, Aegon is coming off a broken engagement to Larissa Lannister and sends a risky Instagram DM to none other than Y/n Stark.

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, vomit, more to come as needed

It’s not that one dance club you like that Sara brings you to, but this one just might be better. It’s a theme bar, a little too influencer friendly in its decor, but it’s endearing. The whole thing is themed like a house from your grandsires’s day and age. Floral couches with ugly plastic covering line the walls as people sit and chatter or flirt, the bathroom has sickeningly pink tile and floral wallpaper, the bar is legitimately a gutted vintage kitchen with bottles stored in cabinets and a vintage stove and formica drink counter. The DJ booth is a second gutted bathroom with the walls knocked out, with the DJ standing on a platform that looks like a huge teal toilet and partitioned away with a cheap shower curtain with a weird squiggly pattern on it. There’s even a little kneeler and altar to the Seven stashed in the corner that people like to take ironic photos at while they take shots. Sara brought you here because it’s synth pop night, her absolute favorite genre, and she does not miss a chance to dance to this over club beats. You don’t mind that this isn’t a wild club, mostly because of the cheap cover fee and eclectic vibe of the whole place. Sara also was considerate enough to tell you to dress the part before you got on the train, congratulating you on a night out sans stilettos with a guarantee of letting absolutely loose.

“Cregan would hate this place,” Sara snorts, bringing you a cup of something that absolutely doesn’t look like the whiskey sour you asked her to get you on this round. She hands it to you, and the smell of rum hits you. You don’t drink rum, you don’t get along with rum.

“As if we could drag him off Dragonstone with his little boytoy,” you shout over the music, and point at the drink, “Didn’t have Whiskey?”

She just shrugs.

“This is what the guy gave me!” she shouts back and you don’t argue further, instead interlocking your arm with hers and knocking the drink back with her in unison.

The moment the rim of the cup leaves your lips, youre dragging her to the tiny dance floor, ready to mingle into the crowd with the beat.

“Someone’s eager,” she teases, her face close to yours so youre not screaming. You dance close, a habit you’ve still not broken, made out of a big sister need to protect her when she became of age right as you were graduating from University. You tried to shield her if at all possible from scuzzy men when out drinking with her. Men like… well, not unlike yours and Aegon’s group of school friends. KLU doesn’t have fraternities, but tight knit groups of men still formed on their own; Aegon, Arryk, Erryk, Martyn, Leon, Eddard all fell within that category. You’d perfected the evasion of walking in on their countless hookups, and knowing exactly how to navigate a party with the men that even they didn’t trust. Even though Sara is grown in her own right, and towers over you, you always protect her as your baby sister.

“Hard day,” you respond, not at all wanting to explain yourself further, but as if on cue your phone illuminates in your claw-like grasp in the same hand as your cup to expose you. You switch hands to drink the remainder of your drink while you scroll, and Sara being Sara, of course snoops.

“Aegon?” she practically shouts, and yes, there’s at least three more messages from Aegon on your instagram. Fuck. You throw your head back dramatically after you fully read everything.

Message:

@ eggtarg: im soz

@ eggtarg: i do miss u

@ eggtarg: can i call ?

(1) missed voice call from @ eggtarg

You break away from Sara, not even telling her, but you’re going to buy the next round. In fact, you’re buying double right now. You shove a bunch of bills towards the bartender, a little guilty but too anxious to actually care that the gesture was rude. Four more of the cups of the strong rum drink, which you learn is a theme drink for the night with an annoying name, and you maneuver them in your hands back to the dance floor with minimal spillage. She doesnt thank you, but she doesn’t have to. You cover each other, or convince men to buy you drinks on these nights. There’s no one party paying more or less, no reason to get anyone back. The two of you dance, and drink, and dance, and drink. Two rounds becomes three. For a moment, Aegon is actually forgotten.

Sara, at any point in time, has your free hand in hers; the two of you twirl each other like you did when you were girls, like you did when Cregan refused his middle child duties to play pretend with you. You take her photo sitting backwards at the kneeler, knowing she’ll make a snarky caption about nothing honoring the Old Gods like this in the city, you fix each other’s lipstick in the bathroom.

It’s the fourth round that has you a little unwise.

Rum is something you avoid for a reason. In college, there was always a point where you felt almost trapped within yourself with rum. You acted on an accord completely disconnected from your mind, the whole time your thoughts shouting on you to do or say something different. For that reason, for the fact that it usually made you upset, Aegon banned rum at any gathering. No tiki drinks in the summer, all because of your comfort and preferences.

You push off from Sara, a brief check in that she’ll be okay (she will be, she’s decided to talk the bartender’s ear off), and go outside with the intent of a smoke break.

As you walk down steps, you feel your stomach turn. Nothing a cigarette cannot fix, a tried and true trick for you.

The bouncer helps open the heavy door, a big smile on your face as you thank him and step out into the brisk air. It feels lovely, compared to the stale and sticky air and vape clouds of the bar. You move to sit on a chair from the little coffee shop that operates there during the day, fishing your pack and your lighter out from the tiny trendy purse you had shoved your ID and money in before you left your flat tonight.

Sighing, you immediately give in to temptation, finding Aegon’s messages to read and read and read them over. He misses you, he’s said as much twice now. But does he?

You click on his profile, and scroll back down to that picture of you. It looks practically deep-fried, the way that Instagram as a platform has changed so much since you were in University. You light the cigarette and take a hefty drag of it before you start a dissection, zooming in and pulling and prodding at the image.

In the photo, you’re half hanging off of Aegon’s lap, sat on his dorm bed. His parents, Viserys and Alicent, insisted he always live on campus in dry dorms to attempt to curbs the habits they did not approve of, but also ensured he got an entire dorm to himself for space. Despite this, it never stopped his room from being where you all met up before you headed out, or being the spot where you crashed at the end of the night. Your mouth is wide open, clearly mid laugh as your hair cascades down across both of you, Aegon’s arms holding you tightly against him. And although the camera is on both of you, Aegon’s eyes are on you, his wide smile and gaze trained directly on the side of your face. In the picture, you’re even in his clothes, his favorite emerald green sweatshirt embroidered with his family crest in gold thread. Falling off his shoulders is the blanket your mother had made for you as a child, crocheted with your own family crest in it, your most prized possession.

From the picture alone, if you didn’t know the people in it, you’d assume they’d be married by now. The two people on the screen look so happy, so care free, so in love. You were still only friends at that point, had never even kissed.

Bile rises in your throat, and you pull harder on the cigarette.

Both drunk and sober, clear headed and uninhibited, you go back to the message and press the little call button next to his contact.

Aegon picks up immediately, as if he was waiting for it.

“Stark!” he breathes on the other end, like a sigh of relief, as if this is a raft in the open ocean.

“Targ,” you greet, very much less enthusiastic, but you cannot deny it that hearing his voice ignites something familiar and comfortable in your bones as if your being had been missing him.

“I- I- I’m so sorry, really, I have so much to-“

“S’been five years,” you slur, not hiding the indigence or disgust in your voice, “Y’too late.”

“Your accent is stronger, are you drinking?” He asks, and it burns you how he still remembers your tells.

“What’s it matter?” You ask, because it doesn’t. Although, you think for a moment, he doesn’t sound drunk.

“Where are you?”

Genuine concern laces his voice, and despite your better judgement, you tell him exactly where you are. The moment the words leave your mouth, you know you should not have said them.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” he says, and hangs up the phone.

By the time he arrives, you’ve grabbed another drink, this time with enough sense to order a pint of cider instead of rum and you’ve already lit and half smoked another cigarette. You slink down into the chair as the black car pulls up, one that you instantly recognize as one of the family cars. Aegon had a car when you knew him, but he only ever drove it on his birthday, taking the train or getting a driver any other time. You pull the lipstick stained cigarette from your lips to take a hefty gulp from the glass, your eyes immediately settling into a glare as the car door opens.

Aegon looks exactly the same as he did the day he left, his hair still the same length, the light dusting of a mustache. He’s got himself wrapped in both a hoodie and a cardigan, completely unable to cope with any cooler shift in the weather. You always joked that he’d die if he ever came home to Winterfell with you.

“There you are,” he says, his tone incredibly and unfairly soft as he grabs another one of the chairs and pulls it up next to you.

“If I grab something do you promise not to run?” he asks, and you nod if not begrudgingly. You called him here, you should at least let him get a drink out of the ordeal.

You swallow thickly, staring at the toe of your boots and the absent patterns of the concrete. If you focus hard enough, you could trick your brain into thinking there was some divine structure there.

He returns quickly, but your eyes don’t peel away from the absent patterns; They can’t.

“I know it’s shit how I reached out to you,” he starts, and from your peripherals you watch him take a big gulp from his own pint. You stick the cigarette into your mouth and fumble to pass him the pack, your body working on autopilot and muscle memory long since past. His fingers brush yours as the transfer or the carton occurs, a traitorous warmth blooming in its wake. You will not ask for the pack returned.

“You’re hard to find these days,” He mentions, as if that was not your goal.

“I don’t meddle where I’m not wanted, Aegon,” you mumble, cigarette bobbing between your lips and threatening to fall.

“That’s not…” Aegon almost growls in frustration, and slams the rest of his drink back, “It was never me not wanting you. I meant it.”

If you were to look up, you don’t know what you’d see. Would he have tears in his eyes? Would they be dark with anger? Is he mocking you?

Instead of a response, your body jerks forward, bile threatening. You pull the cigarette from your lips as he swears and pulls out his phone.

“Don’t say shit like that,” You laugh, but there’s no real humor in your voice.

“I still mean it,” he assures you, and then begins a conversation with the person on the other line.

You stand, taking another small sip of the cider before placing what’s left on the ledge, allowing yourself to take the loss for whatever money that half a cider cost.

“What a fucking joke,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything.

You try to hide the lurching jerk of your body as bile rises again in your throat. You will not puke, you will not hurl; Especially not in front of Aegon.

You have so many things you want to say: questions you’ve had for half a decade, insults that you’ve held onto like a poison in a wound, weeping confessions that would make you weak and pathetic.

“Cole, can you please send someone,” Aegon asks, a hushed tone while he presses the phone to his ear, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I need to make sure a friend gets home safe.”

A friend. You bark out a laugh.

Only thats not the right move at the moment, and you spill your last two drinks on the curb, enough sense in you to miss your shoes. Immediately you feel better, both physically and mentally. Clearly, much like Aegon, rum is not your friend despite its sudden reappearance in your night.

“Oh, holy shit!” Aegon swears, immediately fussing over you and trying to pull a tissue out of his pocket, trying to press it to the corner of your lip as you shove him away. In the distance, you can see the train stop. This particular line goes directly back to your stop and if you can make a run for it, you can escape him. Only you don’t move, as if you’re rooted to the pavement, your boots stuck in the concrete as the person you’ve been trying to evade in this city closes in on you. You push away every attempt for him to fret over and help you, refusing to let him help push your hair back, refusing the cup of water he requests from the bouncer, your hands shooing away every attempt of his to help.

Eventually the car pulls up, and to your own surprise you let Aegon lead you into the car and close the door for you. He slides in the other side, and urges the driver to head home. His home. Aegon’s home. You don’t protest, you don’t scream, you don’t open the door and tuck and roll even though you think it would be an effective way to escape if not at least a little funny. Despite in your mind feeling incredibly sober, you freeze up, absolutely letting all of it happen. Despite your mind screaming at you, despite the urge to cry, you relax into the leather of the car seat. You instead text Sara that you’re heading home, and to text you when she decides to do the same.

“Why now?” you ask, cutting through the uncomfortable silence as the car turns the block.

“Now?” Aegon parrots, as if he doesn’t understand the question.

“Why now when I’m just this? Why come back after all this time?” You choke back a sob, wanting to refuse to let Aegon see weakness.

He sighs, and wipes his hand down his face. Now that you look at him closely, he looks exhausted, even in the dark. Aegon looks like a man who hasn’t slept in a week.

“It’s complicated,” he says, barely above a whisper. Like fuck it is.

Either way, you remain quiet, anger growing as you watch the traffic lights go by, as you traverse neighborhoods. The car is headed south, and eventually stops not far from your stop at Fleabottom. If you were to flee, you’re only four stops away from home. But just like before, maybe its morbid curiosity, you don’t bail as the car parks and Aegon hops out, half jogging to the other side of the car to open the door for you. He holds out a hand, a hand that you refuse as you push yourself up and out of the car seat. If the driver knows you, if the driver knows what’s going on, they don’t say. The driver doesn’t even look back before driving off.

When he lets you into his flat, he immediately heads to the fridge. Sunfyre runs up to you, greeting you as if no time had passed. The big orange fur ball is all purring as he rubs up against you, and you bend down to scratch behind his ears where he loves it most. This is, easily, the most heartbreaking part of all of this.

“Aww, Sunfyre, did you miss her?” he coos, and then looks at you, “Thats amazing, he remembered you. He always ran from Lar-"

He stops himself before he finishes that sentence, but the damage is done. You were wrong, that right there was the worst part.

He hands you a glass of water, and you don’t deny it this time, eagerly gulping it down and placing it on the kitchen counter the moment you’re done.

“Right, so what did you expect?” you ask, shrugging at him.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he responds, and reaches forward. He cringes as you flinch away from his touch.

“Bullshit,” you exclaim, and then start to walk towards his couch, bigger and more plush than the campus apartment you’d last know him having.

“Guess I’m sleeping here?” you ask, pointing at it.

Aegon agrees, although you can tell there’s words that die in his mouth. His mouth opens and shuts, lips purse contemplatively. Good, you don’t want to hear those thoughts right now, even though you’ve needed them for half a decade. He grabs a pillow and blankets from a hall closet, and sets them like a bed for you. You half expected him to just dump everything on the couch, but then again, sleepovers with Aegon used to mean sharing a bed and you’ve never seen how he would do this.

“Do you need clothes?” he asks, already half turned and surely ready to grab some sweats from a drawer.

You shake your head no, and then start to get yourself settled under the blankets. It feels like the more of you covered, the safer from all of the anxiety bubbling under your skin you are. The more a physical barrier from Aegon exists, the more you can pretend this is a drunken nightmare, and tomorrow you can just sweat it out at dance class.

He leaves the room, and you only shake off your boots and jacket onto the floor next to your discarded purse, opting to keep your phone under your pillow and your person bundled up despite the fact that his apartment is warm.

When he returns he’s in that green sweatshirt from the picture, and a pair of grey sweatpants. He turns his head towards you, but ultimately decides against trying again, instead going to the fridge to pull out two water bottles. Even in the dark of the apartment, you don’t miss the fact that he also pulls out a bottle and takes two shots before walking away from the area. Your eyes feel heavy, wet, as you try in vain to blink away the emotions rising to the surface. Here, there is no concrete to focus on, here, you’re surrounded by Aegon in the dark. You opt to shut your eyes all together.

He traverses the main room, around the island to the living room, his bare feet against the flooring; depositing one of the water bottles on the coffee table directly in front of the couch you’re on. You keep your eyes closed, not daring look at him. However, you don’t miss the warmth of his hand ghosting over the blankets, almost touching, almost that reassuring weight of his hand that had gotten you through so much.

“Why wasn’t I enough when we were friends?” you ask, not hiding the watery tone of someone failing to conceal crying, still not daring to look at him. Your voice sounds so small to your ears, so vulnerable.

“You were,” he tells you, his voice betraying similar emotion. Aegon is probably crying, you realize, or at least close to it.

But before you can open your eyes, you hear him walk away, and you feel like any moment of honesty is over now. The sliding door to his balcony opens, and the clinking of a bottle signifies he’s staying up.

He keeps the door open, a silent invitation that you feel like you can’t accept. Many a night you’d stayed up talking and drinking with Aegon; a bottle, two glasses, and a heart to heart were common. But that seems wrong now, tainted what has transpired. Now it's silence as you hear the bottle clink against a glass, and then again a few minutes later.

Sleep is slow to find you, the space between the two of you both cavernous and claustrophobic, and the blanket smells like him.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #modern aegon targaryen #modern aegon x reader

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year

Text

The Forgotten Nest - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 3.1k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Father Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles (Teen Pregnancy, Absent Parents, etc.); Crying; Carole Would Be Disappointed; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: Years ago, Rooster left Cora Mitchell's life when her dad pulled his papers. And, unknowingly, he left behind something other than just his toothbrush.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Master List

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Rooster walked out of the admiral’s office with his new orders clutched carefully in his hand. He kept his head held high as he walked through the narrow halls of the USS Gerald R. Ford, heading for his quarters to pack his bag and prepare to fly back to US soil. To Top Gun. To Miramar.

The Californian town had a lot of memories—some of the best and some of the worst of his life. It was the town where he lost his dad before he truly understood the gravity of it all. It was also the town where he spent his later years of high school after his mom died. Where he learned how to drive, where he graduated high school, where he had all of his firsts with a girl—now woman—whom he hadn’t seen since he stormed out of her life.

Cora Mitchell. Maverick’s daughter.

As a result of some poor decisions at nineteen, Maverick ended up with daughter only a few months younger than Bradley. Cora’s mom wanted nothing to do with her and even though Maverick was far from fit to be a father, he would have preferred falling down 100 flights of stairs than letting his child go into foster care.

Carole quickly offered to help raise Cora and help Maverick out. And as his mom used to call them, they were built in best friends. And in the later years of high school, they were a lot more than that. Sneaking into each other’s beds and spending the nights together was fairly regular and easy for them to pull off with Maverick’s bedroom on another floor.

Of course, then Maverick pulled his papers and then he left that life, and Cora, behind completely.

Rooster entered his room and shut the door behind him, heading for his bunk. His roommate wasn’t in, still doing drills with the rest of their squad, leaving Rooster alone with his thoughts. He opened the folder again, reading over the orders once more before he found his gaze shifting. Pulling out his personal bag, Rooster reached into one of the smaller pockets and pulled out a small photo preserved in laminate.

It was from a photo booth at Bradley’s senior prom. Cora sat on his lap, beaming at the camera as Rooster pressed a kiss to her cheek.

It was stupid to still be this curious about what Cora was doing with her life. After all, he was the one who broke up with her and stormed out of her life, saying all kinds of nasty things that he regretted the second that he said them. And he had to admit that he had scrolled through social media, trying to find a glimpse into her life, to no significant results.

All he knew was that she took some time off after high school and eventually graduated from nursing school. He assumed that she was still working as a nurse. And he knew that she now lived in or around Miramar. He didn’t have the guts to try and contact her when he was in town for Top Gun the first time around.

But maybe this new, and probably highly dangerous, mission would finally give him the kick in the ass to try and make things right with Cora. Even if it was just a simple apology, like a small ‘sorry,’ it would take away some of the guilt that ate away at his stomach every single time that he remembered her crestfallen expression and calls for him to come back.

Tucking the photo back into his bag, Rooster stood up and started to pack, letting his mind wander to what Cora’s life looked like now.

~~~~~

“Nicholas Peter Mitchell!” Cora thundered, marching towards the stairs, still dressed in her scrubs from work. “Get your butt down here now!”

Cora was only partially pleased to hear her son scrambling around, undoubtedly in the middle of some kind of panic due to her tone. She tapped her foot, able to picture her son’s exact expression of fear. She would have preferred that he simply told her ahead of time because then they could deal with it together, but he forced her hand by hiding it.

The sound of a door opening and a soft pattern of footsteps caused Cora to pick her head up. Her eyes narrowed when her son, Nickie, poked his head out from behind the wall with a sheepish smile. She shook her head when his expression gave away the fact that he knew exactly why she was upset. And that only caused her migraine to intensify.

“Hey, Mom. Did you have a good shift?” Nickie asked kindly, stepping out from behind the wall. “And did I mention that I love you and that you look more beautiful than usual today?”

Nickie, or simply Nick to his friends, was far from her twin. His hair was a light brown and curled at the end. His eyes were big and light brown, like someone she knew well in the past. The shape of his head and his cheekbones that were starting to emerge from the baby fat came from her side of the family, but the slope of his nose reinforced his father’s influence on his features.

But his sheepish, mischievous smile was definitely a Mitchell trait. Undoubtedly.

“When were you going to tell me that you got a speeding ticket?” Cora questioned, eerily calm despite her earlier yelling. “Today? Tomorrow? Next week? Never?”

“Mom, I already paid it off—”

“—When were you going to tell me?” Cora demanded, not amused. When Nickie fumbled for a response, Cora straightened up. “You have had your license for a month and you’ve already gotten a speeding ticket, Nickie. That’s not funny. You clearly do not understand that your car and your license are privileges, not rights.”

“It was at that speed trap under that highway pass on the way to school,” Nickie tried to explain, but Cora was not going to give him an inch of the moral high ground.

“I do not care where you got the ticket. I care that you were reckless behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. I care that you got a speeding ticket and now it’s on your record. And I care that you hid this whole thing from me.” Cora sighed, placing her hands on her hips and shaking her head at her son. “How much was it, Nickie?”

“Thirty bucks,” Nickie replied quietly.

“Well, then I think that thirty is an appropriate number of days to not need your car. And a good number of days to think about the importance of following traffic laws,” Cora stated, folding her arms over her chest. “Where are your keys?”

Nickie sighed and walked downstairs to grab his keys from the countertop. He quickly returned to his mother’s side and placed them into her open hand without a fight. Cora closed her hand and shoved the keys into her pocket.

“I’m serious, Nickie,” she stated softly, causing the teenager to turn back to her with doe eyes. “I don’t want you getting hurt. And speeding around, especially on these roads where there’s a thousand pedestrians and everything—it’s not safe. For you or anyone else.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for having the maturity to realize that it was your bill to pay,” Cora offered her son in return, her tough exterior cracking just a bit. She rubbed her face tiredly. “And that’s probably what I get for letting your grandfather teach you how to drive.” Letting out a sigh, Cora dropped her hand from her face and turned back to Nickie. “How’s your homework coming?”

“Mostly done. I’ve got a test tomorrow.”

“Good.” Cora set her purse and the mail down on the countertop. “I’ll get started on dinner after I take a shower. Work on your homework and I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Cora walked into her bedroom and made a beeline for her on suite bathroom. Throwing her scrubs into her specified scrubs laundry bin, Cora quickly washed up from a long day at work. She changed into some comfortable clothes and a Navy sweatshirt before heading to the kitchen to start on dinner. The sun started to set in the distance as Cora waited for the chicken to cook.

The distinct sound of a Kawasaki caused her to look up from the oven, frowning with surprise. Walking over to the front windows, Cora was shocked to see her dad pulling into the driveway.

“What the—” Cora walked over and opened the front door, stepping out onto her front porch. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

“I thought that I would drop by since I was in town,” Maverick replied, setting up his kickstand and getting off his bike.

“Why are you in town? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Cora added on, walking down to greet him. Maverick picked up the bag that he strapped to the back of his bike and pulled his daughter into a hug. But when she felt him wince, she instantly pulled back with a sharp, knowing look. “What happened now? What did you do this time?”

“Is that dinner that I smell?” Maverick asked, redirecting the conversation.

“You’re not getting out of this conversation,” Cora warned him, turning for her home and pulling the door open. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not twenty anymore? And could you at least wear a helmet once in a while?”

“Mom, who are you talking to?” Nickie yelled from upstairs.

“Your grandfather decided to drop by. Randomly,” Cora called back to her son.

A second later, there were a set of rapid footsteps echoing down the hall before Nickie appeared at the top of the stairs. His grin was immediately wide, showing the likeness between him and his grandfather, before Nickie hurried down the rest of the stairs to greet his grandfather.

“What are you doing in town?” Nickie asked, jogging over to Maverick.

“Well, I thought that it was a good idea to visit my favorite kid and grandkid once in a while,” Maverick joked, pulling Nickie into a hug despite his aching ribs

“Pops, I’m your only grandkid,” Nickie pointed out, frowning slightly.

“Still counts.” Maverick stared up at Nickie, jokingly inspecting him. “Did you get taller since the last time that I saw you? You look taller.”

“Maybe you’re just shrinking,” Nickie quipped, causing Maverick to turn to Cora.

“Don’t look at me,” Cora replied, gesturing to her own short stature. “Nickie over here got about three generations worth of height.”

Or, rather, he just had other genes to pull from when it came to height. And the men on the other side of Nickie’s family were all at least six feet tall, like Nickie was quickly shaping up to be. But not a single Mitchell in that household was going to bring that up.

Once dinner was finished cooking, the three Mitchells set the table and sat around, chatting and catching up since the last time that Maverick was in Miramar.

“I thought that you said that you wouldn’t be done with that project for a while,” Nickie stated, turning to his grandfather.

“Well, plans change,” Maverick replied noncommittally, glancing down at his plate.

“Because they were actually changed or because you felt the need to change them?” Cora deadpanned, cutting into her chicken.

“There might have been some . . . minor scheduling changes.”

“So, you’re not just visiting then,” Cora deduced, reaching for her drink. How she wished that it was wine instead of water.

“How long are you in Miramar for then?” Nickie asked excitedly, reminding Maverick painfully so of Bradley as a teenager.

“A few weeks. Somewhere around a month.”

“For what?”

“That’s classified,” Maverick replied, causing Nickie and Cora to roll their eyes in seemingly practiced sync. “I’d tell you, but—”

“—But then you’d have to kill us, yeah, we know, Gramps.”

“How’s school then? Still swimming and everything?” Maverick asked Nickie, changing the subject.

“It’s good. Swim doesn’t start for a few more weeks, but I’m trying to train before it. But I think I’m going to have to focus on running.”

“Why? Something wrong with the car?” Maverick questioned, looking concerned.

“No, just the driver,” Cora replied, setting down her utensils. “Nickie got a speeding ticket.”

“How bad?” Maverick asked, earning a sharp look from Cora. “I mean, that’s bad, Nickie. Don’t do it again. You have to get a little bit more driving experience before you start speeding.”

Cora sighed, holding her head in her hand for a moment as Nickie hid a smile behind his mouth. Maverick shot Nickie a joking smile before straightening up in his seat.

“But you’re doing good in school, Nickie?”

“Pretty well. Pre-calc is kicking my butt, but I think it’s supposed to get better.”

“Well, don’t be afraid to enjoy your teenage years a bit. Don’t go rushing off to try and grow up before your time,” Maverick replied, glancing over at his daughter for a moment. “Besides, I thought that you were going to try out for the surf team.”

“They want me to,” Nickie agreed, taking a bite of his dinner. “Mom’s a little scared to let me do it.”

“I just think that baseball is safer,” Cora replied softly, reaching for her drink. “Besides, between swim and water polo, you’re going to turn into a prune, Nickie. Not to mention that you go out sailing with Penny and Amelia all the time.”

“I just like the water, Mom,” Nickie stated, missing the pained expression on Cora’s face. “And besides, the baseball coach is an asshole.”

“Language,” Cora stressed, causing Maverick to chuckle.

~~~~~

After dinner, Nickie excused himself to finish up his homework. Cora and Maverick worked together to clean up after dinner and to set up the spare room for Maverick to sleep in while he was in town. But after the finished up the housekeeping, the father and daughter sat out on the back porch. Cora poured herself a glass of wine for the conversation and brought Maverick a beer.

“So, why are you really in town?” Cora asked, sitting down.

“Ice called me in,” Maverick stated, causing Cora to grow more serious instantly. “It’s a mission.”

“And not just any mission . . . is it?” Cora questioned, though she already knew the answer.

Ice wouldn’t have called Maverick in for just your run of the mill mission. This was a serious mission, that was certain. And that instantly caused Cora’s blood pressure to spike in an instant. Ice wouldn’t have called Maverick in unless it was something bordering on a suicide mission.

“No, it’s not,” Maverick agreed, nodding solemnly.

He looked away from his daughter for a moment, a rock settling in his stomach. It had been sitting there since a familiar face flashed on the screen in that conference room. But he knew that he had to unload it sooner rather than later.

To say that Maverick’s perspective on Rooster was complicated did not quite do it justice.

On one hand, as Cora’s father and Nickie’s grandfather, there was nothing that Maverick wanted to do more than to grab Rooster by his ear and give him the lecture of the century about responsibility and putting his personal emotions to the side to be a man and a father. Hell, if it was any other boy who did that to Cora, Maverick would have strapped him to the outside of the Darkstar and done a couple laps around the Earth.

But, on the other, as Goose’s wingman and the man who tried to raise Rooster, Maverick wanted Rooster nowhere near Miramar or this mission. Hell, Maverick did what he could to make sure that Rooster stayed as far away from a cockpit as possible. And that side of Maverick just wanted Rooster back in his life, safe and far from danger.

But being Cora’s father and Nickie’s grandfather was always the side that won out in the end.

“There’s something else,” Maverick began, causing Cora’s eyebrows to furrow with concern. “He’s involved in the mission.” Cora noticeably tensed up as Maverick added, “He’s here.”

“In Miramar?” Cora asked quietly, earning a nod from her dad. Sighing, she held her head in her hands for a moment. “Fuck.”

“Did you tell Nickie—”

“—No,” Cora interjected, cutting Maverick off. “No, I didn’t.” Not . . . not the whole story." She stared out at the backyard, out at the little swing set that Maverick and Ice built for Nickie on a warm afternoon so many years ago. “He’s supposed to be out in the middle of the Atlantic right now.”

“And I’m supposed to be in the Mojave.”

Nickie sat with his back to the wall, silently listening in on his mom’s conversation with his grandfather. He knew that it was wrong and he knew that he was already on thin ice with the speeding ticket, but he knew that his mom and his grandfather went outside to talk where he couldn’t hear them. But his mom always seemed to forget that the bathroom window was right above the patio.

“Have you seen him yet?” Cora inquired quietly, causing Maverick to nod slowly.

“Yeah, I did. Briefly. At the Hard Deck.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Maverick replied, shaking his head.

Cora let out another sigh and held her head in her hands again. Maverick quickly got up from his seat, setting aside his beer and pulling his daughter into a tight hug. Cora latched onto her dad, trying to calm herself down and not shed anymore tears over Bradley Bradshaw.

But she failed. Just like she did the last thousand times.

Nickie clenched his eyes shut and curled his hands into fists. His mom was the strongest person that he knew. Life threw a thousand things at her and she somehow always managed to keep herself and him on their feet. But the second that anyone brought up his dad, she always flipped a switch.

She always broke down or went into absolute survival mode until something else snapped her out of it.

Nickie stopped asking about his dad when he overheard his mom sobbing to Penny in the middle of the night about how his dad still wouldn’t return her calls. It happened years ago, nearly a decade now, but it was still fresh in his mind. Burned there for the rest of his life. And, well, if his dad couldn’t even give his mom three seconds of his life, then Nickie wouldn’t give him an ounce of energy either.

And, hell, Nickie was a mama’s boy. And anyone who made his mom cry was dead to him. Dad or not, the fucker who never showed up for him or his mom was dead to Nicholas Peter Mitchell.

Whoever the hell he was.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

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strawberrystepmom · 1 year

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i love you more than being seventeen

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader

word count: 2.7k

about: all that kento can think about at the end is you and you and you.

contents: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, JJK SHIBUYA ARC SPOILERS. mutual pining over the course of many years, angst, no happy ending i’m sorry :( but the story itself has a few cute moments

notes: this is a repost from my old blog. title is from evening sun by the strokes! i still love this fic so much and it’s one of my favorite things i’ve ever written BUT there have been edits made and the ending is a little different. same impact, just more concise. thanks for reading!!!!

divider is thanks to @/cafekitsune

When Nanami's consciousness begins to fade, darkness enveloping the edges of his vision, one of the things he can recall most clearly is you.

You're 15, it's your first day of high school. You're the only person in your class, just like him. He's graduating this year and has already mentally checked out, doing just enough to get through, but he can see how anxious you look. The sleeves of your uniform are a bit too long, he wonders if it's on purpose like his are and your backpack is clearly brand new and covered in pins you probably picked out just for your first day.

A breeze picks up and blows the hem of your pleated skirt, exposing the skin just above your knee and he looks away immediately although you certainly can’t tell he’s even looking at you. Assessing you, the better term perhaps.

“Can you help me?”

A sweet and uncertain voice asks him. It belongs to you and he’s surprised that you asked him. It doesn’t take a very intelligent person to take one look at a 17-year-old Kento and see that he isn’t necessarily the approachable type. He isn’t unkind but his face is just as solemn as it will be when he grows up, mouth always set in a firm line.

“Sorry, you’re probably busy,” you mumble and he shakes his head, hiking the strap of his bag back up over his shoulder. “It’s alright. First day?” You nod, your uncertainty obvious in every one of your movements as you grip the straps of your backpack tightly.

“Someone was supposed to meet me here otherwise I wouldn’t be bothering you,” you explain as the two of you walk toward the sweeping entrance to the school itself. Your eyes widen as you take in the pillars and stairs, the greenery and flowers - it’s grand to say the least. Part of Nanami is amused watching you take it all in but he focuses on the task at hand. “It’s alright, like I said,” he starts and clears his throat. “Do you know who you’re supposed to be meeting?”

Your brow furrows, as if you’re thinking really hard, and you scrunch your nose.

“Gojo?”

Nanami rolls his eyes at the mere sound of the name. Of course he’s late and left you standing outside of the school, confused and alone. He knows that Gojo is technically his sensei now and he should respect him but he finds him just distasteful enough that it serves better to ignore him than to feed into his nonsense.

“Yeah, he does that,” Nanami shoots back cooly as he walks beside you up the steps. The zippers on your backpack jingle and he’s shot back into reality, ringing in his ears loud enough to quiet the sound of pumping blood.

He swears you can hear you call his name through the chaos, the footsteps and the screeching, but he closes his eyes. Tightly. Tries to concentrate on the source of the sound before realizing it’s in his own head, the cinematic reel in his head playing on a strange loop of fragmented pieces of his life spent wishing for you.

You.

The two of you are thigh to thigh inside of a photo booth, music playing through the little speaker underneath the tiny screen where you can see your two faces.

Kento isn’t sure how you roped him into this, an evening away from the school and in the city something you probably both needed, but it feels correct and inappropriate at the same time. The last few months have given him tiny glimpses into your life through the shared area of the student dorms.

He knows that you leave your shoes wherever you carry them after you take them off with a disgruntled whine. He dutifully places them next to your door when he sees them, the soles touching and the toes of each shoe pointed toward the wall.

He knows that you stay up too late watching television when you should be studying, the fighting noises of shonen anime coming from beneath the door of your room or the common room while you giggle or gasp along. He always wraps you in a blanket his grandmother made him when you fall asleep on the couch, drool crusting over on the corner of your lips.

He would do these things for no one else and he believes that strange dedication he feels to your comfort has led him here, long legs jutting out in front of him a nearly too small photo booth. Your bare thigh is pressed against the side of his jeans and he finds it hard to breathe with the sweet smell of your floral shampoo filling the entire left side of this enclosed space.

Fight or flight begins to kick in as the situation overwhelms him but you place a comforting hand on his forearm and smile easily, reminding him that the countdown is about to begin and to smile. He doesn’t smile but the corner of his mouth quirks in a way that you find adorable enough to giggle at, your big smile filling the screen as the flash snaps the first of four photos.

“Another! Make a funny face this time,” you order and Kento nods, lifting the other side of his lips in what one could almost call a smile while you stick out your tongue and hold two of your fingers up in bunny ears behind his head.

You like him. Even Gojo has noticed it, calling you out during your last mission with him.

“So…Nanami?” He asked with a little sideways grin and you groaned in frustration and stomped away. Satoru knew it then.

The shutter clicks and the flash explodes and you withdraw your fingers from behind Kento’s blonde head, feeling compelled to barely touch the top of it with your pointer finger. His hair is soft, brushed in front of his face, and you think you’ll remember the electric zap you feel like your heart forever as you gather your hands back in your lap.

Nanami assesses you carefully and shifts closer to you and you feel heat rise into your cheeks. The tips of your ears are warm and dangerously close to the side of his face and you look down just in time for the camera to click and to capture the top of your head and the side of his face.

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you compose yourselves long enough for the final photo and you gasp a little when Kento hovers his face just inches from yours. Your soft cheek nearly touches his cheekbone and you fist the fabric of your skirt to keep from freaking out as you grin.

Giddiness rises inside of you, the proximity to the older boy sending your mind reeling with possibilities. You even notice both corners of Kento’s mouth have risen in a sort of smile as the final camera shutter sounds and the two of you file out of the booth and you reach to grasp the strip of photos, easily tearing it in half.

“Why did you do that?”

Nanami asks, brow furrowed as he watches you look over the sets of photos contained in each of the pieces of the strip. You hold the one with the last two photos out toward him, the top photo showing him staring at the top of your head and the bottom his attempt at a smile.

“Half for me and half for you,” you respond easily.

He wishes all of this came that easily for him. These feelings, these moments, this tender sense of compassion he feels just for you.

As the memory leaves, he’s reminded that the same strip of photos lives in the wallet in his left back pocket. Buried beneath business cards and bandages, a talisman to bring him back to you even when the two of you were separated after he graduated and left the school.

He hates thinking of those times, those years where he left you behind, but he’s too weak to will those memories away for better ones. The waves of his consciousness drift to another piece of his life, those lost years. His graduation. The ignored text messages.

“Happy birthday, Nanami-san! Miss you and hope to see you soon. Have a great day.”

He opened the message on his 22nd birthday and left it on read, just as he had with the message on his 21st, his 20th, his 19th. You’ve wondered several times if he changed his number and didn't let anyone know.

You’re 19, a year past your own graduation and you are working as a full time sorcerer. You aren’t particularly challenged in your role but you find it fulfilling in its own strange way. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you sigh as you scroll through the messaging thread and an indescribable wistfulness falls over you.

You’d go back and do it all differently if you could. Beg him to stay, encourage him in the work of a sorcerer, but that would make you selfish. Keeping him here would have been for you and not for him and there’s nothing saying you had the power to convince him anyway.

Locking your phone, you drop it on the table and walk to the fridge where your half of the photo strip sits on the fridge all of these years later. It’s tucked beneath a magnet that holds up a copy of the graduation invitation you sent Kento last year. You texted him, asking if he’d like to come and perhaps you should have taken the hint back then.

He doesn’t want to be friends anymore.

The realization hits you at once and you open the fridge, plucking out leftovers, and shut it with an unenthusiastic slam. Padding back toward your living room, you pick up your phone and unlock the device. The screen still shows your text message thread with Nanami and against your better judgment, you type. Thumbs moving thunderously, you continue typing until you feel satisfied you have laid it out for him and your finger hovers over the message. Pressing down, you try to highlight the text to erase it but instead you slip and hit the send button.

“Fuck!” You shout loud enough you’re certain that your neighbor will file another noise complaint and you feel more horrified reading over your words the second time.

Kento’s phone pings from where it sits on his desk, another late night in front of the computer keeping him from doing anything enjoyable on his special day. He doesn’t bother to check the sender, knowing it’s probably something asinine from a client or a coworker, but his eyes widen as he sees the preview of the paragraph sent with your name attached.

“It’s okay if you hate us now but it would be nice to know that you’re alright,” his eyes scan each word carefully and he isn’t surprised by their bite but he feels guilty. Raw and bubbling deep in his gut, feelings he contained through college and far beyond surfacing in ways he didn’t expect. “I was your friend. I still want to be and hopefully someday you will let me.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looks over the honest appraisal of his character (“you’re a good person and that will always be true”), the tough love approach you tested halfway through (“I don’t want to do this job any more than you did and here I am”), and finally the thing you wanted to erase the most before you sent it.

“I’ll always love you even if you’ve never had it in you to do the same for me.”

He wonders for a moment if you mean that. Do you love him? Did you feel it back then the same way he did? The syrupy light feeling in your limbs, the heaviness in your head every time the two of you would study or eat or spend time together.

Setting his phone back down, he wonders for a moment how much sending that message cost you considering the length and if he should respond. Was this your goodbye? A way of finally freeing him from your mind?

Before he has time to truly think about it, his desk phone rings despite the time of day and he answers it with a sigh.

You look down at your screen and once again see a delivered notification with no sign of any other life on the other side.

“Kento!”

He’s glad you’ve dropped the formalities even if the timing is bad, his fatigued body stumbling in your direction. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air and blurry vision still shows him your face, gasping as you run to meet him from halfway across the train station that feels cavernous.

The last time he heard you shout his name was when he arrived back at the gate of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, an employee ID card clipped to his slacks and his cursed tool snug in the harness strapped across his broad back. It’s new and familiar all at the same time and he hates thinking of the smug look on Gojo’s face when he called him to ask to come back.

“I wonder why,” Satoru teased from the other end of the phone.

Nanami only sighed from the other end, the two of them continuing their quick back and forth and scheduling a time where they could meet with the administration at the school. Their conversation is quick and polite but the final words out of his old friend's mouth are what remind him of the first domino that fell and led him back to these stone steps. “She’ll be glad to see you again.”

You’re standing across the courtyard and he’s surprised to see you for the first time in 6 years. You look the same as you did on that first day in a lot of ways. A pleated skirt, breeze lifting the hem just slightly away from your bare thighs. He doesn’t bother to look away this time, the peek of skin enough to send heat up his neck.

“Kento!” You shout again, hopping and running in his direction. He shakes his head as your heavy boots smack against the pavement and before he can blink, you’re in front of him with a grin. “Holy shit!”

Ever humble, he nods in your direction and tips his chin toward the ground to hide a burgeoning smile. He looks the same but different, just like you. The sides of his hair are shorter than you’ve ever seen them, the longer top slicked away from his face. He’s handsome - he always has been and you try to ignore the little fluttering feeling inside of your chest and in your stomach.

“Welcome back,” your final choice on what to say as you clap your palm against his shoulder and he smiles at the familiar feeling. He never thought he’d experience it again.

“Hey,” he says and you look up at him. The sunlight frames your face in a way he wants to memorize forever, emblazoned in a metaphorical heart shaped locket in his mind. He wants to look at you every day. He hates that he let pride keep him from doing that. Exhaling, he says the words he has wanted to since you were 15 and he was 17.

“I love you.”

The sound of your heavy boots across cement and tile are what he chooses to focus on as you continue your mad dash in his direction, his lips mumbling those three words over and over. He knows you can’t save him and he has come to terms with that reality but he wants to see you standing in front of him one last time. To see a breeze blow the edge of that skirt up just enough he can picture where he’d put his hands on your thighs if he ever had the chance.

Before you can make it the distance, so close to him you can read his lips, his words change. You think you know what he was saying before his stumbling continued but that patchwork curse steps in front of him and blocks him from your view.

“You’ve got it from here.”

He points in the direction of Yuuji Itadori who is on the opposite side of you and you turn your head to look at the pink haired young man for a single moment, confused.

You gasp when you turn back toward Kento and he’s gone.

He’s gone.

#kendall writes #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #cw angst

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gothicknightz · 2 years

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i got you | ethan landry

notes: feeling a bit off today so i might not be able to update the bloodlines / family ties prequel fic so here's slightly tipsy reader and dork ethan

It was the twins' birthday today, and the lot of them decided to go all out.

Like, all out.

Sam had rented some small party center a block or two away from Blackmore, and if you squinted close enough, you could see the water from there.

But the only thing more dangerous than a party full of collective teenagers were drunk teenagers not even yet the age of 21.

So when she, Chad, Mindy, and Tara all posed for photos in the massive photo booth, the four of them were a mess.

She had a top hat and a fake mustache on, held bridal style in Chad's arms as they ran out, with him spinning her around as Sam got a video.

The same wasn't said for her boyfriend, which, despite knowing the group for a length of time, still held a shy persona.

“Landry!” Chad called out, walking over to his roommate with his girlfriend in his hands, “You should come pick up your girlfriend! 'S said she misses you!”

Ethan gave an awkward smile as Chad placed (y/n) is his arms, “But I'm still here,” He muttered, before walking off to a quieter place that split off from the loud party ambiance.

“Eth...” She mumbled, looking up at him as her head rested on his lap; she looked deeply into each little detail of his facial features: the little wrinkles he get around his eyes when he'd smile, the way his nose would scrunch up a little while doing calculus homework.

“You still love me, right?”

The question had caught him off guard, as it was usually him asking her stupid questions about video game trivia randomly.

“Of course,” He said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, “Why wouldn't I?”

She had started getting teary eyed as she sat up, resting her head on his chest; his hand instinctively going to stroke her hair.

“Because in Woodsboro,” She began, watching as Mindy and Chad were doing chicken fights with Anika and Tara, “I went a whole five months believing Amber had loved me.”

The tears started coming down as she fiddled with her sweater sleeve, “Five months, and I thought we had it all. We were gonna become film students after graduation.” She tried wiping away at her tears, but they kept on coming, “Five whole months of believing her bullshit just for her to kill my best friend."

“That was Wes, right?” He asked, trying to wipe away her tears as they fell, holding her close.

“She didn't even care if I would survive her fucking ‘act three.’” She took a deep breath in, trying to prevent any more sobs to escape her, “I thought she loved me- and what if Ghostface comes back?”

(y/n) sounded extremely scared, like she had had enough of last year's killings that she couldn't handle another.

“What if he comes back and is successful this time? I don't wanna lose my friends, I don't wanna lose you.”

“You won't lose me.” Ethan had said, placing her cheek in his hand, “You're not going to lose me. I'll stop that Casper shit bag before he gets to you.”

“You will?”

“Promise. I've got you.”

(ahhhh this was kinda shit but ohhhh if reader had known)

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jedineedlove · 30 days

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Pigsy's Noddles

I wanted to get into Pigsy's Noddles and try to get into the history and look at the details we don't get much on Piggsy himself so it's good to look at his home, like I kind of did with Sandy's boat but more about the chef himself. We never see his apartment so the shop is the next best place.

Sign:

From the sign, you can see the sign that all Piggsy till you look in the upper left-hand corner and see an addition of MK with Season 5 Piggys finally admits to being MK's father but this photo was from an episode long before that (since a hero is born). Though this addition was probably from MK from the font style. The artistic way looks like a signature of MK like he would put on one of his drawings. It could have been a prank idea from Mei and they just wait for him to see it. Maybe he already has and is just not saying anything. Along with the signature the rest of the sign: "Secret Family Recipe, Variety of Food, and Takeaway 20% off" Instead of paying more for take away he actually lowers the price. Probably due to his love and dedication to freshness, he knows it won't be as fresh by the time it reaches their tables so take money off their orders.

Piggsy's Life: The Beginnings:

The pictures we see in Sweet & Sour show Piggsy's early life from a baby helping his mom (L Photo Top left) (R Photo bottom) and growing up cooking the family recipe noodles with her (L Photo middle) to either just himself or both him and his mom opening the shop. With his mom at the ribbon-cutting ceremony. (L Photo Bottom Left) From Pigsys' appearance, it looks like it wasn't too long after graduation that he opened the shop. (The mustache)

He also seemed to have spent some time on a farm from the photo on the left at the bottom right with him on a horse. Maybe it's a family farm it's hard to tell when it was taken he lakes a mustache like the Piggsy we know now but it could have been before he grew it and he was much younger but he looks full-grown compared to the size of the horse. which means it was after he opened the shop and the only reason that Piggsy would leave the shop would be for family so it could be a family farm. That would also explain his attitude toward "fresh ingredients" and the right shape carrots. He shows his love for his family when dedicate the shop to being about family recipes and he adds things like his grand mother's unique windows.

The Shop Layout:

Mostly booth seating with a nice cozy atmosphere. The shop is filled with things, the walls are filled with pictures, advertisements for the noodles, along with awards and newspaper clippings probably filled with the shop's accomplishments. Each clipping probably has a new accomplishment that Piggsy has worked hard for, for both him and the shop.

Menu and Food;

Show:

Pigsy's Noodles has the longest noodles in the world.

Pigsy's serves mostly noodles but also has, noodle soup, baozi, and more.

The family recipe for zha jiang noodle soup included: bamboo shoots, peppercorn, and fresh noodles, all prepared in a szechwan pepper broth.

Pigsy's Noodles serves pork! (Not sure what to think about this?)

Toys:

80009 Pigsy's Food Truck menu: noodles, sausages, and baozi

80026 Pigsy's Noodle Tank menu: dumplings, noodle soup, a red bean bun, and lettuce wraps.

Other:

In "Calabash", it was implied that Pigsy's Noodles opens at 9AM or sometime before, as MK mentioned that he was late for work after seeing his alarm clock read "9:01"

#lmk pigsy #lmk #fan thoughts #lego monkie kid #lmk pigsy noodles

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babygorewhore · 1 year

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Investigation.

James Patrick March and The countess smut.

After following a mysterious vampire during the night, you decide to stay at the Cortez for a weekend. But two powerful monsters are determined to have you. Requested by @the-goblin1

Warnings! Bi! Fem reader! Violence, threesome! Oral! Fem recieving! Fingering, PnV! Choking. Bloody play! Knife play! Daddy kink.

The renovation of the Hotel Cortez was something you heard about on social media. Propaganda’s of the event blossomed throughout the city, everyone paid attention to the announcement and bustles of gossip came through the mouths of passerby’s.

But you knew the truth of the Hotel. Something others seemed to either remain ignorant of or simply ignored. It started small, random disappearances from girls you used attend high school with, the aura of darkness on the nights you snuck out to spy in the windows and then you saw her.

She was beautiful, long blonde hair, expensive clothes and a demeanor that oozed with power, seduction and lethal senses. You hid behind a phone booth, realized that you recognized her from haphazard places of the town. Whenever she appeared, two people, a couple would follow her like ghosts and they would never been seen again.

You learned how to trail someone from hundreds of horror movies and a embarrassing amount of true crime television and you followed her. She glided across the ground as if she was made of light. As you proceeded to walk, you took noticed of the way she drank in the bodies of those who surrounded her. Male or female, it didn’t matter.

She finally came to a stop when an attractive man approached her, close to an empty alleyway, dark and forbidding as she leaned in close to him, accepting a kiss on her cheek. You stepped into the shadows, pressing your back against the brick wall as you watched.

They spoke in whispered conversation, until he placed his hands low on her hips. She ducked her head, her lips brushing against his neck and you briefly debated on whether to leave until you saw her hands flex. Her pointer finger, covered in a sharp rang glimmered in the moonlight and faster than you imagined, it sliced across his throat. You covered your mouth, suppressing a gasp as she pulled him deeper into the confines of the darkness of the alley.

You had no choice but to lean over, horror crossing you as her teeth sunk into his neck where blood gushed like a faucet.

The air constricted in your throat as you watched silently as she drained him of life, his body going slack and his ankles buckled. He collapsed onto the ground, weakly groaning as she wiped her blood dripped mouth.

Before her head could turn in your direction, you started walking backwards then you turned, quickening your pace as you locked your sight on the sparse individuals still walking this late. Your heartbeat was quick as you finally blended in. You checked over your shoulder, ensuring she wasn’t behind you.

That caused you to spiral, sending yourself to a library and you dug through old newspaper articles until your eyes locked on a particular image. The woman, she was younger ,her hair was darker. Her face held an expression of surprise as if she didn’t expect her photo taken. But your eyes flickered over another figure, the man in the middle who was looking at her.

You recognized him, James Patrick March. He was featured on a true crime documentary and known for his sadistic killing. But he was also the owner of the hotel.

And that’s what brought you here. The night of the grand display of newly renovated features. It was open to guests and you saved your money to stay over the weekend.

You didn’t have fancy clothes, let alone anything near the expensive dress the mysterious woman, who you learned after further digging, Elizabeth, wore. But you found a vintage dress in your local thrift store. It was dark red, the color of wine and black heels. You wore a simple locket, one of your graduation presents from a few years back. Your hair was tied back with a headband and you even decorated your features with 1920s makeup.

You knew it wasn’t a party, including requirements for dressing the old part but you were determined to satisfy your deep desire to figure out if your hunch was correct.

As you opened the doors, you were greeted with a modest size amount of people, an array of genders and dress. The bar was open, two women attending it and your eyes drifted to the welcome desk. Your heels clicked as you walked towards it, clutching your small purse.

“Welcome,” An older woman greeted you, with graying hair and blue eyes. But her appearance radiated the same cold energy as Elizabeth. You forced yourself to smile as you studied her and you placed the cash on the counter.

“I’m here for the weekend.” You declared and she nodded.

She handed over a room key and you slid it between your fingers as you examined the display. Red and gold was the theme color, the furniture was shined and vintage, much like your dress. Everyone was sipping drinks except you and you decided to make your way to the bar when your eyes caught a flash above on the higher balcony.

It happened so quick, you were half certain it was a figment of your imagination but as your eyes narrowed on the dark corner, you saw a wisp of dark hair. Short. Explicitly a men’s haircut.

Your stomach dropped and your legs walked forward to the second set of stairs when one of the women attending the bar, caught your eye and signaled you over to walk over. Against your wish to investigate, you carried yourself over to the bar. Her thick eyeliner gaze fell on your exposed shoulders and she smiled.

“Your dressed for the occasion, young lady. I’m Liz.” She mused and you rested your hands on the counter. You weren’t sure of her intent as she fixed a glass of mysterious alcohol.

“I don’t-“

“Oh, I was asked to make this for you.” She answered before you could finish. And you paused.

“Asked by who?” She didn’t respond and you inhaled sharply. Your jaw clenched with apprehension as she placed the drink in front of you.

“You’re a popular topic here,” She said slowly and you wanted to disappear. How would they speak about you-

“The countess has seen you on two separate occasions spying. The second time she said you watched her…feed? Is that true?”

“Shit.” Was all you could say.

“But don’t be worried, it’s not her attention you’ve caught. It’s his.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“His?”

Liz nodded, flicking her fingers.

“Yes, dear. Take a sip, you don’t want to catch anyone else’s attention.” You swallowed before obeying.

She busied herself and kept her eyes down before she spoke again. “He saw you that night. Watching through the window. He wouldn’t rest until the countess told him about the night you followed her.”

Your hand shook as you took another sip. She couldn’t possibly mean-

“You can’t be talking about James patrick March. He’s dead.” You whispered. She nodded. Not disagreeing with you.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s not here.” If you saw a vampire, draining the life of a unsuspecting male, then it couldn’t be that terribly difficult to grasp that it was a reality that perhaps there was more than you originally believed belonged in this hotel.

“Where can I find him?” You pondered. She met your eyes and shook her head.

“No, no. He finds you.” A chill ran down your spine as you finished the drink, a little too fast and your cheeks warmed.

Without another word, you straightened your spine and started again towards the stairs. You didn’t know what awaited you, but you were beyond curious to find out. Your fingers traced the decorated walls, paintings and photographs of different decades led you to a corridor of rooms, you glanced at your room key and noticed your assigned room.

You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting ghouls and vampires to spring themselves on you. But you quickly unlocked your door, stepped inside with a woosh from your skirt. Your room was large, bed made and an old television in the center. The bathroom held a decent sized bathtub and shower with a white curtain. With your paranoia of watching too many Halloween movies, you looked behind the curtain.

You didn’t know what to do. Sit and wait for a hundred something year old ghost to what? Torment you? Kill you given his history? You knew you should run away screaming but you were already invested. You had to know, what the fuck was going on. Why were all these people dying? Was it just Elizabeth? You doubted that. She couldn’t have taken all of them. No, someone else was prowling the city. But what could you do about it? Call the police?

You sighed and fiddled with your locket. It was merely because you were nosy. You wanted to come here but you never had the excuse before. All your life you always believed there was more than death. Something else had to exist.

A knock sounded at the door, your head darted upward and you saw a piece of paper slid under the door.

You hesitated before slowly walking towards the door, before crouching down. The paper was written with calligraphy handwriting, and your eyes widened as you read the message.

“Meet me at my room. Room 32.”

Swallowing, you briefly considered rejecting the request but you couldn’t. You’ve come this far. Opening your door, you walked slowly down the hall, reading each room number. You smoothed a hand down your dress for the thousandth time as you located room 32. It was at the end and you already took in the difference in the construction of the entrance.

The dark wood was covered with gold swirls and whirls of paint. They are circled the door number, that glimmered even in the dim lighting. Even the doorknob was shining. Was that real diamonds? Probably, you surmised. You nodded to yourself, before raising your hand to knock.

“Come in.” Your eyebrows lifted. It was a female voice.

Your hand lightly trembled as you turned the knob, your eyes met with lights above. The room looked like a magazine. Couches, chairs and expensive paintings. Glass decor, fur pillows and a record player. But your eyes fell on the enormous bed. A customized bed frame held together the mattress.

Your gaze shifted then, finding a petite blonde woman and you immediately recognized her. Elizabeth. She wore a purple silk robe, her hair was tied up, adorning white slippers on her pale feet. Her eyes slowly trailed over your body and you felt assessed by a predator. Well, she was. “Hello, dear.”

“Um. Hi?” You responded gingerly. Her lips formed a small smile before she started walking towards you. You wanted to back away, but you forced yourself to stay still. “Are you…mad?” You were nervous asking the question but she shook her head as she stood in front of you.

“Mad? Mad about a darling girl, smart enough to conceal herself in the shadows? If I wasn’t experienced in this lifestyle, I wouldn’t have noticed you.”

You held your breath as she reached forward, her gloved hand extended to a sharp finger. She ran her digit over your cheek softly, before she lifted your chin. “You’ve impressed me.” She gave you a crooked smile.

The sensation made you feel confused. You felt fear, because she could easily kill you. But you also felt soothed by her gentle touch. Elizabeth leaned in closer, smelling your scent. Your heart hammered as you stared at her. “I just had to see you, before he claimed you.” Her lips brushed against your neck and you finally pulled back.

“Are you talking about James?” She raised an eyebrow and stepped back, her hand lowering from your chin.

“Yes. I see you’ve done your homework.”

“So, you’re some sort of…vampire? And he’s a ghost?” Elizabeth chuckled and tilted her head.

“In modern words, yes. But I have something of a virus. Jamesy, his soul is trapped here. His rampage ended by his own hand. But if you die here, you stay here.”

“I’ll make sure to stay alive.” You breathlessly replied.“I was told he would find me. Where is he?”

“He’s waiting for you. But like I said, I had to see you first. You’re breathtaking,” She whispered and brought her finger against her lips. “If James bores you…then you know where to find me.” You rush to the door, leaning your back against it as you breathed heavily.

She just offered to bed you. The murdering vampire. Would you take it? You weren’t sure. But you couldn’t stop thinking about James. How he lurked around. Watching everything that happened. You still didn’t know which room was his. But you imagined it would look similar to hers. Decorated in expensive crafts.

You walked through the corridor, trying to find any signs of a singular detail of the identical doors until an idea resonated with you. Maybe he was on the opposite side. If she was on the other end, maybe he was. As quickly as you could in heels, you carried yourself. You hoped no one could hear your maddening travels as you made your way to the further side of the hotel. You almost gave up until you finally saw a clue.

At the corner of a room door, 64 you narrowed your eyes. Whereas the identification of the numbers were silver, this one was gold. Biting your lip, you walked directly in front of it, preparing to knock but it was already partially opened, it swung further from the air of your hand.

The energy was chilled, you didn’t know if you should step inside but something magnetic was pulling you. It smelled warm, inviting as you inhaled and peered around. It was dark but it wasn’t the same as Elizabeth’s. The color scheme was the same as the rest of the building, red and gold but this was filled with vintage furniture.

Deep cherry colored chairs, a golden rug but in the center of the room was a long dining table covered in lit candles. A bed, not as large as the females, was made perfectly with white covers with a circular bed-frame. An overhead painting hung above the mattress and you recognized it from the old newspaper.

It was a listing of murders James Patrick March committed discovered after his suicide. Your eyes widened. He celebrated it. Left it hanging like a trophy. You turned around to flee, finally giving into fear but someone spoke.

“Darling, I knew you would find me. I’ve been waiting for you.” All the air left your lungs and you cocked your head to the right. Stepping out the shadows, stood the dead man. James Patrick March.

He was even more handsome than the photos, wearing a blue suit, white shirt with black hair dark as a ravens wing. A thin mustache above his upper lip. And his black eyes, swept over your flushed face and neck. “You’re sensational, my little mouse. I do enjoy the look of fear on your beautiful face.”

Your mouth parted from the compliment, salvia growing as your cheeks continued to warm dramatically. He was alluring, everything about him radiated power and seduction as he prowled towards you and you were frozen.

You were attracted to him. Deeply. And he could tell as a small smirk crossed his features as he came painstakingly close to you. Black shoes inches away from touching your heels. “I’ve watched you, told all the other bastards here not to touch you,” James large hand ghosted your arm, his fingers grazing the flesh of your wrist before he brought your knuckles to his lips.

He gently kissed the skin and you trembled from his touch. He lowered your hand, releasing it but he didn’t move away. “There’s very few people who’ve interested me, but a woman so determined to discover the secrets of the Cortez, even following Elizabeth caught my attention.”

You shut your eyes for a few seconds. It was true. There were other ghosts here.

“She already gave me an invitation,” You decided to reply and James smiled wider.

“Ah, yes. The countess has a knack for claiming something I want. Unless…you desire her. I could arrange her to join us in our…conversation.” You gasped at his implication.

“Uh-um-I’m not-sure.” You stuttered and he grinned wider.

“Splendid. But I must have you first. I’ve been curious of your thoughts, my little bird. What do you think of my creation?” He gestured to the room and you followed the direction of his hand.

“I think it’s wonderful,” You confessed. “I think you’re a genius. And I’m terrified of you.”

James nodded, pleased with this. “Mmm, yes. As you should be. I’m a dangerous man. But, you make me wonder. Did you believe in ghosts before me?”

You shrugged, wringing your hands together. “I always believed there was something after death. But I wanted to be sure.”

James tilted his head down, his mouth inches from your yours. You couldn’t move. “And now, you’re sure. Come.” He pulled away, but extended his veiny hand towards you.

You had a choice. Accept his hand, no doubt also accepting a sexual invitation or leave. And never return. Your core tightened and against better judgment, against sanity, you took his palm.

James walked to his bed, gently guiding you to sit down. He stood in front of you as you sat on the mattress, his knee nudged your legs apart. Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it as he lowered himself down to one knee.

He unbuckled the strap around your ankle, his fingers ghosting around your bare skin as he removed the other heel. After they were set on the ground, his fingers carefully ran over your legs, causing goosebumps before he placed a light kiss to your knee. You trembled as your separated legs had been pushed aside, allowing him to pepper kisses to your exposed calves.

Your eyes fluttered until they shot wider as you heard the slick sound of a knife. James had pulled a blade from his jacket, the long dagger gleamed in the light and you exhaled sharply. You tried to move away but James caught you by the back of your neck, leaning above you as he pressed the knife against your neck.

“Darling, I’m a gentleman,” He whispered before he moved your chin higher. “But I never said I was a gentle, man.”

He crashed his lips to yours, sealing his words while keeping the dagger against your flesh. He tugged your lower lip with his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood before he inches away, hovering over your mouth.

James trailed the knife down your neck, you kept impossibly still as he circled the exposed skin of your cleavage with the tip, but not hard enough to cut you. Your chest moved as he licked a long, stripe over your skin, tugging down your dress to expose your breast.

“You taste, ravishing, my pet.” He growled. “But perhaps I can taste you somewhere else.“

James returned to his knees, as his strong hands lifted up your dress over to your stomach, and his eyes fell on your underwear stuck to your pussy. He moaned deep in his chest as he set the blade down. “Darling, will you let me?”

You panted as you nodded. James hooked his fingers around the waist band of your underwear and he pulled them down, tossing them aside. His hands spread your legs by your knees, and he moved in.

He laid his tongue flat against your clit, before licking it up, and then down. You had been resting on your elbows and your eyes squeezed shut as he inserted his tongue inside you before slowly circling your clit.

“Lay back,” He commanded, the words vibrating from inbetween your legs and you obeyed him. He approached you like a starving man, increasing his speed at your clit before he targeted your entrance and then back up.

You had experienced being eaten out once, a clumsy attempt during a drunken night but it was nothing like this. James was skilled and brought you close to your climax quickly. You whimpered as he gripped your thighs harder, bruising you as he licked you like ice cream.

“Cum, darling. Show me how good this feels.” You were tipped over the edge as your orgasm hit you hard. Your hips rolled against his face as he continued his assault on your pussy. Tears were brought to your eyes as he didn’t slow down, your clit burned as he kept at it, you reached down to shove his face away but he merely pinned them down with impressive strength.

“James-please-I can’t take it.” He finally stopped and released your hands. But he stared down at you with intimidating blackened eyes.

“Move up on the bed, darling.” Listening, you shimmied upwards, your head touching the headboard and James stepped away to open a drawer.

He pulled out something.

Rope.

You grunted as he moved quickly, situating your wrists above your head, securing them tightly to the bed. You couldn’t move. James smiled wickedly.

“What are you going to do?” Tears pricked your eyes and he tsked at you, stroking his finger along your warm cheek.

“Mmmm, you’re such a delicious little creature. So scared, so vulnerable, and so wet,” He winked at you. “Daddy can’t have all the fun, can he?”

“What?” You whispered.

“I promised someone they could sample you, before I do.” Your stomach dropped as you realized exactly what he meant.

Oh, god.

You hadn’t even heard Elizabeth enter the room. Her steps silent as she crept behind James. Blood soaking her full lips as she hummed at your helpless body. “Jamesy, please tell me you didn’t use your cock yet, you promised.”

James straightened his back. “Of course not, dearest. I’m a man of my word. She’s all yours. For now.” He ran his tongue over his teeth as she went on all fours on the bed.

Your eyes widened as she rubbed the blood off her chin, the red coated her pointer and middle finger and she trailed them along your spread legs. Panting, Elizabeth’s hand disappeared inside your hiked up dress. You felt her digits graze your bare pussy and her thumb found your swollen clit.

Your breathing came in short bursts as she slid two fingers inside, curling them up to the spongy walls. “Oh, you poor little girl. You need this, don’t you?” She pumped them harder and then lowered her mouth, onto your bare breast, swirling her tongue around the perked nipple. Your head pressed against the pillow harder, wetness growing as she easily finger fucked you. Blood smeared on your chest, and she gently bit the bud.

A hand gripped your throat, and your head jerked up to see James above you as Elizabeth continued leaving bloody marks on your chest. “Keep your eyes open, darling. I’d hate to have to prove a point,” He smirked.

The countess chuckled against you and she pulled away. “Maybe, just one little taste, James. Then she’s all yours.” He kept your neck in his hold as she flicked the sharpened nail and brought it against your breast.

It slit the small area and you winced. Blood pooled from the area and Elizabeth licked the plasma, her tongue warm against the surface and you moaned. But kept your eyes open in fear of what James would do.

“Mmm, you taste so good. It’s a shame you would resist becoming like me, Angel.” She lingered over you, her eyes drawn to your mouth. “A kiss goodbye then…or maybe you’ll take me up on my offer someday.”

She kissed you, passionately sucking in your lower up and you tasted the remaining blood. Her tongue swept across your lips, forcing you to open them as she then tangled her tongue against yours. Your orgasm came again, and her fingers slowed as you chased it.

She removed her hand before popping her fingers in her mouth. She climbed off the bed, winking at James. “She’s all yours. For now.”

He released your throat and you gasped. The female left the room, James had you all to himself. He adjusted the ring on his finger and studied you. You were a sight to be seen, fucked out, dress haphazard and cum spilled on the bed and on your thighs. Blood on your body.

“I always knew you’d look devastating covered in blood, my bird. It’s just a shame it can’t be one of my enemies.” James adjusted his belt, pulled it down and leaving him in his boxers.

His erect dick caused a shiver down your spine as your knees touched. James shook his head, “I don’t think so, little one. Be a good girl, and tell me exactly what you want daddy to do.”

Your eyes watered from arousal, his attack and then the countess on your body left you desperate. “Fuck me, please daddy. I’ll be good.”

“One more time?” He sat inbetween your spread thighs, pulling down his boxers and you sobbed out.

“Please, fuck me, daddy. Please-“ He slammed into you, your pussy taking him from all the pent up tension and you moaned loudly.

James hand clamped around your neck again, but you welcomed the pressure as he thrusted hard inside you. His cock pushed against your tight pussy and your eyes rolled back as he brought his free hand down and stroked your clit.

“That’s it, take it like a good girl.” He grunted as he continued pounding you. Your back lifted off the bed from his force and you gagged lightly from him choking you.

You were getting close again, this time more intensely and you continued crying. “Ah, yes. I do love seeing you cry. Cum, cum for me, pet.”

Whiteness overtook your vision, and you let out a cry, louder than the others and James halted and you felt him spill inside you. He removed his hand, slowly pulling out his cock and you trembled so hard your teeth chattered.

James had sweat dampening his forehead, and he leaned down. Finally capturing your lips. He tasted like mints and cigars as he throughly tasted you, tongue flicking inside as he focused on your lower lip. You wanted to touch him and your wrist tugged at the restraints. He was addicting, you were already turned on.

His eyes darted to your pulling hands and he leaned back. You moaned sadly and he pulled his boxers back on. Not minding the mess.

He untied the rope, massaging your wrists for a few seconds before he released you. You were limp as he adjusted your dress. “Mmm, I hate to leave you, my dear. But, I’m afraid I have another matter to attend to.” You forced yourself to sit up. Your hair mused, blood staining your skin and bruises on your neck.

“And I’ll be back, I’m no where near done exploring this perfect body.” He whispered, giving you one last gentle kiss.

“And neither am I.” As he stepped away, you saw Elizabeth.

She never left. “Jamesy,” She called out from her place on the couch. He stopped suddenly.

“I think John can wait.” She purred. James started nodding.

They both turned to you.

You swallowed. You didn’t know if you’d make it out alive. But at the moment? You didn’t give a fuck.

Taglist! @spill-the-t @howtobesasha @icannot3 @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @evanptrss @randodummy @demxnicprxncess @scene-and-dandylover

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