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ateliersss · 4 months ago

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Oh, take me back to The Night we met

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: 1936, eighty-eight years ago, you met him, the creature that changed your life in a way that goes beyond human imagination. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: Attempted Rape, SA, Murder, English isn't my first language Word Count: 10.162 After the Blooming Family series

⇨ Surprise! I hope you are surprised because I was starting to doubt myself. I actually believed I wouldn't even finish it this year. Anyways, I wrote the finishing 6.800 words in the last seven hours and my brain is mush. I hope it didn't affect the pace or logic of the plot. If so, I will edit it in a few days. Comments are always appreciated.

⇨ Also, if you tell me I wrote an unrealistic reaction to seeing a Yautja's face for the first time, let me tell you, you and I wouldn't be here if I hadn't reacted the same.

1936, Earth

"Thank you, ma'am." The soldier in front of you returned your identity card, the national animal printed on it facing you.

You returned his bright smile with a tight one. You were already used to identifying yourself to patrolling soldiers after work. It was for "safety measures", according to the government.

While you were busy putting away your identity card, the boy looked nervously over his shoulder to his comrade who nodded back to him, encouraging him to finally man up and just tell you what he had rehearsed a dozen times already to eventually make a move on you and ask you out.

"A-And thank you for your service, ma'am!" He blurted out, louder than he intended to, with a soft blush covering his cheeks.

You closed your purse and looked up at him in confusion.

The boy, you now noticed, had to be at least five years younger, probably around the same age as your younger brother, Emil. And you recognized him now, too. He was patrolling around this area two to three times a week.

At your confused face, he gestured a little awkwardly to your uniform, the white dress and blue-grey blouse underneath it. "D-Doctors and nurses are in desperate need in times like these a-and saving lives is a remarkable job!"

"Oh." You looked down at yourself before you pulled your coat tighter around your body and smiled softly at him. "If that's all, I'll take my leave now. Have a good night, gentlemen."

He visibly deflated at your words and mumbled a quick "Have a nice evening, ma'am." but you barely got half of it when you turned around to continue your way back home. The second your back was facing them, your smile dropped.

You hated it, hated this, this so-called life you and everyone around you had to live. Horrible and disgusting things were happening, but no one dared to speak up. You were all trapped, too scared to act, too afraid to do something.

And the people could feel it, the tension that was stretched so tautly that was just waiting to snap. The whole world was holding its breath, deferring that one moment when the match would ignite and reduce everything and everyone to rubble and ash.

Meanwhile, your brother was beaming with pride as he was now considered old enough to join the army and could finally fight for his country. On the other hand, your father, the only other family you still had in this world, was far more reluctant when it came to the plans of the government and his son's naive blindness of patriotism.

No one was talking about the horrifying wrongs your home country was doing for years now, but everybody knew, everybody saw. And if someone even dared to utter a word about it, they disappeared.

That didn't stop your father from ranting about it behind the closed doors of your home. He did so, of course, in Emil's absence. He was family, yes, but nowadays blind obedience could manipulate even a brother and son to go against his own kin.

You loved your brother dearly. He was a good guy and he only held a very strong pride for his home, his people, and his culture. But sadly that was the only thing he acknowledged around others. He denied the "rumors" of a genocide going on and overlooked unintentionally the more sinister motives of others in the world of politics and the military. He was truly and utterly blind, but you couldn't condemn him for that. Not really.

The Great War ended when Emil was three years old and you remembered him crying when your father told him he couldn't participate in it anymore. Ignorant of the horrors that happened at the Front, he and a few boys from around the neighborhood would play war and were disappointed when they were told it was over. The worst part was the elder men sitting on benches near their battlefield, telling them their people were the superior power since they had been able to hold their own against three opposing countries in the end.

You sighed and started to fumble around in your purse for your keys as you reached your destination. After a quick look into the mailbox — the usual evening newspaper and another flyer that encouraged men between the ages of twenty and forty-five to sign up for the military — you made your way up to the first floor and poked around in the lock with the key, a little distracted by the newspaper as you were searching the headlines for anything concerning. There was another report about a skinned man found hanging upside down from a church tower. Unbelievable. At times like this and there was a maniac running around, killing people in the most grotesque way for fun.

"I'm home!" You called into the dimly lit hallway, knowing your father was sitting in his usual spot in the living room.

After dropping your purse next to the wardrobe, toeing out of the white pumps, shrugging off the coat, and hanging it on the coat rack, you walked through the corridor and past five doors. The ones leading to the bathroom and the kitchen were open as always, just like the door of Emil's bedroom. Although it hadn't been inhabited for a few months now, you would always leave it open after cleaning. It was false reassurance, but that way it seemed as if he was still home.

"How was your day?" Your father asked gruffly from his spot on the wing chair, the morning newspaper still in his hand before it got replaced by the evening issue you handed to him with a kiss to his temple.

"It was…"

Screams.

Blood.

Wails of a newborn.

A cold body.

"…long."

"Mhm." Your father hummed, his eyes scanning the front page before turning it. "Hah! Sightings of another black cloud of smoke and the authorities tell the public another farmhouse burned down. Do they think we are stupid? Unbelievable these people! Think they will get away with it, hiding it from the public eye, and no one would notice!"

You weren't entirely sure if he had even listened to you, but you didn't care. You weren't very eager to start a conversation with him anyway.

"I'm in my room. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Though you didn't expect a response, you waited a few seconds — maybe today he would ask if his son had finally sent a letter — before you turned around to retreat to your room.

Since your father had lost his legs in a bomb attack at a munitions factory where he had worked during the Great War, he had changed. A lot. Before, he was quite a gentle and jovial man who worked hard and never shied away from showing how much he loved his family. Nowadays, he was resentful and bitter towards everything happening around him.

It was exhausting, not only listening to his complaints day in and day out but also being nothing more than a maid and caregiver to him. You were the sole breadwinner in this house. You worked yourself to the bone in a business that was equally about life and death but gave you more grief than joy. At least it made the medical care of your father a little easier. The surgery, the medicine, and the wheelchair would have cost you a fortune.

When you would get off work, more would await you at home. Taking care of the household was your responsibility for nine years now since your father wasn't capable of doing it anymore. After the first week of dusting and sweeping, washing the dirty laundry and ironing the clean ones, going grocery shopping and cooking, as well as taking care of your father like washing him, helping him get to the toilet, and such, you cried yourself to sleep with the thought of quitting and running away.

But you didn't.

You were miserable, yes, but you stayed. You stayed with the hope of a better life in the future. Maybe you will be married to a nice man in a few years like your girlfriends already were. You had experience with men, sure, but none of them you would consider fit to be your husband.

In your bedroom, you quickly got rid of your uniform until you were only in your undergarments, a baby-blue silk panty that flowed around your mid-thighs and an uplift brassiere of the same fabric and color, both with a lacy hemstitched design. You were about to throw the white and grey-blue dress into your other dirty clothes when you noticed red speckles on the left sleeve.

Yes, the day had been long, too long for your taste, and when your shift did end, you felt hollow once more. You could still see her in that bed, screaming and crying.

Watching her, you had wondered if you would ever end up like her.

You shifted in your place, second-guessing before you finally turned and looked at your reflection in the mirror that occupied one corner of your bedroom. You hesitantly lifted your hands and placed them on your belly.

No. Your job showed you women struggle and in pain every day. You would never do that to yourself. Being a mother was not worth the probability of taking your last breath during labor, giving your own life while granting another to your child.

Today was another reminder of that.

The girl in the delivery room, Johanna, was sweet and lively. You met her occasionally on a monthly check-up when you assisted the doctor who took her into his care. She would tell you about her and her husband trying for this baby for years and how excited she was.

You bit the inside of your cheek when tears once again started to well up in your eyes when you thought of how helpless you had felt when you stood in that room. Your colleague, an older and more experienced woman, was holding the crying newborn in her arms. The doctor was doing his all to save the unsavable while Johanna's body got colder as the dark red spot grew bigger on the white linen of the bed.

Today had shown you once again that you would never let something like that happen to you.

"You have to incise into her abdomen."

Not ever.

"No!"

Not in a million years.

"No, Mi'ytiar… you have to, you have to."

You would never put someone else's life before yours, not even the one of your never-going-to-happen baby.

"Save our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please."

Sighing, you got ready for bed. You were far too tired this evening to get anything done. The laundry had to wait until tomorrow and your father probably already had eaten, so there was no need to get to the store. For now, you needed to stop thinking.

A whole week passed and you had followed your everyday routine like every other day. Occasionally, when you walked past the room where Johanna had delivered her baby and made her husband a widower, you paused and stared. Instead of the freshly made bed and the stark white linen, you saw her dying as she bled out. You saw the doctor, yourself by his side and the nurse holding the baby at the foot of the bed.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see said nurse smiling pitifully at you.

"You are still there, right?" She asked softly, her eyes scanning your face.

You swallowed and nodded. "It's like that every time I come here. I don't know why. She's not the first I watched dying during childbirth."

The elderly woman patted your cheek and guided you away from the delivery room by the crook of your arm, pulling you away from the sorrowful abyss before you could drown any deeper in it.

"You liked her, that's why." She started, "I had a Johanna, too. A long, long time ago. Although she was a lot younger, she was just as excited to be a mother. Poor thing died just like her baby."

You gasped and now it was you who looked with pity at her. "Why?"

"The baby was stuck." The older nurse sighed, "She pushed and pushed and tore. By the time the doctor started to cut her open, she died of internal bleeding." She had to clear her throat before she continued, "The baby died with her. A little boy. He got himself tangled up in the umbilical cord."

You turned your gaze from her face down to the ground and watched your feet walk an unknown route. Swallowing down your tears, you forced yourself to concentrate on not stumbling over your own feet.

You did like Johanna. You had empathized with her, even though children would never be part of your life. She had just wanted a baby, a part of her and the man she loved united in one body, and all that she got was death. She hadn't deserved it. At least the thought that she might be together with her baby in heaven now, thanks to her belief in God, soothed your heart a little.

"Go home, (Y/N)." The elderly nurse interrupted your train of thought.

Looking up, you saw her holding up your purse and coat. Apparently, she had led you to the lounge where the doctors and nurses spent their lunchtime.

"But I still have six hours to go." You tried to argue but bit down your lower lip when she shook her head.

"If someone should ask for you, I will tell them you didn't feel well and that I sent you home. There are certain benefits as the head nurse." She winked at you, pushed your belongings into your hands, and shooed you in the direction of the exit.

"I promise I will feel better tomorrow." You called over your shoulder and waved at her, giving her one last smile before you shrugged on your coat and left.

Thirty-two minutes later, you got off the bus and turned around the corner into your street, your purse dangling back and forth on your wrist. With your extra five hours, maybe you could finally start that book on your bedside table if your dad wouldn't find any reason to turn your attention to him.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, you walked a little faster, already searching for the key. Like always, you checked the mailbox — nothing again — before you hopped up the one flight of stairs to your apartment, the sound of your heels on the wood filling the otherwise silent staircase.

The noise seemed to attract the woman living across from you because you barely reached the top of the stairs when she ripped her door open and stared at you with wide eyes.

You paused and looked at her in concern. "Mrs. Walter? Is everything okay?" You asked and carefully inched closer to her.

For several moments, you didn't get an answer. Only when you opened your mouth to ask her again did she slowly lift her trembling arm and point past you at something you could not see.

Strange. The only thing back there was your apartment door, so…

The slamming of Mrs. Walter's door barely reached your ears when you turned around. All you could hear was eerie silence, not Mrs. Walter quickly putting her distance between her and the door, not the dog barking from above you that got awakened by the slamming door, not the traffic noises outside.

The door that you diligently locked every morning before you got to work and unlocked every evening when you returned home hung on its hinges. In quick strides, you reached it and ripped off the note that was nailed into the wood under the peephole. Your eyes scanned over the words as you pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

A search was carried out here due to a tip-off of a conspiracy against the country and its people. All residents are requested to report immediately...

Tears clouded your view and made it impossible to make out the rest of the words. But there was no need to. You already knew what you needed to know. Your father was dead, no questions asked, no evidence to prove that he was innocent or guilty, no interference by the judiciary. He had dug his own grave since he started to badmouth and criticize the current sins committed by the government.

You slowly navigated your way through your destroyed home, your hands supporting yourself against the wall, careful not to get caught in something with your pumps. You had to duck under the big shelf close to the entrance of the living room. It was tilted to the side so that the upper part was now leaning against the other side of the wall. Everything that had ever been placed onto it — pictures, plants, certificates, and other little knick-knacks — was now scattered on the floor.

It got even worse in the living room. Everything had been turned upside down. Your father's chair was thrown to the side just like the couch and the coffee table. The books from the huge bookshelf that covered the length of the smallest wall in here were pulled out and tossed on the floor, pages ripped out and strewn on the floor. Pictures were taken from the walls and the glass crunched as you stepped over them. Dirt was covering the floor as if someone had been digging in the soil of the potted plants. The carpet was overturned, partly thrown onto the couch, and revealed the wooden floor it usually covered.

Your living room had been thoroughly searched and you doubted the rest of your home looked any different.

In a daze, you carelessly let your purse drop to the floor and shuffled to your bedroom. Opening the door, you were greeted with a view you had expected — your bed was tilted to the side, clothes from your closet were now scattered on the floor, and your mirror was lying face down on the floor.

When you saw the pictures of you and your family carelessly thrown into the corner, you couldn't hold the sob in any longer. You sank to your knees, curled into a ball, and cried to your heart's content with your eyes squeezed shut.

You lost your mother at a young age, lost your father for the first time after his accident, lost your brother to the country, and now lost your father for the second and final time. Now, you were wholly and utterly alone. Not for long, though. If you didn't come forward and turn yourself into a possible fair trial in the next sixteen hours, you would be taken just like your father and die the same way he did.

Your breakdown had been apparently so nerve-wracking and tiring that when you opened your eyes, it was dark inside your room and outside your window. Groggily, you propped yourself up and looked around, disappointedly ascertaining that you hadn't been dreaming at all. Your eyes scanned your room, still a little out of it, until you spotted your clock on the wall, surprisingly intact. 9:24 PM. Now you had less than ten hours left.

How would you spend your last ten hours in freedom? You didn't know, but you for sure wouldn't do it in here. You needed to leave.

As quick as you could you switched your nurse uniform to a skirt and your favorite blouse, fixed your make-up and your hair to look less like a mess and more like the respectable woman you usually were, and left the apartment after putting on your shoes, coat and grabbed your purse. At first, you strolled around with no real destination in mind, but the darker it got the higher the risk of being stopped by a patrolling soldier.

You had enough money with you to occupy yourself with a few drinks, so why not enjoy yourself, let a little loose? You never really got the chance to try it out. Your job unironically prevented you from unnecessarily damaging your liver and you had the responsibility to take care of your family. Your girlfriends always invited you on girl's night, but sadly, you had to decline almost every time, be it your father or another night shift forced upon you. They had another planned on the weekend in a few days, the first one in a very long time you would have had time for. Not anymore. When they would sit around a table and share the newest gossip, you had already started to rot away in a mass grave.

You entered the first, non-shady-looking bar and plopped down on one of the bar stools on the right. When the bartender finally took notice of you, all he needed to do was to take in your gloomy figure pitifully slumped in your seat to grab a glass and fill it with a brown liquid. No words were spoken — you didn't feel like it and he noticed that — as you grabbed the glass, tossed the liquor back, and placed the now empty glass back down. The alcohol, whatever it was, burned like hell and you couldn't help but cough, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. The bartender, meanwhile, wordlessly filled your glass again and without any hesitation, you emptied that one too.

You spend almost four hours like that. Losing count after your sixth shot, your head started to feel funny, like the world around you was spinning too fast. You mused what your life would have been like if your mother hadn't died when you were just nine years old, if your father hadn't lost his legs when you were seventeen, if your brother had chosen a normal job at your current age. You could have grown up like any normal girl, could have joined your friends more often to hang out, could have started going on dates again after your last boyfriend dumped you for neglecting him.

And what about your future? What about the man you wanted to marry in a few years? Every day, you daydreamed of someone who would just sweep you away in his arms and take you far, far away from here. There had to be a place somewhere where you could live your life in peace without a brewing war and the constant fear of death. You waited for someone who would make your life easier than it currently was, who would take the weight from your shoulders and not add some more on them every single day. Someone who loved you passionately and would spoil you after nine years of labor where you worked yourself to the bone. Someone who would take charge and let you rest when you needed it. Someone who was the other half of your soul that hopelessly awaited to be rejoined with its counterpart.

When you reached out to your glass for the nth time, a hand softly clasped your wrist. Looking up, you saw the bartender giving you the same pitiful look you had received for God knows how often today, from your colleague at the hospital to some of the other patrons who entered and left the bar during the last few hours.

"I think you should get home." He said firmly and pulled his hand away.

No longer being hindered, you lifted the glass up to your lips and emptied it in one go. "I no longer have a home." You dully answered, your speech a little slurred.

"We close in a few minutes." He tried another route, anything to get you to stop drinking.

He may not be interested in what personal business you have to drink yourself under the table, but even he wouldn't let a young woman like you do that to herself.

"Fine." You mumbled, grabbed your purse, and searched for the money that was stored somewhere in there. You hummed when you finally found it and without looking at it, you dropped it down on the counter. "Here."

You held onto the sleek surface of the bar to lift yourself up and from your seat, supporting your whole weight with one hand while you needed several attempts to grab your coat. Not bothering to put it on, you turned to leave and even you were surprised that you could still walk in a (more or less) straight line.

"Hey, you paid too much!" The bartender called from behind you.

Not bothering to stop or turn around, you simply proclaimed, "Keep it. Where I go I won't need it." and pushed the entrance door open.

Outside, you tilted your head up, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It instantly freshened you up and cleared your mind a little. Looking left and right along the sidewalk, you decided to take the left and began strolling wherever it was taking you, once again with no actual destination in mind. You had no idea what time it was, but you guessed you had around five or six hours left. If you're lucky and didn't get held up by some patrols, you could visit the park one last time where your parents, Emil and you would hold a picnic every summer when you were younger. It would only take you ten minutes on foot. It wouldn't hurt to visit the place that held so many good childhood memories and bask in them in your final hours.

You were walking for a mere two minutes when you heard a whistle from your right. Halting your steps, you turned your head to the side and looked over to the source. There, on the other side of the street, were two men sitting on a bench and two standing around them. One was holding a beer bottle while the others were smoking their cigarettes.

"Hey, pretty lady." The one with the beer bottle called over to you and lifted it to toast to you.

You quickly snapped your head back forward and continued on your way, your strides bigger and faster to create as much distance between you and them as possible.

When you thought you were safe, you felt a hand clasping your wrist whose owner pulled you back and against his strong chest.

"Hey, hey, hey." The voice of the man with the beer bottle breathed against your ear, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. "Don't be shy. We were just celebrating my friend's promotion." To your horror, he put his hands on your hips and turned you both to his three companions who had seemingly followed him, all of them wearing leering grins. "Why don't you join us, hm? We could need a little entertainment." He murmured against your neck, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Before he could place his lips anywhere close to your skin, you struggled out of his grip and stumbled a few steps away from him. "I-I'm sorry, but I need to go home. I'm already late."

The man who seemed to be the leader of the bunch stepped closer to you, smirking when you accidentally walked right into one of his friends. The guy immediately held you against him, keeping you in place.

"I think you could spare a couple of minutes." The leader said firmly and reached for your blouse.

Fear seemed to be a great way to quickly sober one up because the next thing you did was stomp down on the foot of the man that was holding you, your heel hitting his toe perfectly, causing him to let you go with a cry in pain and a curse. Next, you rammed your knee into the crotch of the man in front of you and when his body doubled over, you pushed him to the side and bolted down the sidewalk.

Not daring to look back, you sprinted as fast as you could, but the alcohol made it hard to keep balance, not to mention the nausea that bubbled up in your stomach. But you ignored it and tried to keep it down when you heard their calls from behind you, coming closer and closer.

This was not how you wanted to spend your last night, this was not how you imagined it. Tears clouded your view and you narrowly escaped the grabby hand of whatever guy that was closest to you when you ducked down and sharply took a left turn into an alley.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

The next thing you felt was hard concrete as you fell forward when a heavyweight collided with your back. You cried out in pain when you hit your head, then hysterically screamed in panic when you felt hands on your skirt and you started kicking around, not caring if you hit something or not. You heard a grunt when your heel finally made contact with the shoulder of one of them, but you barely had time to bask in your little victory when a punch to your face almost knocked you out cold. Your body went instantly slack, a long-winded groan leaving your mouth.

"Move your ass and hold her down." The voice of the leader sounded from somewhere above you. "And turn her around. I like to watch their face when they give up."

Hands turned you on your back as your screams and cries accompanied your attempts to fight their hands off.

"No… please no." You begged as your wrists were pinned above your head by a pair of rough hands. "No!" You screamed louder, in a high-pitched, panicking voice when your blouse was ripped open, your brassiere following suit, and your chest got groped by a calloused hand.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt an eager mouth around your nipple, harshly sucking on it while your breasts were still in a painfully hard grasp. You tried to gather your last strength, the drinks earlier and then the hit to your head from the fall tempted you to just fall unconscious, but you bucked your body up in hopes you could throw whoever was above you off of you.

Only you couldn't move. Someone was straddling your thighs, hindering you from moving.

You finally forced yourself to open your eyes and the blurry image of the leader pushing up your skirt presented itself in front of you.

"Stop, please! Help!" You started screaming again, causing the leader to sigh in annoyance.

"Could you please shut her up, for fuck's sake? I'm trying to enjoy myself here." He growled at the guy who was holding your hands down, his patience growing thinner with every passing moment he wasn't able to force himself inside you. "When I'm done with her, you get what's left of her."

"No, no, no..." You wailed when you heard the clinking of his belt and a zipper being opened, but you soon got silenced when a palm pressed down on your mouth.

Rather than keep watching him, you closed your eyes in defeat, now only feeling how he moved closer to your crotch, his fingers pushing your underwear aside, and positioned himself against your entrance.

A dull thud behind your attackers stilled them for a moment, but a raging roar got them to whip around. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see whatever feral animal was going to maul you and those men.

A scream, something wet splashing on you and something, someone, heavy landing on top of you got you to finally open your eyes again. You stared right into a gaping hole where the head of a person normally should be. Maybe it was the shock of almost ending up left on the ground in this alley, covered in bruises, blood and bodily fluids after they were done with you, that kept you from screaming.

In a daze, you pushed the corpse off of you and looked down at your body. It was covered in blood, parts of a splattered brain, and white fragments that had been the skull of the leader of the group. His head had burst into pieces. No animal could have done that and no human either. There was no weapon on earth with that much destructive power, so what…

With slow eyes, you looked up from your soiled legs. The guy now lying dead next to you had been obscuring the view of a large creature standing no more than three meters across from you.

Whatever it was, it seemed livid. Its body was heaving with wrathful breaths and its long fingers were twitching, clenching into fists before relaxing them again. Its massive form was hidden by darkness and you could barely make out its silhouette.

It felt like an eternity with you just staring at the creature and it (probably) staring right back. The other assaulters, two of whom had fallen to the ground in shock with the sudden attack on their leader, hadn't dared to move a muscle. Maybe they were in a trance just as you were, not for the same reason, of course.

"H-Hey!" The fourth guy squeaked, breaking the tension that seemed to suffocate the whole alley. "Wha-"

In a practiced, seemingly effortless movement, the creature whipped out its arm, and something silvery shot out of the darkness. It wrapped around the throat of the man, choking him and sending him to his knees. He was clawing his neck and tried to remove what seemed to be a whip made out of sleek silver and grey material.

You watched him as he desperately tried to free himself and blood started to flow from where the whip was wrapped around his neck down to his shirt, turning the light blue fabric deep red. Your eyes then traveled along the bladed chain, you now noticed, to the other end of it, and found the large creature moving towards you.

If you would have been able to make a sound, you would have, but you were still too out of it that no noise escaped your bloody lips when you were finally able to distinguish your savior.

It was indeed huge, a massive body that was dwarfing any human being you could think of. Its appearance was bizarre. Its feet and calves up to its knees were in unusual boots made out of metal instead of leather with an interesting design. You wondered if it was the skin of the creature or if it was wearing a net-like cloth that was visible on every body part that wasn't hidden beneath armor like the chest plate that bled over into a full sleeve of its arm. It was covering the left side of its chest but not enough to conceal a rather fit upper body. You found yourself staring a lot longer at the well-defined, almost sculpted abs of it. It was no doubt a male.

As you were eyeing the creature up, he yanked on the whip. You were only aware of a dull thud when the bladed chain cut off the head of the man who had been in its hold.

You didn't register when more blood sprinkled on you as you were too busy trying to imagine a face underneath that strange mask. With his green, brownish, and beige reptilian skin, the long black tendrils sprouting from the head, the long claws, and the animalistic posture, he was, without a doubt, not human.

An arm wrapping around your throat from behind, preventing you from breathing evenly, brought you back to reality. You immediately put up a fight, scratching it and pulling on the arm in hopes he would let go.

It was one of the attackers that had fallen to the ground when the creature had appeared. He must have scrambled over to you when his last companion was foolishly enough to run up to the murderous beast, trying to do something quite laughable, only to be impaled by a spear and was now hanging on the wall to the right like he was a portrait above a chimney, the spear rammed through the brick of the apartment building.

The idiot behind you thought the creature would let him go if he was holding you hostage as if he wasn't going to kill the both of you just like his buddies. So foolish, you internally sighed.

"S-S-Stop! I'm warning you!" He screamed at the towering figure which was closing in on you. "I will… I will kill her!"

The creature stopped a few steps away from you and reached behind his back. Quicker than your eyes could keep up, his hand shot forward and he threw something of the size of an orange at the man.

Yelling, the man loosened his grip, his instincts kicking in to fight against whatever was sticking to his forehead. In his struggle, he fell on his back and started rolling around on the floor when the little device made a strange wiring noise. His body went stock still when he was engulfed in a net, restraining him. Then the man screamed bloody murder when the wiring noise grew louder and the device pulled the net tighter around him.

You turned to him, only to see the strings cutting into his skin, drawing blood, until only pieces of his body were left of him, leaving him unidentifiable to whoever would find him and his friends.

Now, it was only you in that alley. You, the beast that saved you and the bloody massacre, turning the place into an image of horror.

You were going to get sick if you stared at what had been a living and breathing human once any longer. Rather than wanting to face the creature when it was going to kill you, you turned back around and then startled back. Said beast was crouching in front of you, the head cocked to the side.

He reached out a clawed hand and you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever gruesome death he had planned for you. You thought back to everything you had achieved in your life, every person that was still dear to you, said goodbye to every place you loved to visit, to the movie you had wanted to watch in a week with a friend, to the unread book on your bedside table and every dream you had wanted fulfill — you had actually planned to do that in a few hours. At least he was going to give you a quick death and not whatever the authorities had done to your father.

Something poked your cheek.

Your eyes snapped open and you were met with a closer view of the strange mask covering the creature's face. His hand was outstretched and a finger was prodding your skin. A strange noise was coming from behind the mask, something you could only describe as a rumbling purr.

You stayed still, afraid if you would only move a muscle, it would set the creature off and let him drag his clawed finger up to your temple where a trail of blood had started to run from the wound you got from the fall. You hissed in pain when the pad of his thumb stroked — probably unintentionally hard — over your lower lip, the rough skin touching where it was busted. He pulled its thumb away only to replace it with the back of his pointer and middle finger to caress your jaw and down to your throat. The touch caused you to swallow which he most likely could feel. Only when you felt the scaly sensation on your skin dip too deep, too far beneath the ripped remains of your blouse, you gripped his wrist.

The creature's head snapped up where it had followed his exploration. You flinched back at the sudden movement and quickly loosened your hold on his wrist, pulling it away like you had burnt yourself.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice hoarse.

What if you had just signed your death? What if you touching him like that had triggered him? What if he thought you were a threat now? What if he thought of it as highly offensive? What if he was going to kill you now? What if-

A low thump caused you to flinch when he hit the left side of his chest with his right fist. With parted lips, you looked from his fist up to his masked face and then back again, confused, both at the gesture and the lack of aggression towards you. Almost as if he could understand the look on your face, he repeated the action with a little more determination after he inched closer to you. You were more focused on his sudden closeness, daring not to move back, but you hastily turned your gaze down to his fist. It was a little hard to concentrate on what he was trying to tell you after the vast change of demeanor — from murdering in cold blood to trying to… communicate with you?

"You?" You tried hesitantly.

It really was your best guess on what he could mean.

A soft growl reached your ears from underneath his mask, making you tense up but relaxed in relief the second his attention turned to his forearm. You watched in curiosity as his clawed pointer finger ghosted over the armor-like wristband that started flashing in a bright red and made strange beeping noises like when a caller on the other line hung up before you could. Your mouth opened without you even noticing. You had never seen something like it, probably no one ever had. How was it functioning without cables like your telephone and radio did?

"Are you telling me you are married?"

You jumped back a little when a male voice chimed from his wristband.

"To a cup of tea, I will never say no."

"I can't believe you put the jar in the oven!"

You looked at him in astonishment as more voices sounded from his forearm. Human voices.

He kept repeating the same three sentences, but they seemed to get shorter with every replay.

“-telling me you are… telling me… me.”

"-a cup of tea… tea."

“-you put the jar in the… you put the jar… the jar… jar.”

He seemed to be satisfied as he let out a deep, low-pitched chirp before he played the cut and put together word snippets to you, his head facing you now.

“Me-tea-jar.” He hit his chest once again before playing the word again. “Me-tea-jar.”

"Meetja?" You tried the word, tried how it felt on your tongue.

He let out a deep grumble before he played the same word again and leaned even closer to you.

“Me-tea-jar.”

"M-Meetiar. Mi'ytiar."

With his head slightly cocked to the side, he tilted it forward in a one-movement nod as if to say, "Now you got it." and his fist hit his chest one last time.

"You. Mi'ytiar. T-That's your name?" You asked and hoped you put the puzzle pieces together correctly.

Another nod before he pointed at you.

"Oh." You softly said, shifted your hips slightly, and nervously placed a hand on your own chest. “(Y/N). I'm (Y/N)."

“(Y/N).” Your voice sounded from his forearm when he touched his wristband. “(Y/N).”

You couldn't help the small smile and you nodded. "Yes. (Y/N)."

The creature — Mi'ytiar — lowly grumbled in appreciation and you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs with a laugh. You couldn't believe you talked, more or less, to something that undoubtedly didn't belong on earth while you were surrounded by death after being spared from something that would have scarred you for life just because you had been out drinking to have one last night in freedom until you would follow your father in an early grave. Your life really had taken a strange turn in just a few hours.

"What are you?" You asked him and tilted your head to the side.

"Hunter." He communicated with the help of his wristband.

"Where do you come from?"

"Sky."

"Sky." You repeated the child's voice and looked up.

So he came from the sky. You wondered if he meant the clouds or maybe the moon. It could be the stars for all you knew. Was he the only one living there, or were there more? Maybe one like him lived on each star the night sky had to offer.

As you were looking up in thought, Mi'ytiar took his time to admire you. You were, what you humans would use, adorable. He didn't hunt humans very often as they weren't much of a challenge, but sometimes he would visit earth out of curiosity. Your kind was interesting and his ancestors had been quite fond of them when they used them to breed their prey centuries ago. Humans have continuously developed from then to now, so it was fascinating to watch.

Like he watched you now. He admired your wide eyes, the curve of your nose, and your rosy cheeks that displayed the dried tear streaks of panic and fear. He admired the shape of your lips and the cut that had caused you pain when he touched it. He admired your shiny hair that had once been pulled up in a neat bun but was now hanging loosely and messily around your face, framing it like it was a piece of art. He admired your small, shaking hands that were desperately holding the ripped-open blouse together, protecting your modesty and the naked skin of your trembling shoulders when the fabric had slipped down to your biceps. You had been so incredibly warm and soft when he had touched what you were hiding now.

A quiet hiss got you to look back at him and you watched with uncertainty as his fingers first pulled on the one tube that was connected to his mask and then the other before he removed it anxiously slow. You mentally prepared yourself for the most horrific sight of your life, but when the top half of his face was laid bare, you sucked in a breath. It wasn't the foreign shape of his head, the texture of his skin, or the spiky triangle-shaped bumps that circled the sides and the back of his head like a crown, clearly dividing where the roots of his hair ended and his face started. It was his eyes, though an abnormal orange, that was salient and captivating you. They didn't look like what your wildest fantasies had to offer, but they somewhat seemed almost human — a black pupil surrounded by an orange iris. And not just any orange. It was the kind of orange that stretched across the sky at every sunrise and sunset. The only difference you spotted from your own eyes was that he had a black sclera instead of a white one.

You would have gotten lost in them if he hadn't removed the mask fully, so his lower face was showing too. You wouldn't exactly describe it as terrifying, but the sight of his mouth was, to say it simply, unnerving. It was hidden behind four tusks that represented his mandibles. You were fascinated when he suddenly made a clicking noise but were taken aback when he extended the fleshy texture to reveal two rows of teeth. It was like he had two jaws, one when the mandibles were retracted to his face and one when they were extended and showed his actual mouth. His upper jaw held three teeth with two larger fangs on each side, his lower jaw held the same amount only were they a little thinner, so his fangs wouldn't hinder his mouth from closing.

Even after the initial shock subsided, you wouldn't exactly use the word pretty, but there was something about him. Thrilling and particular, astounding and intriguing, but also alluring.

The longer you looked at him, at Mi'ytiar, the more accustomed you got to his appearance.

Another clicking sound reached your ears and you stopped mapping his features with your eyes, only now realizing how he looked down at you with his head tilted to the side. When you mumbled his name, almost as if it took all your courage, he straightened up and his eyes snapped to your hand that had loosened its grip on your blouse. He followed its movement, getting closer to his face, and when you turned your hand so your palm was facing him, his own hand reacted fast and grabbed your delicate wrist.

Bad idea, real bad idea, you thought. He wasn't exactly hurting you, but his grip wasn't exactly soft.

Instead of tugging against his hold in an attempt to free yourself that would obliviously fail, you let your arm go slack. Instead of panicking, you remained calm. Instead of screaming at him to let you go, you kept your mouth shut and waited for his next move. If you triggered him in any way, he would surely kill you.

Mi'ytiar, on the other hand, was amazed by you and in awe. He wouldn't be the first Yautja to be enthralled with a human in this kind of way, sure, but he hadn't expected to be one of them one day. You were extraordinary in the way you looked at him, didn't mind the proximity he had put you in, and apparently seemed to seek for it.

Contrary to what you believed, he pulled your hand closer to his face by the wrist, causing you to move from your side-sit on the floor to get on your knees. Your lips parted in surprise when he pulled his mandibles in and he himself brought your hand up to his cheek.

The sensation underneath your touch was unusual and new. His cheek wasn't like that of a human when you would press the fat until you could feel the jaw bone. It was springy, considering it was only a fleshy layer that covered his mouth. You moved your hand down to his outer jaw, which consisted of his mandible, and followed its length with your palm. You could feel the firm muscle and bone and gave it a gentle, experimental squeeze. Almost automatically, he made a soft purring noise like that one of a cat and you blushed at the possibility that he was enjoying the caress.

You, of course, had no idea that you were touching a highly sensitive part of his anatomy and would be alive to tell the tale afterward.

Just as you were curious about him, he was eager to explore you as well. Carefully, he reached out and through the ripped-open front of your blouse. Seconds later, his palm made contact with your stomach and he could feel how you tensed up. He looked up into your eyes, but when he found nothing that indicated that you despised his touch, his hand ran along to your waist and down to your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your belly. It was strange how you could feel his thumb near your navel and, at the same time, his other fingers on your lower back, taking the width of your hip like it was nothing.

The both of you were too busy in your explorations that you had grown ignorant to your surroundings, so when a scream filled the previously quiet alley, you grabbed his extended arm, not to push it away but to hold onto it in panic, while Mi'ytiar whirled his head around to the two outlines standing near the street at the end of the alley. Your body was hidden by his massive one, so it looked like a monster was kneeling among his freshly killed victims, basking in the glory of his crime.

Mi'ytiar's mandibles flared and the guttural roar that left his lungs made you cling to him in fear. Not of him, but the consequences that you would have to face if those who had stumbled upon this scene without context would call for the patrolling soldiers. You heard more screams and hastily retreating footsteps as the couple ran as if their lives depended on it.

Large hands grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up on his shoulder, causing you to squeal in surprise, and you had barely time to hold onto him before he started climbing up the metal scaffolding of the balconies of the apartment building, jumping up and landing on the roof. With an arm secure around your waist, he jumped and ran further and further away.

And you let him.

2024, Yautja Prime

"What you smiling for?"

And all of a sudden, those purred words were taking you from your past life to your current one. You hadn't even noticed you had stopped drawing random figures and forms on Mi'tyiar's naked chest. At some point, you had started daydreaming with that far-away look in your eyes and a smile slowly making its way on your lips as you were lying on him, between his legs.

"Just thought of the night we met." You drawled lazily and rubbed your cheek against his reptilian-like skin. "My hero in shining alien amour."

"My amour does not shine."

Now you had to laugh. Sometimes, you couldn't help yourself when he was so bluntly clueless. Humans and their analogies were oh-so confusing.

"It's a human saying, my love." You explained as you crossed your arms on his wide chest and rested your chin on them. "A male who saves a female from danger. A male who would sacrifice himself so the female can get away without harm."

Mi'ytiar reached towards your face and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek before he dragged it over your lower lip. You were dreamingly looking up at him, basking in his loving touch. You were placing your hand on his and turned your head to the side so you could pepper his palm with light kisses.

He couldn't help his body's reaction, he just couldn't. He was starved of your touch.

You suddenly stopped your sweet kisses when you felt something big poking your stomach. You looked down, although you could only see how your breasts were pressed against him, before you looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You are insatiable." You smirked and hoisted yourself up after placing one last kiss between his pecs.

You straddled his midriff but left enough space between you and him so you could reach underneath your body and grab his semi-hard cock. Even at this size, you had a little trouble fully embracing it and getting your fingertips to touch.

You hissed when you felt the familiar sting of his sharp mandibles and teeth digging into your skin. You tilted your head to the side and offered him more access. Mi'ytiar let out a feral growl when your blood finally hit his tongue. He relished in it, tasting so sweet, just like the rest of you.

Grasping your hips with both of his hands, his claws scratching your delicate skin, he pushed them down to his crotch.

He needed you again, needed to be so deep inside you, so he could see the bulge of his cock forming in your tummy. Just the thought of it made his hips snap up, barely missing your entrance and dragging his cock through your sopping wet folds that were covered with your combined releases from your last mating moments ago. It elicited a whiny moan and a wiggle of your hips.

"Stop teasing, tanhì. Put it in." You groaned and started rubbing yourself up and down his rock-hard cock, coating it with your mixed cum that was still leaking from your hole.

Mi'ytiar wrapped a large arm around you and started to get up, his other arm supporting himself to manhandle you on your back to be on top. The second your hazy mind registered what he was doing, you placed both of your hands on his chest and pushed him back down. You preened when his body immediately went slack, allowing you to do as you pleased with him.

He was staring up at you with flashing eyes. You didn't take the lead very often, preferring it to be dominated by your mate, but when you did, he was gladly giving you the power you wanted.

The first time you had tried to be on top, it had gone from steamy to ugly pretty quickly. You had been on your back when you tried to push him and switch your position, but since he had been unmovable like a rock, you had untangled yourself from him and told him to lie back. You were straddling his hips, humping his hardening cock for exactly thirty seconds before he flipped you over and on your back again. You had then mewled and tried to push him back once more, causing him to growl. For your attitude, he bit roughly into your throat, hoping it would keep you submissive. You let out a cry and hit his chest with both of your fists. This time, Mi'ytiar showed you his displeasure more vocally when he slammed his flat hands next to both sides of your head and roared right into your face. Safe to say, it scared the living daylights out of you and caused you to escape his caging arms. He, of course, followed you quickly and tried to amend his outburst with purrs and snuggles rather than words.

The next time you were on top, he vehemently focused on staying seated on the edge of your nest with you on his lap as you rode him with his helping hands on your hips. His eyes strayed from the spot where his cock was disappearing inside of you, to the bulge in your stomach that grew and shrunk with every movement, to your bouncing breasts, to your pleasure-contorted face.

After that, he couldn't get enough of you being on top.

The same was the case now as you slowly inserted his throbbing cock into your-

A wail broke the sensual atmosphere, causing the both of you to jerk your heads to the doorway connecting the room to the rest of your home. With your maternal instincts kicking in, you practically jumped up from your mate, his half-inside cock slipping from your tight heat, and ran to the room where the sound was coming from.

Mi'ytiar slumped back with a displeased grunt. He loved his pup dearly, truly he did, but he hadn't been able to mate with you for an eternity — five months, double the time the healer had advised you to keep from being intimate with each other after the pregnancy because a certain someone had been overly cautious with you — and his cock throbbed painfully at that sorrowful thought.

He got up from the nest and followed the direction you had run off to. Your five-month-old pup was sleeping alone in his room for only a short part of his life. Before that, his crib had been standing next to the nest in your room, quickly accessible and in reach should he need any sort of attention. Now, he was sleeping in his big brother's former nursery, which you had lovingly prepared when you had been pregnant with Akail, your first pup.

Mi'ytiar watched you standing in front of the crib in the middle of the room, your back to him, as you rocked the whiny pup in your arms. The wholesome thoughts of his beautiful mate taking such good care of his youngling quickly turned into an animalistic need to breed you once more when his eyes trailed over your curves that had gotten bigger after bearing his second son. They fixed on your legs where trails of semen were running down your skin from between your inner thighs.

He was faster by your side than you would expect from a being of his size. He pressed his bare body against your own, hands on your hips pulling you closer, his cock digging into your back. Mi'ytiar bent down to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck, purring lowly.

"He was just hungry." You whispered as you watched your pup falling back to sleep.

Bending over, you placed your little one back into his crib, careful not to disturb him. You had to bite your lip when you felt Mi'ytiar pull you back against his crotch to rub himself against your ass. All you needed to do was push your ass back into him for him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and turn to leave your son's nursery.

Giggling, you looked back to the pup's crib and whispered, "Dream of the stars, my little Toyah." before you got carried back to your nest.

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altcvnningham · 1 month ago

Text

of a demon in my view

william “case” calderon x f!reader

summary: when the team return to the rook after visiting the science facility in kentucky you hear a bump in the night. good thing case is back to protect you, right? (takes place after the 'emergence' mission. inspired by this post. please heed the tags!!) read on ao3

tags/cw: nsfw, dubious consent, f!reader, angst, (case is) under the influence (of the cradle), rough sex, size difference/kink, biting, choking, case is hung, animalistic/primal behaviour?? i guess?? reader is confused but loves case too much, case is obsessed w reader, aftercare (ish), author goes mad with power at the use of italics wc: 4.8k

a/n: umm sorry to case + the case enjoyers, i wish i’d written something softer for him first... trust that my first full nsfw fic on here would be icky nasty dubcon w poor confused reader. promise she likes it. since there’s not a whole lot of case content to base his characterisation on, i hope this suffices!! shoutout to lovely lacie @dearlydevoured, case's actual irl gf who put up w my brainrot while i wrote this <3 title from “alone”, edgar allan poe.

You wake gasping.

The bedroom is pitch black, offering little but a sliver of moonlight to orient yourself, cutting the room split in two as you try to discern what the hell that sound was. A slam, booming like thunder and carried in with the draft and the dust. It takes much to hear it across the old house, the Rook as big as it is barren, and it takes much more again to wake you. But whatever it is, it had, and your body jolts in its instinct to get up and investigate.

But as you do, you stop. You’re half a leg out of bed and a finger upon the nearby flashlight when you catch something in your periphery. You don’t even look at it head on- the figure in the open door. Just stare ahead at the wall and freeze, trying to clock if whatever stands there has spotted you sooner than you’d spotted it.

Any other night, Case would have awoken before you. Hell, he would have dealt with the problem himself before you’d even stirred. But the space in the bed where he usually sleeps is cold, and it had been all night- they’d left for Kentucky a couple days ago now, and you hadn’t received much word in between. Only a call from Marshall on the way back, to keep an eye on Case when he returns. That he wasn’t quite right.

But you know Case better than anyone. You know he already isn’t really quite right as he is; you never minded it, the odd pauses between words and the bitten tongue, like he’s always holding something back, or the distant way he sometimes seems to regard you from across a room, before the colour floods back to his face and he finds the courage to smile. Whatever warmth you possess encourages a similar feeling in himself, and Case had found himself sweet on you quicker than he would most. He sees in you a kindred spirit, maybe. A missing piece. Enough that when he sleeps next to you, the screaming stops. Most nights.

But whatever it is in the door, you’re almost sure it isn’t Case. Almost. Until—

Breathing. Quick, shallow, raspy. For a second it doesn’t even sound human, until you recognise it- the same sound when he wakes from a nightmare, the same panting in your ear when you hold him tight and let him ride it out. The fear, primal, pacified by your patience and care. Your heart tugs- it’s him. You know it’s him.

With that knowledge alone enough to brave your panic, you turn your head to the open door, and regard the figure stood in it with an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh, god, Case. It’s you. Jesus,” you huff, a hand clutched to your chest. “Scared the shit out of me.”

A smile, sheepish, spreads over your lips as he just stands there in the doorway, filling it with his shadow. Tall, stocky, broad-shouldered as he is, arms held stiffly at his sides as he just stands there, shapeless face cast in darkness. His hulking figure eclipsing the moonlight trying to come in from the hallway windows. You can’t see his expression, only the whites of his eyes, and though it’s hard to tell at first, they look to be open wide. And staring at you.

Your smile slowly drops. You sit up.

“Case? What’s wrong?”

But he doesn’t talk. Doesn’t say anything. Just- fucking- just stands there- just you and him, locked eyes, for a fleeting moment feeling like prey and predator at a stand-off in a too-open clearing. Vulnerable, is the feeling that creeps up your spine and staples you there, still and rigid in the bed.

There’s a pause. He blinks. You think he snaps out of whatever daze he’s in, because he comes into the room and kicks the door shut with his heel, but where he’d usually sigh, sit on the bed, and undress, he just moves straight towards you. Unhurried, but urgent. Single-minded in his pursuit.

Case’s knee dips into the mattress, sinking under his weight, and though you aren’t scared you feel the urge to move back into the bed, hitting the headboard in your scuffle.

“Case, you’re still dressed,” you worry, voice lilted like a question. He must suddenly notice, or perhaps hear your concern, because he glances down at himself, though decidedly mustn’t care at all- even as you go for the zipper of his windbreaker yourself, he’s wholly intent instead on closing in on you. Scarred hands curl around the headboard as he leans in to kiss you- no, to- smell you? He noses your hair, behind your ear, licking a greedy stripe up the side of your neck. You do your best to ignore it, focusing your quivering fingers upon the zipper, and somehow you manage to push the jacket off him and onto the floor. His hands are immediately on you then, dug into the back of your hair and cradling your skull as he kisses sharply along your jaw, your cheek, the corners of your babbling mouth.

“H-hey, um,” is all you can manage as you’re jostled by his movements. He isn’t rough, isn’t even hurting you, but his fingers dig into your arms and pull at your hair in a way that’s unfamiliar, uncharacteristically desperate, like you’ll slip into dust any second. It’s enough to make you wince. “Case- Case, c’mon. Talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, we can—”

“Want you.” Is all he says.

“What?”

“Want you,” he repeats, an animal grunt in an octave you’ve never heard before. It thrills you as much as it frightens you, but you steel your focus, more concerned than you are anything else. That excitement that tingles at the base of your spine is unimportant, insignificant in the grand scheme, when he’s acting so strange.

“Case, I think you should sit down a sec,” you say, trying gently to pry his hands off you, but he won’t budge. He’s stronger than you- much stronger- and before you can open your mouth to protest his hands are on your waist, pulling you out of the bed and stringing you out atop the blanket like you weigh nothing. “Wh- oh!”

You land with a hiccup, disoriented as he climbs on top of you, and in your befuddled state you’re half worried about shoes on the bed as he wedges a leg between yours, coarse grey cargo pants chafing your sleep-soft thighs. A tiny yip makes its way out of you as you bear the sudden weight of him- as is always so stifling, yet now seems suffocating- a thick scarred forearm braced in the pillow beside your head as he buries his nose in your neck, not quite kissing but breathing you in, huffing like a dog, something primal, savage.

It’s so unfamiliar, and yet so like Case; never having seen him this way but always sensed, known, that there lingered in him something like this, some growling thing seated deep inside just waiting to get out, biding its time and snarling. It frightens you, but not enough to fight it off. Just enough to lay there and let whatever thing that’s reared its ugly head in him feel you out, get its bearings of the girl trembling beneath him.

You catch a scent on his shirt then, tart as it wrinkles your nose. It’s a strange smell, acrid, not entirely unpleasant but foreign to you- like chemicals or detergent, coppery like blood but lacking its warmth. It clings to Case’s clothes like something parasitic. You breathe it in, and strangely it has a texture, almost like smoke, but whatever it is your body rejects it, tangled in a cough as your vision blurs. It’s enough then to just let him close over you as he likes, pressing your face to his hair instead as he mouths at your neck, starved.

You’re burned by the heat of him. Heavy as he envelopes himself around you, greedy hands moving down your body to touch and grab and grope, undecided whether he wants to be gentle, whether he can be, calloused hands like sandpaper as he slides them under your shirt. Your own hands try to turn his jaw so you might see his face and deduce the expression into an answer, a reasoning for his behaviour. But every touch you give has him shuddering beneath you, near enough purring as he careens his cheek into your hand, lapping up your warmth.

Case feels like he’s on fire. Tunnel-visioned. Drunk, almost. He’d cooled off whatever substance he’d breathed in that facility on the flight back to Bulgaria, but part of it still sticks to him like sap, simmering and seething all red and angry in a place inside he can’t reach. He’d claw it out of himself if he could, if he had the guts, but he swears he could smell you from the fucking front door- and by then it was over, decided for him before he even knew what he was doing. Something else took hold then, brutish and hungry, overcome with the base animal need to stalk, hunt, fuck.

His hands run down your body, kissing wetly into your open palm. You whimper frantic and confused as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your legs, falling frail as petals somewhere off the bed. You gasp as he pushes himself forward, hips bullying your legs apart, while he peels back your shirt to knead your breasts and latch his mouth upon a perked nipple with a moan.

“Hey, slow- slow down,” you rasp, barely a whisper, dying on an open-mouthed sigh as a spike of pleasure needles you. You can’t help it. It’s him, Case, always so soft with you, so slow and gentle, now pawing at you like he’d sooner die than go without touching you. Your hands knot into his hair as he sucks at your nipple, tangled at the base of his neck, unsure whether you’re trying to push him off or pull him closer. “I think we should- just- calm down and—“

“No,” Case says, a low noise, almost strangled as he unlatches himself from you, shaking his head. He sounds pained, sick, emitting a whine as he unfolds himself, hands wrestling with his belt. In your sudden shyness, feeling all too exposed, you pull your shirt down and make a move to close your legs, but Case’s hand nudges your knee, as thoughtless as if he were swatting a fly as he pries them back open.

“Gotta have you now, baby, I-I gotta,” he mumbles, repeating it under his breath over and over like a mantra. Is it for you to hear? Is it for himself? You don’t know. But even as you try and move his hand away it’s a hopeless thing. He’s firm, resolute. Won’t so much as let you budge. He slides his belt off with one hand, shoving his cargo pants and boxers down his hips, and stamps your arm back at the side of your head with the other, wrenched tight around your wrist.

“O-ow, careful, Case—”

Your words are cut short by a jarring thud. His cock thumps thick and heavy against your tummy, and wide-eyed, you freeze. Oh. Case tugs around the base to give it some hopeless attention, something, anything to take the edge off. The shock of it all pulls out a breathless whine from you. He’s never usually so forward. He rocks himself slow against you, moving his hips down, nudging your clit with the leaking head of his aching dick. It’s- it’s so much that you don’t know whether to stop him or just surrender, craning your neck down to try and catch a glimpse of- of—

Fuck, you forget how big it is. Every time. It always looks so much more intimidating than it feels, but that’s because Case has always been careful with you, patient, always working you up on his fingers first before even attempting to split you open on him, even then only feeding you inch by tentative inch until he’s seated nice and deep inside you. Eager, but takes his time with you, never in any rush to give his sweet girl what she needs.

But you have the feeling that this time is different. Not- not bad, but- different. His hands are hard on you, bruising, kisses impatient and starving, even the way he’s slowly fucking his tip against your clit, hazy-eyed and mindless as he watches himself slide the length of his shaft between your folds, so pink and sweet- it’s maddening. It’s only then that you realise you’re moaning, bleating like cornered prey.

As if suddenly reminded of the fact he ought to prep you, he shoves two fingers unceremoniously into his mouth, sucking them wet before pulling them out with a pop and delving his hand between your legs. It’s done so fast you flinch, a panicked sound pulled out of you. His usual patience is swapped with hurried desperation, a flit of his eyes to yours- your lips, your face, God, the prettiest thing he’s seen in his life- measuring your reaction. Your shock and confusion must be evident in your wilted expression, because he moves his fingers just a little slower, watching with enamoured reverence as your face flushes hot, savouring the way he can see the thoughts just spill out of your head like honey as it empties itself for him. So, so pretty.

“U-um—” you stammer, as dumb as the day you were born. You want to say something, want him to say something, but your mind goes blank. Whatever good sense might linger is gone- there’s only Case, much too broad and much too big in your bed as he looms over you. He slides his fingers against your clit, tender with need; he thumbs at your slick entrance, soaking his knuckle as he teases against it, and moans at how reflexively it clenches around him, begging to be filled. How badly it wants him. He barely humours your poor, needy pussy as he slides his middle finger inside, thick as it stretches you, just about managing the first knuckle before you keen, body bowing into him.

“G-God, Case, please—”

Sobriety spurs vaguely into him then, the light coming back into his eyes as he blinks down at you, strewn like a blushing favour over the pillow. His perfect girl, his. As he looks at you, he slides his finger out of you slowly, relishing with a faraway look on his face the way you crumple and cry, grasping at his wrist to try and pull him back in again. He thinks he’d go mad for it. For you, he thinks he’d die.

“S’okay,” he grumbles under his breath, a click of his tongue as he tuts at you like one might a skittish animal. He pulls back, lining his cock up with your soaked entrance, his pupils blown black, drunk. “I’m gonna make it better. M’gonna make it better, baby, I promise.”

He has to make it better. Has to. Has to apologise for what he’s doing, how he’s acting- he has to apologise for what he is, the thing growling inside him, tearing, clawing, screaming to get out—

He’s still sucking the syrup of you off his fingers as he pushes himself inside you, eyes rolling into the back of his head with a loud, broken groan. He’s so lost to the white haze of bliss for a second as your slick heat all but swallows him in, pushing only a little resistance at the sudden intrusion and God, he knows you’re not used to it so quick, so soon, but you’re his good girl, his baby, and he knows you can take it.

And you’re not quite used to the stretch even on a good day- feeling it rip into you now is near agony. Your mouth opens wide but not a sound comes out. Useless anyway, given Case bends down and closes his own around it, tongue delving hot inside to seek yours. It’s so fast and so much that you barely find time to adjust, just letting your mouth loll open and surrender itself to him as he tongues you, trying so hard to focus on accommodating to his cock pushing- forcing- its way into you, too much, too much, too big—

The hand around your wrist loosens as though some pliant drug has washed cold over him, and you open your eyes for just a second, enough to catch the way his dilate, black melting into the white before he sinks himself all the way inside you. Filling you to the hilt, suffocating. Bliss is written into every line of his face, softening as he lets out a whine. He bottoms out, and you see it in him- complete and utter relief. Some awful agony in him quelled immediately, his body slack against yours. He feels, in you, complete. Home.

It’s evident enough that it puts you at ease, whatever it is that’s compelled him like this. He’s not trying to hurt you. You don’t think. He’s just rather like a big dog that believes itself to be no larger than a puppy, unaware of its own weight and strength. Case’s body goes almost flat atop yours and the only way he notices at all is how it pushes a wheeze out of you, a silent beg for release.

But just then you feel his hips pulling back, cock sliding out of you inch by agonising inch. A whimpering plea is all you’re given to let out before he slams back into you again and fuck, it’s too much, he’s too big, you’re not used to—

“F-fuck, Case, wait—”

Your legs tremor involuntarily as they part further to let him closer, let him in, his hips welded to yours as he buries himself right to the fucking root of you. Case groans, delirious as his face falls against your shoulder.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Case- s’too much, you’re—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, an attempt at comfort that leaves you dizzier than it does much else. He licks a wet kiss to your neck, meant to calm you, but only riles himself up more, setting off a dormant bloodthirst in him; he does it again, and this time he- he bites you.

You squeal. “O-ow!”

Like an apology he can’t voice he laps his tongue flat against your skin, mulling hungrily over the bitten flesh like he’s savouring it. It’s only when he’s sated himself on you that his hips start moving, slow, languid thrusts that quicken each time you yelp, hurried pace picking up once he feels you clench reflexively around him.

And he’s usually so gentle when he fucks you, almost hesitant, always like he’s half afraid of breaking you. Not like this. He fucks into you mindlessly, a rabid thing with a single razor sharp splinter of desire- you. Wants you. Has to have you, has to split you open and- take you. Fuck you so there’s nothing left in him to think of or breathe in but you. Every thrust is merciless and messy, Case pounding into you again and again as the sound of him fucking into your wet cunt smacks luridly in the air; loud enough that it makes you wince, cringing to hear yourself so shamelessly, how your body makes itself so slick and malleable just for him. His hips slam into you faster than you can take it- but you can take it, you can, he insists, demands it, grunting it into your ear, baby, please, jus’ take it for me, take it take it take it—

Your orgasm slams into you, a violent punch that singes you hot-white and blind; your thighs clench around his hips of their own accord and pull him in even deeper- as if there’s any more room- unbidden as you cry out, wailing helplessly as he just- keeps- fucking you. Wave after wave of pleasure drowning you over and over and over. It almost terrifies you, how willingly gone your body leaves itself, all sense and reason fleeing you all to make room for this- him.

You babble incomprehensibly as you ride it out, words lost in your throes of euphoria, smothered completely beneath the sweet and tender violence of him, your ravaged cunt milking and just taking him in its refusal to let go.

You don’t know if you’re crying- it all feels so good you can barely make sense of where you are- but through the red haze of it all you feel Case’s hand cup your cheek, caress your face, mumbling choked apologies into your shoulder as he keeps impaling you on his cock, chasing his pleasure into you. It’s the sweetest thing, his voice very almost pathetic, incongruous to the way the rest of him seems dead-set on pummelling you into the mattress as he garbles a knotted string of I’m sorry, baby, can’t help it, s’too good, I’m sorry—

As if you’d even care if he wasn’t. As if you wouldn’t let him break you and cradle the pieces in his mottled hands. As if you wouldn’t let him carve out a home inside of you, broken and bloodied, and nestle himself within. Where no one can hurt him ever again, where nobody could ever find him. Nobody but you.

You’d promise him that much, you think- the times when he wakes up screaming in the night, when he sits up in bed and stares empty at the wall, when mid-conversation he’s just suddenly stunned into white-noise silence, the Case you know, the Case that’s yours, absent for but a moment. Replaced by something else entirely, something you’re not quite sure you recognise. You take him then, like you take him now, your body so dumb and fragile in his big arms as he fucks you hard, cock punching into you so bad you go dizzy.

And isn’t this much like that? Don’t you love him even now, as he is? While he violently breaks you?

“C-Case,” you choke, his chest pressed so tightly to yours you can hardly breathe. His hand snakes up your neck, closing around your throat with a satisfied moan, stars dotted in your view. You feel something cresting again, down your legs, up your spine, the back of your neck— “Oh, god, Case, please, I’m gonna—”

But you don’t know what you’re gonna. It hits you before you can even find out. You come again, you think, some viciously delectable feeling severing you and flinging your body straight up off the mattress, holding him to you, begging him closer, as though he could be any more than he already was. Flesh melting into flesh, sweat sticky and waxen, indistinguishable from his. Inseparable. As you cry out again, he groans, thick and low and not quite human, spilling himself so deep inside you that you feel it pooling hot in your gut, molten sweet; your own climax is slow, tender agony, gorging you open, rippling warm and pink behind closed eyes like the thin warbling of blood in water… and then… and then…

It’s a short moment later, or maybe a few, when the black spots in your vision clear.

You’re staring up at the ceiling, cracked white, a picture much like Case’s eyes had been in the doorway, veins struck blood lightning across marble sclera. He’s there too, you can hear him, his voice a distant echo as you feel large hands cup your face, your whole world oscillating.

It’s bliss. It’s perfect. You lie there, barely coming to, your body sinking into the mattress as though you weren’t even there, floating, feeling so, so nice.

When the shadow pulls over your vision, you smile. Case holds himself over you, his thumb peeling back your eyelid, letting out a choked sound of relief when your eyes, lucid, finally fix on him.

“Oh- oh, thank god- oh- baby, I’m so—”

He scoops you up like a ragdoll in his arms, clutching you so tight to his chest that you can feel the erratic thrumming of his heart, quick as a rabbit’s to the slow drum of yours. A series of strangled noises leave him as he buries his face into your shoulder, wet, whether from kisses or crying, you don’t know- but you know that you love him, and he’s yours. It’s the only thing on your emptied mind as your face burrows against him, breathing him in. That strange chemical smell is long gone now, enveloping you back into the warm embrace of pine and petrichor, the smell of home. Of him. It’s all you can think of, the only thing you can form into words, when you mumble, exhausted, into his chest.

“‘Love you, Case.”

And he must hear it, because his heartbeat slows then, decelerating a steady hum to match your own. His death grip on you loosens, his body going slack as he falls into you. Whatever noise that screams endless in his mind seems to cease, because through it all he hears you, hushing and cooing at him as you pull your fingers softly up his arm, pulling him slowly, slowly, down into bed. You stay still as he sifts frantic hands over you, smoothing you over like he’s trying to keep the shape of you, checking you like he would for bruises. You know this is his way of taking care of you, of fixing you, of making everything right and keeping his precious baby together with all her pieces intact; he kisses you slow but trembling, lips finding every swath of skin he knows he’s bitten, pinched, groped too hard.

“Didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, quiet and worriedly into your hair. He kisses, again and again. “Didn’t mean to be so rough. Didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you whisper, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Look- feel.”

You find his hand in the dark, pulling it around yourself to press it against your chest, your heart beating heavy against his palm. You keep it there, proof of your wellness, showing him you’re unharmed. Where it matters, anyway. You’re so strung out from your orgasm that all you can do, want to do, is just lie there and hold him, body limp and satisfied in spite of it all.

It’s just that, then, quiet, the soft sounds of his breathing slowing in time to yours, a conscious effort to calm himself, to prove to you that he can be, that he isn’t that thing that lingered in the doorway glowering at you- to prove to himself that he isn’t a monster.

He tells you again that he’s sorry, but you just tut your forgiveness and shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. And he tries to tell you why, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. Just the voice in the back of his head again, the knife kept lodged in his throat all this time. We don’t talk about that. His vision warps, chromatic as he blinks away pictures of the lab, the lights, the Cradle. We can’t talk about that.

Case just sighs then, settling into your arms and cocooning himself around you like he’s not the very thing he’s trying to protect you from. He thinks he tells you he loves you too- that, at least, he knows is his- but he isn’t sure if you hear, fallen asleep before you can utter a response.

He just looks at you, and he’s completely besotted. Utterly and madly. He kisses you sweet and gentle, stamping his one last apology as soft fingers thread through your hair. He’ll fix it, he vows, for you, for you. Then he slides in next to you, curling his arms around your tummy to pull you in close, swearing until he falls asleep to make good on that promise. Then, as sleep slowly takes him, there are no more bumps in the night.

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owliellder · 1 year ago

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Final Word Count: 22.6k

Author's Note: Ta-da! I put a lot of work into this last chapter, like actually becoming the president for a couple hours, but I really wanted to make it worth everyone's time for sticking around and reading all the way through.

Thank you so much for following along! All the sweet comments from you guys never fails to make my day!

^//v//^

Cross posted on AO3

The Reveal

Almost three months.

It took almost three months for Leon's portrait to fully dry after it had been varnished. You'd checked it almost daily after the two month mark due to Leon's constant pestering. He was understandably antsy, and admittedly, you were too.

There was a lot of convincing involved, but you managed to keep the man at home while you transported the painting to the White House. He worried it would be damaged en-route. Such a little worry wart.

Setting up the painting's respective spot a column away from Chris and Claire's seemed very appropriate; tall, fake bushes sitting on either side of where it would be placed, a warm yellow bulb lighting up the inside of the decorative archway, and the patterned golden frame where the canvas would forever be now hung empty in that portrait hallway, waiting to be pieced together and completed.

The shiny gold placard had already been screwed onto the frame, words zapped on it via laser:

Leon S. Kennedy

USSTRATCOM Agent from 1998 - 2011

D.S.O. Agent from 2011 - 2017

You knew how long he'd been working as an agent, but it was still baffling nonetheless. Nearly 20 years of non-stop intense and usually very traumatizing work, what a feat.

Moving on, you'd worked out the plans for Leon's farewell party with the President and a few coordinators over the span of a few days, making sure to store the painting in a secure room for the time being. It was to stay covered with a violet piece of velvet cloth up until the reveal at the party, no one was allowed to see it besides you, the President, and the various security guards working the grounds.

After another two extra months of waiting, the farewell party was drawing near. There had to be enough time given for invitations to be sent out to people, wait for said people to RSVP, and allow travel time. And at this point, Leon was busting at the seams; extremely nervous, excited, and even a little scared at the prospect of it all.

Your words from that second painting session all those months ago never left his mind: "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

The man clung to that, doing his best to internalize it and mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He was hoping you were exaggerating, but from what Chris, Claire, and even Jill have told him about their experience after the fact, he knew deep down that you'd seen it all too well before.

What Leon failed to realize was that he wasn't alone anymore. Sure he had his friends to help, but he'd never had someone to come home to everyday.

During the last few sessions, he had asked to stay with you at your apartment, citing the potential aftermath of the party as reasoning. However, you really didn't need him to explain his reasoning, you would've let him. Even if he just felt like it, you would've welcomed him with opened arms.

Besides, he'd already been staying at your place for longer periods of time over the months. You'd visited his house a few times, but he made sure to whine and complain about how bare and boring it was. If you remember correctly, Leon had said, word for word, that your apartment "felt like a warm hug". With that, he shelled up with you in only a couple weeks before the painting had dried. He made special effort to learn your routine, wanting to give you the space that you needed while also maximizing his time spent with you.

Leon was an actual angel, you were wholeheartedly convinced. Some days you would come home after working on another painting to the man cooking dinner, having bought an expensive wine to share with you. When your hands would start to ache and your back and shoulders were sore from the long hours spent holding a paintbrush in an awkward hunched position, he would set aside anything he had going on just to give you all the massages, kisses, and love that you could ever want.

Nothing was ignored when it came to you and your wants and needs. Leon admitted awhile back that he felt guilty for intruding on your space, though you were very quick to shut that down. He was far from a burden, actually lining up more with a dream come true.

And just like he did with you, you spared nothing while getting to know the in's and out's of the man that occupied your mind, heart, and home. You learned his favorite meals, watched his favorite shows and movies with him, returning the massages when he would return from the gym, and paid extra attention to how he liked to be held at night. Who would've guessed that the Leon Kennedy loved to be the little spoon?

What you spent the most time on was making sure to listen when he suddenly went on tangents about his past. They really did haunt him. You would wake up in the middle of the night to him huddled at the top of the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and head between his knees as he did his best to cry quietly. All you could do for him in those moments was pull him against your chest, gently rocking him back and forth while whispering sweet nothings, just until he felt either ready to talk or ready to fall back asleep. If he just wanted more comfort, then that's what he got, obviously.

He was only recently put on a couple medications to help him better manage his PTSD and anxiety since he really had to cut back on the alcohol in order to take them the way he needed. Definitely worth it to both you and him seeing as his nightmares lessened in intensity and frequency.

Now here you were, straightening out Leon's tie for him since his hands were failing him, nerves getting the better of him. He had taken his meds a few minutes ago, wanting to have the full effect during the party to combat any destructive behaviors during it, so it was no wonder his hands were still trembling.

"You're going to do so well, Leon." You smiled, giving him a gentle pat between his pecs after tucking his tie into his suit jacket. He was staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he stared at himself in the mirror. "You've made so much progress and I couldn't be any prouder."

He licked his dry lips before slowly looking down at you, giving you the best smile he could, which was really just him pulling his lips back tight. If it weren't for you constantly being around to encourage him and push him to get better, he would not be able to attend his own farewell party.

How had he managed to get so far without this level of love and care? Where would he even be without you? Hopefully later when his mind isn't racing a million miles per minute, Leon will be able to tell you just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Leon watched you in the mirror as you walked around to stand behind him, straightening out his suit jacket in random spots until deciding to just wrap your arms around his midriff, pressing the side of your face against his back with a content sigh. He brought his still-trembling hands up to hold onto your arms, rubbing his thumbs up and down across your soft skin.

His eyes settled back on his own face after staring at your arms linked around him, letting out a shaky sigh of his own as he attempted to just focus on this moment. You were perfect, ethereal, a true work of art. He wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

It took some time, about an hour, before Leon's medication was starting to kick in. You were definitely a big help, he couldn't give all the credit to his meds.

His relaxed demeanor wasn't easy to spot, the man was just naturally rigid, but you waited until he let you know that he was ready; ready to go to his farewell party, ready to see the portrait you painted for him, ready to put in the effort into accepting the next chapter in his life.

The drive to the White House was seamless, having been picked up in a blacked out SUV that held four personal guards, courtesy of the President. Leon wasn't going to complain, he actually kind of liked the pampering effect that came with being driven around by a dedicated entourage.

Almost all good feelings were drained from Leon when the car finally pulled up to the front of the White House where more guards stood waiting to escort the two of you inside. It was still early in the night, but the sun had set long ago, making for quite the beautiful atmosphere.

He could see numerous party attendees walking up the stairs, dressed up in their fanciest outfits for him. He held your hand the entire way up the stairs and into the entrance hall with a grip that was sure to leave your hand hurting. No matter, you could tell he needed you. That vice grip he had was well worth it for his comfort.

There were quite a few more people than either you or Leon expected. It seems as if all available agents, young, old, and retired, had been sent an invitation for tonight, along with quite a few high-ranking government workers. Luckily, this was a private event; no reporters, no news, only those who had been fortunate enough to be invited.

The first to spot you two was Chris who quickly made his way over to pull Leon into a bone-crushing hug, giving him a few solid pats on the back before letting go. Leon only reciprocated the hug with one hand, the other refusing to let go of yours, though his grip had loosened by now.

"Where's Claire?" Leon muttered, leaning to the side to scan over the sizeable crowd. "She's.." Chris turned around to also scan the crowd, squinting a bit as he looked. "She's somewhere. My wife is with her, her family, and Jill."

Leon pursed his lips with a curt nod, humming quietly in acknowledgement before standing straight again. He glanced down at where his hand held yours, squeezing it again for just a second as if to remind himself that you haven't gone anywhere.

Chris had turned back around to see the small gesture Leon gave to you, a coy smirk on his face. "What uhh... what's all this, huh?" He subtly pointed between you and the other man, voice lowered.

Leon cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear despite the volume in the hall. "... M'gonna save that for the-.. the speech." Chris just nodded, crossing his arms before slowly turning to look through the crowd again. "Alright, well, let me go find the family and bring them over before you're swarmed." And with that, Chris made his way back into the crowd.

Unfortunately, Leon had been spotted by the rest of the partygoers before Chris could return with everyone. Many pleasantries were repeated while also returning small talk with the people he recognized, which was a lot. You managed to avoid most of it, only being questioned a few times due to the rather obvious hold the man had on you. Despite having attended the last few parties like this, most people unable to recognize you as the artist. A blessing and a curse.

The next couple hours were spent eating finger foods, conversing with whoever, and enjoying the way Leon started to flow with the event. He soon found his way to Chris, Claire, their partners and kids, and Jill which really helped him loosen up. He needed the more familiar faces, having now let go of your hand fully to talk more animatedly with them. You made sure to stick by his side as long as you could, letting out a soft laugh every time you noticed his quick glances over to you to check if you're still there.

The time eventually did come for you to part with Leon, signaling a couple guards to follow you down a few hallways until reaching the room where the portrait sat, still covered with the violet cloth. The decision to keep it back here for so long was made by the President, wanting less of a sudden reveal and more of a build up.

Normally it would already be hanging in the entrance hall, covered and ready to be revealed, but not wanting to risk any potential damage, you were asked to hold off bringing it in until the President was ready to give the speech leading up to Leon's.

It'd been set in the golden frame rather quickly with the help from one of the guards that walked down with you. You had the guard to hold it up for you so you could give it one final good look before he was instructed to lead you back. After recovering, you took the portrait in both hands, holding it close as you were escorted back through the halls and into the main entrance hall.

By now everyone had directed their focus closer to the center of the back wall. Next to where the President stood, your own art easel was now set up. That was mostly as homage to you and it wasn't like anyone besides you would understand that it's yours, though Leon did pick up on that little feature. He'd been staring at the back of that thing for months, counted the various old streaks of paint on the pale wood over and over.

It made his farewell all the more personal, struggling to mask the feeling of the ever-growing pit in his stomach from the friends he was still standing next to.

The sound of a mic being tapped drew everyone's attention in to the President, the volume in the hall quieting to a whisper, soon completely silent as he began to speak into the mic;

"Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you to honor and pay tribute to a true hero, a dedicated public servant, and a loyal friend who has served our nation with unwavering dedication for the past 19 years. It is with great respect and admiration that I address you on this occasion, as we bid farewell to a remarkable agent who has exemplified the very best qualities of service and sacrifice." As the President spoke, Leon held his breath, hands gripping onto his suit jacket to keep from trembling again.

At this point, you'd silently walked along the side with the guards from before, bringing the covered portrait up to the front before carefully placing it on your easel. "Throughout this nation's history, these agents have played an essential role in ensuring the safety and security of our nation's people and have consistently placed their lives on the line to protect the sanctity of our democracy. And today, we acknowledge one agent who has done so with unparalleled devotion."

"This retiring agent has been a silent sentinel, ensuring the continuity of our democratic ideals. Through countless hours of training, vigilance, and selflessness, they have demonstrated a level of commitment that is nothing short of extraordinary. But beyond their exceptional professional duties, this agent has been a friend and a confidant to those of us privileged to work alongside them. They have been a source of strength, a steady hand in turbulent times, and a symbol of the unbreakable bond that can form within the ranks of those who dedicate their lives to service."

You positioned yourself opposite of the President, placing your hands behind your back to keep your posture tall as you now smiled at the crowd, subtly scanning for Leon. His eyes were already on you when you found him, and your smile only widened further.

It prompted his own nervous smile, toying with the buttons on his jacket while turning his attention back to the President, wanting to remain respectful to his, honestly, very flattering speech so far. You followed Leon's eyes, seemingly having the same idea to just watch and listen.

"The sacrifices made by our agents often go unnoticed by the public, and that is by design. Their commitment to duty is matched only by their humility. But today, we pause to recognize and celebrate this retiring agent's dedication, valor, and sacrifice." The President continued to address the attendees in the room, giving you a quick nod before returning his focus to everyone in the entrance hall.

The President outstretched his hand towards Leon standing in the crowd, now staring at him with a prideful yet relaxed look. "To Mr. Leon S. Kennedy, our retiring agent and loyal friend, thank you for your 19 years of dedicated service to our nation. May your retirement be filled with the peace and contentment that you so richly deserve. You leave behind a legacy of honor and courage that will never be forgotten." The crowd of attendees clapped and cheered briefly, causing Leon to reach his hand up to wipe across his face. A poor way to hide his red face. He's done that before, hasn't he?

Once the crowd quieted back down, the President finished his speech with a classic, "May God bless you, your family, and may God continue to bless the United States of America. Thank you" before the crowd picked back up cheering and clapping. You clapped along with them, laughing at Leon's flustered expression. He could barely hold back his smile, not really have expecting to be so well recognized for his service.

Leon's queue to make his way to the front was when the President walked over to stand next to you, making sure not to block the covered portrait from anyone's view. He'd recited this speech to you countless times, even more to himself when he was alone, but all those eyes staring at him were causing him to fumble. He messed around with the mic once he was standing in front of it, and that was your queue to walk over and stand next to him, placing a loving hand on his forearm.

That's all he needed, just a little extra encouragement from the person he relied on the most. His speech was short and straight to the point, never having been a man of professional word, yet he still managed to slip in some words of praise for you and all the help you provided him during his rough patch earlier in the year.

Neither you or Leon had outright said it to each other, let alone to anyone else, but hearing him announce to the entire hall of people that you were his girlfriend made your heart soar. Speaking about you calmed his nerves, and he wanted everyone to know just how lucky he felt, like he'd hoped for earlier.

He bent over slightly to whisper in your ear, covering the mic with his hand to make sure it didn't pick up his voice. "Now, why don't you go ahead and show us all that masterpiece you spent months working on?" Oh, now you were the flustered one, giggling nervously as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before walking over to where the painting sat on the easel.

"Ladies and gentleman," Leon's eyes followed you as he straightened his posture out, speaking into the mic once more with a wide smile gracing his features, "I'm honored to have the wonderful artist herself present my very own portrait to you." As he spoke, you carefully lifted the cloth from where it was draped over the painting, finally revealing the ever-awaited portrait to everyone.

Just like with Chris and Claire's, Leon was sat in that soft maroon chair, slightly off center, but his position was different with his right ankle rested atop his left knee, elbows on the arms of the chair while his hands rested in his lap, fingers interlaced. His smile was soft and partially crooked while he looked forward with relaxed eyes, a few strands of hair painted to sit in front of his brow. And to tie it all together, it had a lovely green background, a dark forest green as the base while a sage green was used to add texture. The vintage look had always been your favorite, and Leon fit it so perfectly. He was nearly timeless.

Many "ooo's" and "ahh's" were heard amongst the clapping from the crowd, along with a handshake from the President. Before you could turn to face Leon, you felt his arms slowly slink around you from underneath your arms, the weight of his head now pressing down on your shoulder. You could feel his grin when he tilted his head to kiss your jawline, beginning to gently rock you side to side. Getting to show off your work was always so rewarding, but just knowing Leon was handling everything so well was a feeling you'll truly never forget.

He was happy. That's all you ever wanted for him. The man has truly earned his portrait in that agent hall of fame.

The portrait was soon brought down to the aforementioned hall to be hung up and displayed for good, a few small groups trailing down to get a better look at it. Chris was the noisiest about it, telling Leon it looked like it belonged above a grand fireplace, to which said man agreed with.

Chris, Claire, Jill, and their respective families stared at it for quite some time alongside Leon and you. They all chatted while Leon stared quietly, taking in every little fine detail you'd added. You changed his position some, and did he really smile at you like that? He really did look lovestruck. Of course only he could tell that. Hopefully.

He surprised himself with how okay he felt after seeing the painting. You warned him multiple times that it would most likely be overwhelming and emotional, and while it was, it wasn't in a bad way. The most compelling thought he had right now was to just sweep you off your feet and smother you with love.

Leon asked one of the guards to take a picture of him with everyone, including you, in front of his portrait. Then, just a picture of you and him standing in front of it, easily becoming the background on his phone.

The party went on for only an hour or so more before people started to trickle out. You and Leon were some of the first to leave, saying all your thanks and goodbye's with hugs and handshakes.

The moment the two of you walked into your apartment he practically pounced on you before the door had shut, large hands gripping tight on your hips as he sloppily made out with you. He just had to show his gratitude for all your hard work.

Your lips tasted so sweet and your soft little moans were driving him wild, he couldn't help the groan that rumbled from his chest. Full blown sex had been held off by you, not wanting to rush him into anything while you helped him manage his problems. Honestly, he was glad you'd held off on him, because now that he was feeling like his own person again, it made waiting all the more fulfilling.

Leon hoisted you up into his arms after you'd kicked your heels off, holding onto the back of your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling against his lips as he carefully navigated around the short hallway and into the bedroom.

You looked so good splayed out on the bed for him, that beautiful dress you chose was insanely flattering on you. It had to go though, so after yanking off his jacket he made quick work of your dress, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before pulling it up and over your head. Your bra and panties didn't last either. He'd only gotten to see you naked a couple times before, but god, he'll never get tired of seeing you this way, acting all shy like you weren't his favorite view.

Leon was so eager to get his hands on you that he neglected to take off his suit, opting instead to hover over you and bury his face into your neck. He wasn't a good artist, but he loved to cover your neck in shades of red and purple like you were his own little painting, akin to leaving his signature all over you.

He only pulled away once you tugged on his hair, listening to your begs and pleas for him to get his clothes off. As much as he wanted to prolong this night and tease you, he couldn't hold himself back. He needed to feel your soft skin against his.

"So perfect." Leon mumbled against your skin, licking and kissing his way up your stomach and to your breasts after practically ripping off his clothes. His hands found their way back to your hips, pressing them firm against the bed to keep you from squirming away as he nipped at one of your nipples, pulling it into his mouth.

He moaned as he sucked and circled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes falling closed. The other couldn't stay neglected, so he brought one hand up to pinch and tug at your other nipple, sighing when he felt your body press against his as you arched at the sensation. He loved when your moans would pitch, so cute.

His cock was pressed against the inside of your thigh, rutting against it when you would tug at his hair. Once he decided your nipples had enough attention, he sat up and grabbed the backs of your knees to place around his waist. The new position offered Leon the perfect opportunity to drag his leaking cock through your folds, pressing it down with his thumb so the tip would nudge your clit with every slow thrust forward.

You were so wet, so delicate. He could've fucked you right then, slid right into that juicy little pussy, but he needed to take care of you first. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Reluctantly, the man pulled his dick away from you, letting out a poorly concealed whine at the loss. He ran his hands up your thighs before moving one hand so he could circle your clit with his thumb, the other hand back on your hip to keep you steady.

"L-eon~!" You brokenly moaned out, pleading to him with your watery eyes. You needed more; his fingers, his cock, anything. He couldn't say no to that, stopping his assault on your clit to drag his middle and ring finger through your drenched folds to wet them properly. He brought your right leg to sit over his shoulder, hand gripping the top of your thigh as he leaned forward, studying your face closely as he gently teased the outside of your slit with his middle finger.

He moaned with you as he slid his finger in, keeping his eyes trained on you as he started to tentatively thrust his finger in and out. "Yeah?" Leon whispered, licking his lips as you barely managed to nod. "Yeeeaah, there's my girl..." The rumble in his voice was music to your ears.

His ring finger was soon slid in next to his middle finger, switching between scissoring you and making a partial 'come here' motion with them. After only a couple minutes you were leaking all over his hand and the bed, the wet sounds of your pussy mixed with your moans making his cock jerk and drip with precum. Leon clenched his teeth as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, immediately bringing them to his mouth to suck off your juices. He let out an audible sigh after swallowing, repositioning his dick to slide through your folds a couple more times before nudging your hole with the tip.

"Look at me, baby..." Leon's hushed demand brought you to open your eyes, if only half way. He made eye contact with you before leaning forward further to kiss you, all the while finally pushing into you. He soaked in your gasp, his eyebrows furrowing as you tensed up. "Relax.. let me in~..."

"It's only me.." He panted, tilting his head to kiss the corner of your mouth as your eyes shut again. "It's only me, baby..." he repeated this a few more times as he eased his cock inside of you, the stretch only stinging for a moment before it turned to pleasure. He filled you perfectly, you could feel every bit of him, especially with his right hand adding a bit of pressure to your stomach.

Leon sat still for a minute to give you time to adjust, taking the way you moved your hips as a sign to move. He pulled out, all the way to the tip, before slowly thrusting back in. He managed to choke out a quiet "Fuck-.." when you clenched around him. "Taking me so well.. such a big girl~.."

He always knew just how to talk to you, making sure to take his time buttering you up. You were putty in his hands, and between his words and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside of you, you could barely think.

It didn't take long for him to start to lose his composure, the sound of wet skin slapping together filling the room as his thrusts intensified. "All mine. All for me." The grip he had on your thigh was sure to leave a bruise, but that was the last thing on your mind.

The hand he had pressing on your stomach moved further down so he could circle your clit with his thumb again, jaw tight as he looked from your blissed out expression to where his hand was playing with you. "Oh fuck! That's it!" Leon growled, eyes glued to your cunt as he plunged in and out of it. "Cream this dick, mamas~... Cum on my cock so I can fill this pretty pussy up.."

The way you gasped and moaned when you came was enough to warrant a noise complaint, but screw your neighbors. You needed this just as much Leon did.

"Oohhh fuck yeah.. Milk me, baby~... shit-" Leon's thrusts stuttered to a stop while pressed flush against you, abs flexing as he pumped ropes of cum into you. Once you managed to open your eyes, all you could do was stare at the man, flushed pink and sweaty, sitting between your legs. Both of you moaned in tandem as he pulled out, Leon groaning to himself as he watched his cum drip from your pussy. Truly a work of art meant for his eyes only.

He leaned over you again to plant a quick kiss on your lips, chuckling when he felt you smile. "Let me go grab something to clean you up, okay?" You could only nod in response, reaching your hand up to caress the side of his face before he stood up from the bed. He walked across the hall into the bathroom, wetting a soft rag with warm water before making his way back over to you.

Leon made sure to be gentle when cleaning you, the warmth from the rag soothing your tender skin. You were able to sit up on your elbows and watch him, using his gentle touches as a way to calm your still racing heart.

After wiping himself off with the rag, he tossed it over in the general direction of your laundry basket. It was a problem for later. Right now, he wanted lay back on the bed and pull you up so you could lay on top of him. Along with just how nice it felt to hold you, he loved the weight of you on him. So that's what he did, pulling you onto him after laying on the bed, running his fingers though your hair on the back of your head.

"Leon." You muttered against his collarbone. His eyebrows raised, yet his eyes were closed. "Mm?" His right eye peaked open when he felt you giggle. "What?"

"I love you." His fingers paused their ministrations at your words. You lifted your head up to look at him, growing worried with his shocked expression. "Sorry, is that too-" you choked on your words, stopped mid-sentence by Leon's arms suddenly squeezing the breath out of you with a very tight hug. He pulled you up just a little further so he could smush his lips against yours.

"I love you too!" He breathed out excitedly. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you!" You tapped his arm and he immediately relaxed his grip, mumbling a small, "Sorry, my bad.." when you took in a deep breath.

"You're adorable, Leon." You shook your head with a smile, brushing the hair from his face to give him a much gentler kiss before settling you head back against his chest with a quiet sigh.

Leon was still a tough man, but you made him soft. Only ever soft for you.

Side note: I totally forgot to add in the pussy eating i am so sorry. i thought i did but it was literally just a thought that never manifested 😭

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @mi-zer-y @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason)

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ladykailitha · 10 months ago

Text

Across a Crowded Room

*grumbles* I can't believe this IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CUTE AND SHORT! Not only has it gotten a little angsty in middle there, it's about to breach 10k words. And I'm not even CLOSE to the ending.

The fuuuucckkkkk.

I was meant to be working on other things. Like editing a story to be beta'ed so I can put it on AO3 for you all, extending Batshit soulmates because I was skipping over too much, and wrapping up Glitters.

Guess who did none of those things because this story consumed my soul?

ME!!!

I will be posting this on Saturday as it's not one of my regular WIPs.

Enjoy. *sniffs* I guess.

Summary: Modern, no monsters AU. After they all graduated from high school the older teens drifted to other parts of the country. And while Steve and Eddie have made short trips to see each other, usually with the whole, they really haven't spent much time in the same room in years.

That all changes when Eddie is able to spend a week in Chicago with Steve and Robin.

But when Eddie sees Steve for the first time in years, he gets scared. Will have the courage to walk across that crowded room to be with Steve?

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

Eddie hadn’t seen Steve in years. After high school when they became friends through mutual parenting of six absolutely terrifyingly smart teenagers, they kinda went their separate ways.

Steve and Robin had gone to Chicago for college and Eddie and his band had gone further west to LA to try and make it as metal artists.

This is was the first time in a really long time that their schedules lined up. They talked all the time. Friends on all their social media. But they hadn’t seen each other since they said goodbye in Steve’s driveway four years ago.

Eddie was standing at the bar entrance where he was supposed to be meeting Steve, just staring at him.

God, he had been gorgeous in high school. Because of course he was. Captain of the basketball team, co-captain of the swim team, and the baseball team’s best hitter.

But he looked even more so now.

His honey colored, wind tussled hair had grown out a bit. A lock of hair flopped devastatingly in front of one of his hazel eyes. He had filled out some, once thin and wiry, now deep chested and toned. Even in the winterscape hell that was Chicago, Steve’s skin was warmly tanned.

He was laughing with a group of people and never had Eddie felt more out of place in his life, and that was saying something. He had been dropped off at his Uncle Wayne’s when he was twelve. Been nicknamed the “Freak”. And had always been flamboyantly himself: a big, gay, metal loving geek.

Eddie was about to turn around and go back the way he came when a familiar voice called his name.

He turned around and there was Robin Buckley. Steve’s platonic soulmate and best friend.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“Did you just get here?” she asked brightly.

Eddie nodded. “My flight was delayed three times. I haven’t even been to my hotel yet.”

Robin winced. “That sucks.” She looked at him more closely and he gulped. “You weren’t thinking of cutting and running were you?”

“Me?” Eddie said, dramatically clutching his hands to his chest. “I would ne–”

She raised an eyebrow at him, effectively shutting him up.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Eddie said mournfully, “until I got here. He just looks so happy. He doesn’t need someone like me coming back into his life like a wrecking ball.” He pulled out his phone and waved it at her. “Once I can get this charged, I’ll message him and tell him my flight got canceled and that’ll we’ll reschedule.”

She looked at his phone and then back up at him. “What happened to your phone?”

“My charging cable port snapped,” he grumbled. “And it died after the first delay.”

Again she winced in sympathy.

“You’re in love with him,” she said, “aren’t you?”

Eddie sighed and looked back over at Steve. One of his friends must have told a joke because Steve was laughing so hard his eyes were mere slits. He looked back at her and he sighed.

“The sky is blue, Midwestern winters suck,” he muttered, “and I’m in love with Steve Harrington.”

Robin rolled her eyes, then she got this calculating grin on her face.

“Uh oh.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said slyly, “you let me do a little experiment with a small wager. If I win, you man up and tell him how you feel. If you win, you can tell him that your trip has been cut short and you have to go back in a couple of days and blow out his life again.”

Eddie pursed his lips and looked at back at Steve.

“What’s the experiment?” he asked.

Robin jumped up and down with glee. “I’m going to text Steve that I found you. You aren’t going to take your eyes off him the whole time. Then when I’m done, I’ll show the conversation.”

He licked his lips. “And what’s the wager?”

“You think he’s happier without you,” she said. “If that’s true, he’s not going to show a lot of excitement. He’ll be relieved and happy that you’re here, but no real enthusiasm. Right?”

Eddie just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I know he’s going to flip out,” she continued with that sly grin. “He’s going to be jumping up and down and looking around for you, trying to find you in the crowd.”

“What if it’s somewhere in the middle?” Eddie asked honestly.

Robin cocked her head to the side. “Then you stay the full week and suss him out.”

Eddie let out a long sigh. “All right. You’re on.”

“Good!” she said. She grabbed him by the arms and moved him a little. “There. Now he won’t be able to spot you immediately.”

He had let himself be manhandled because he had long since learned that Robin could and would kick if he didn’t do what she wanted.

“Now, keep your eyes on Steve.”

Eddie scoffed. “Easiest thing in the world.”

Robin snorted and got out her phone.

He really wanted to look over her shoulder to see what she was typing because he was eaten up with curiosity about what she was sending Steve. But he did as he was told. He kept his eyes on the most beautiful boy in the world.

Steve pulled out his phone and then his head snapped up. He looked around excitedly. He started flapping his hands and talking animatedly with his friends. Eddie watched as he smoothed down his hair and wiped his hands on his jeans. He pulled out a breath mint out of his pocket and ducked his head when his friends obliviously teased him for it.

He looked over at Robin in shock.

“What the hell did you tell him?”

She turned her phone around and he read their conversation.

-Guess who I found by the door looking like a lost puppy?

-He’s here?

-Eddie’s here?

-Where?

-Why didn’t he text me? :(

-lol

-Calm down, I’ll bring him to you.

-The idiot’s phone died and his charger broke.

-I can’t be calm, how can I be calm? He’s here! He’s finally here.

“Oh.”

The little frownie face at the end of the “Why didn’t he text me?” message did Eddie’s heart in.

He cleared his throat. “Um...if I were to, say, I don’t know, go over there and kiss his lights out, would I get hate crimed?”

Robin laughed. “No. And there is no one in his friends that would be nasty about it either.”

Eddie nodded. “Lead the way.” He bowed and waved his hand dramatically so that she would go first.

“Nerd.”

Eddie cackled as he followed her to the table. Steve was on his feet the instant he saw him.

Eddie was a weak man. That had been pretty well established tonight. So he thought he could be excused when he picked Steve up by the waist and swung him around.

“Eddie!” Steve giggled.

Robin scoffed. “Gays are so disgusting.”

“Says the lesbian,” Steve said when Eddie had put him down.

“Lesbians are a different flavor of gay and thereby aren’t disgusting,” she said with a half shrug like it was a truth universally acknowledged or some shit.

He shook his head and turned back to Eddie, who had yet to let go of his waist. “I missed you, too, Eds.”

“I missed you so much, Stevie,” Eddie whispered back.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, hopeful.

“Yeah,” he breathed and lifted Steve’s chin. He pressed their lips together and suddenly Steve’s crowd of friends erupted into cheers.

Steve broke the kiss and stared up at Eddie in awe.

“Wow.”

Eddie giggled. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, more than a little breathless. “You’re stuck now. That’s how I want you to greet me every time now.”

Eddie’s face split with a large grin. “You got it, baby.”

Robin cleared her throat. “May I remind you two that we are in fact in public?”

Eddie and Steve looked over at her and then back at each other. Robin isn’t sure who started it, but soon they both were laughing like children.

Steve introduced him to the small group of friends.

There was a sofa near the table Steve’s friends were sitting at so Eddie sat down there, so Steve could cuddle up on his side.

“How long are you in town for?” A punky Asian girl with pink and purple streaks in her short cropped hair asked. Steve had introduced her as Maria Nguyen. They had a couple of classes with each other.

Steve looked at Eddie as if he had been wondering the same thing.

Eddie chuckled. “That’s the surprise I was telling you about, darlin’. Me and the boys got a record deal and their headquarters and studio is right here in Chicago. So I will be moving to the fair Windy city.”

“You’re staying?” Steve asked, his voice rising with excitement.

“I’m in town for about a week to look for apartments and shit,” Eddie amended. “Then I will move here at the end of the month.”

“Holy shit!” Robin said, glaring daggers at him.

Steve picked up on the latent hostility, but Eddie shook his head and whispered, “I’ll tell you later.” He pressed a kiss to Steve hair.

“You have a band?” a large young man with freckles and braces asked. He had red hair and wire rimmed glasses. Steve said his was Jason, Justin...Jarren! That was it.

“Sure do!” Eddie said. “Corroded Coffin. Me and my three closest friends, besides Buck and Stevie here, have been out in LA playing our hearts out.”

“Buck?” Maria asked, rearing her head back.

“Buckley!” Eddie explained.

“So what kind of music do you play?” Jarren asked, leaning forward, very interested.

“Metal.”

Maria snorted. “Like that’s Steve’s least favorite kind of music.”

Steve sat up. “It is not! There are all sorts of music I don’t like. Metal can be good. It’s just the screamo shit I can’t stand. Corroded Coffin isn’t like that.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “Hell, Steve would put pop music below metal and you know how much he loves Tears for Fears.”

Eddie groaned. “I still can’t believe of all the 80s bands out there to be your favorite you pick Tears for Fears!”

“What? They’re great.”

“Stevie, darlin’, love of my life,” Eddie said sweetly. “You cannot honestly tell me that their version of ‘Mad World’ is better than Gary Jules.”

“Wait?” Jarren said. “They did a cover of ‘Mad World’?”

Steve shook his head. “They sang it originally. Here let me show you.”

He pulled out his phone and handed it over. Robin, Maria, and Jarren huddled around the phone as they watched the video for it.

“That was trippy as hell,” Maria said, handing the phone back to Steve.

“I know, right?” Eddie said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “He does have a point regarding this one song. The original version is too fast for what the song is about.”

Eddie cackled with glee.

“I still maintain that Shout, Head Over Heels, and Everybody Wants to Rule the World are absolute bangers,” Steve huffed.

Eddie kissed his cheek and Steve blushed.

“Wait!” Jarren said, “Do my eyes deceive me or is Steve Harrington, the man, the myth, the legend, blushing?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Not that again. I don’t believe it was ever a thing.”

Eddie sat up on the sofa, too and looked Steve in the eye. “What’s this, babe?”

“Stevie here made a girl come just by talking to her,” Robin said with a grin.

Eddie licked his lips slowly and Steve blushed deeper. “Did you now?”

“No!” Steve insisted. “That was just the excuse she used for running away after I badly flirted with her.”

Maria scoffed. “Dude, I was there, you did not flirt badly.”

Eddie pulled Steve close to his side and murmured in his ear. “I fully expect the full Harrington Charm experience, sweetheart.” His voice dropped really low. “Because I bet you could make me come just from the sound of your voice.”

Steve’s eyes went wide and he ducked his head.

Maria shook her head. “I can’t believe that King Steve got out rizzed by this swagless loser. How in the hell?”

“Maria!” Jarren hissed. “He does not look like a swagless loser. You take that back. He’s cool.”

Eddie turned to Steve. “Looks like you’re going to have to be the tie-breaker, sweetheart.”

“How’s that?” Steve asked. “Robin hasn’t said anything yet.”

“Ah, but that’s because I think I’m cool,” Eddie said holding up one finger, “and I know that Robin would vote for swagless loser.”

Robin snorted. “Damn right I would.”

“So it’s girls verses guys,” Steve said thoughtfully.

Jarren snorted. “More like lesbians verses the gays.”

Steve cocked his head to the side and then nodded.

“I dub thee my really cool metalhead geek!” Steve said solemnly.

Everyone’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Babe...” Robin said. “Did you just go down the middle of the road to avoid an argument?”

Steve batted his eyelashes at her. “Maybe...”

Eddie huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, pouting. Steve leaned forward and kissed the bottom of his jaw.

“How about my very cool, gorgeous, metalhead boyfriend?” he murmured softly.

Eddie looked down at him eyes wide. “Holy shit, you mean that?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie swiftly brought their mouths together and kissed Steve deeply. “That is acceptable.”

Steve giggled.

The night past in good company and drinks.

Eddie had duck out early because he still had to check into his hotel, but he kissed Steve goodbye and left with a spring in his step.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Also, also. I forgot to mention that the title comes from a song by Counting Crows called Long December. So in my head I was singing, It's been so long since you came to (Indiana) I think you should!

Never mind they're in Illinois and the actual lyric is California.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

#stranger things #my writing #steddie #ladykailtiha writes

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ao3lestappeninchident · 5 months ago

Text

Put on the camera

Oscar Piastri x Lando Norris (Gamer/ Only fans AU)

Based on this post from @russver .Thank you for letting me use this idea and I hope you like it

also able to read on my ao3

Warning: Only fans, smut, rough language, let me know if I need to add anything Still trying to find how to write smut better.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

Did they ever truly plan for this to unfold? Not that they could remember— it simply came to be. One time changed to every week turned into eight times a month. Streaming didn't have a high enough income for the lifestyle they both craved, it should have just been something to help out. A helping hand , something to look back on when they need it. How could it have evolved into something so much more?

They were referred to as roommates, a label history would easily place upon them. When Lando's previous roommate moved out, Oscar was the first to respond to the call for a new companion. That was two years ago. Now, after twenty-four months and countless nights spent in each other’s company, they found themselves unsure of how to halt this momentum.

Right now, they were both seated in their own rooms as the stream was about to start. Lando had turned into a sensation on Twitch; Oscar was more popular on the other site.

"Welcome Darlings, to the new stream," Lando's voice beamed through Oscar's headset as he loaded the game. The Australian hadn't put on his camera or microphone yet, just letting Lando do the introduction. Like he always does by the streams.

Oscar waved at the camera and the chat went feral. Lando laughed at the comments, saying their unholy thoughts about the gamer. It would be funny as long as Lando was the person he shared his bed with.

Lando opened up his library with games and took a minute to decide which one they were going to play today. "Are you alright with F1 sim racing?"

Oscar nodded and looked for his own game on his PC. Lando always chose the play with Carlos Sainz, a Ferrari driver, while Oscar chose the newest rookie, Fernando Alonso, in the Aston Martin.

Oscar turned to the camera as he pointed out the obvious, "He probably doesn't want to play Call of Duty." Too scared to lose again," Lando faked a gasp as his hand flew to his heart.

"I am not scared to lose, because I don't lose." Lando tried to explain the chat with his hands. Oscar just laughed as he shook his head, remembering how he clearly won in the latest stream.

The game had finally loaded and the two cars were seated on the race track. The players focused on the screen as the lights went out. It wasn't much of a difference, but Oscar was a bit faster with his reaction.

Lando groaned as he had to keep driving behind the green car. He tried to overtake, but Oscar blocked it, sending him wide in the next corner. "Ey, you got to leave the space." Lando explained, but Oscar just kept racing.

A new subscriber entered the screen, and both of the drivers said hello to them. They loved a big audience.

By every corner he took, Oscar's muscles flexed on screen. Lando kept taking quick glances at his screen in the corner. Oscar's hand looked so big on the wheel and Lando wished it was him. Before he knew it, Lando had crashed the car into the barrier as he forgot to take a corner while admiring his roommate.

Oscar let out a low laugh as Lando groaned in annoyance. "What happened?"

"You didn't leave enough space," Lando lied as he drove the car out of the gravel.

Oscar raised his eyebrows at the statement, taking a quick look at the camera corner as he exclaimed, "Mate, I am three seconds in front of you. What do you mean?"

Lando had gotten the car back on track, but Oscar was leading the race by a big margin. "I don't know. It is still your fault," he joked as he shook his head at the camera. The chat loved their little banter as they all shared their thoughts on it.

'These streams are always so funny,'

'I ship them so much,'

'Sometimes they fight like a married couple, and I love it'

'the heart eyes Lando gave Oscar before he crashed have to be looked at'

'We all know why he got distracted,'

Oscar ignored most of these comments, but something in his stomach fluttered at the thought of Lando being distracted by him. He had to look back at the edits the fans would make on the stream. It would be good material to blackmail the British friend.

Lando wasn't able to catch up with the other car and had to deal with a second-place finish. "You know, no one likes the winner anyway." He tried to sound serious, but his statement was laced with a joke.

"You are just sad you didn't win. Got to know I was better at this than you."

They played some more games before ending the stream. "Thank you all for watching. We hope you enjoyed it." Then they waved goodbye and closed it off.

As they turned off their cameras and microphones, it was time to catch their breath and put on the other one. Oscar stood up from his chair and walked towards his dresser. He took off his hoodie before making his way towards the other bedroom. He wasn't going to need that amount of closing for this stream.

He saw Lando still closing off all his tabs. He had a bad habit of keeping everything open and losing the ones he still needed to use. "Hello, love," Oscar greeted as he placed a kiss on the top of his head. Lando looked up, not hearing that Oscar had walked in because of his headphones. He smiled up at him and got up from his chair.

The bedroom was lightly light by the red LED lights on the wall. Lando had some posters of a famous golfer and a sports car. Pictures of him and Oscar were splattered all around the room. Some are more friendly than others. Lando always loved to capture the most beautiful angles and Oscar was one of them. Lando absolutely loved to take pictures when they were involved in the devil's tango.

Oscar went to sit down on the bed as Lando walked to the shelf to get the tripod out.

Their clothes had found their way towards the ground in Lando's bedroom. The little ray of the sunset cast a golden glow on the Brits bare stomachs, outlining his perfect physics. Oscar always loved the sight of it and so did their followers. It brought home some new jewelry for him.

Oscar's eyes were fixed on the back of his roommate as Lando set the tripod on the dresser in front of the bed. It would be a normal stream. No special requests or special orders, just for all of their followers. They were both tired from the game and weren't going to go all out. Also, Oscar wasn't ready yet to do what that old bastard requested.

Lando turned around to look Oscar in the eyes, "You ready?" the younger man nodded as he swallowed his worries away. The duvet under him felt like a soft cloud as it gave him reassurance.

He turned the camera on and Oscar filled the screen. Lando adored the sight of him on his bed, it looked like it was destined to be like that. He sat down next to him on the bed and grabbed the neck of the Australian between his hands as he kissed him rough, "Hello, Darling. I missed you so much. Did you miss me?"

Oscar wasn't able to answer the older man as his lips reattached. The timer ticked off the seconds as their lips moved in sync to their beating hearts, rapid and loud. "Isn't he beautiful?" Lando asked towards the camera, as if he would get a response back. They may be in their own little world, but people are watching them. "I should punish you for what you said, but I love you too much for that."

Their eyes locked as Lando's fingers hooked on Oscar's black boxer. "We should get rid of these, shouldn't we?" He asked, not breaking eye contact as he slowly pulled them off. Oscar was already hardened by the minimal touches and Lando couldn't help but feel proud of himself.

The boxer was thrown by the rest of the clothes, the only thing that kept Oscar from being completely naked was a necklace he got from Lando to remind him about him when they were separated.

Oscar's eyes fluttered close as Lando stroked him. "Please," he croaked out. He needed Lando to touch him. To take him all in, while he would beg for a release.

He licked the tip, which was leaking some pre-cum, and the noise that Oscar made was heaven. The Aussie's head was thrown back in pleasure as Lando continued to lick up and down his length.

Their eyes locked again when Lando moved up to place a quick kiss on his lips before trailing a line of kisses back down, stopping right above his throbbing. Oscar wanted to push him right on it and let him ride it, but he knew that wasn't the plan for today.

Oscar's cheeks were rose red, with puffy lips and fluttering eyes, and Lando wished he could take a picture of the sight. His uncombed hair stuck to his forehead as Lando continued his work.

Every now and then they forget the camera is still recording them, and they aren't the only people who are enjoying this. Oscar looked away from the curly-haired man and locked eyes with the screen as he let out a loud moan of pleasure.

"Such a good boy for us," Lando breathed out, and Oscar threw his head back with a groan from the feeling of the breath in his manhood. The praise that fell from Oscar's tongue sounded like heaven, and Lando didn't know how long he was able to continue this. His own hard cock was leaking pre-cum on his stomach from the sight in front of him. How could one be so beautiful?

If it weren't for the camera, Lando would have said those three words that flew through his mind. He needed Oscar to know it—to know if the other felt the same way as him.

Oscar's hands pull the curly hair and Lando groans as his cock hits the back of his throat. "Fuck, don't stop. You feel so good," Oscar moaned out as Lando sucked him off.

It was a beautiful sight. Lando was on his knees in front of

Oscar as he continued to suck him off. One of Lando's hands played with his balls as the other pressed Oscar's thighs down on the bed. Oscar leaned on the bedpost to keep in balance as his thoughts disappeared with every touch.

No one would find out if it was them. Even if a follower found them, what would they say? Admit they like it; admit they watch them fuck each other till their words are lost in their throats. It wouldn't be the best thing to admit. And even if one found out, it wasn't like it was a secret. You just had to look up their hidden Instagram to find the link.

Oscar and Lando didn't care as long as they were able to enjoy their luxury lives. Enjoying different countries, wearing the newest clothes and riding their shared McLaren and each other. They weren't going to back out now, not with the chance of lifelong fame.

#lando norris x oscar piastri #landoscar #landoscar imagine #f1 story #f1 imagine #landoscar fanfic #op81 #ln4 #twinklaren #gamer au #f1 au #au #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #lando norris imagine

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makemeimmortalwithahug · 5 months ago

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How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily?

Painland Week Day 2 - Myths/Legends

Charles/Edwin - post-canon

y'all remember how I said a few days ago that day 2 for @painlandweek was almost finished? Yeah,, when I went to bed two nights ago, this fic had 500 words. When I woke up again, I thought, hey, just write another 500 words and get back to it to flesh it out sometime later. Yeah, I finished this at 3am and it turned out to be *checks word count* almost 4000 words! Whoops?

Word count: 3726

ao3 link will be added

Title is from Hozier's "Francesca"

TW: body horror (Charles changing forms)

summary:

Hell has made them stronger together, Edwin is sure of that. It has, however, also made Charles anxious to leave Edwin alone for longer periods of time. When Charles doesn't return home for hours and neither Crystal nor Edwin know where he might be, everything leads to a familiar witch who wants to find out how strong the bond between the two ghosts really is when tested.

It had been exactly two months, three weeks and five days since they escaped Hell, found and lost enough to last another lifetime or two and realised the possibility of relative peace existed for them in the form of a trans-dimensional being who had never learnt what “tranquillity” even meant. Edwin agreed that most times, there was too much paperwork to be done to even try to achieve some peace of mind.

For the most part, though, it was just an excuse. In reality, Edwin struggled with the idea that he could stop running now. After decades of looking over his shoulder, it took an immense amount of effort to direct his gaze at what’s in front of him.

Looking ahead now, all Edwin could see was the empty office, dust dancing over the furniture. The boxing gloves lay forgotten on a table near the entrance door and the football Charles always played with inside despite how much Edwin complained haphazardly rolled under the couch. Everything was still and that was only the beginning of the long list Edwin formulated in his mind of Things That Were Wrong.

Exhibit B: Charles was nowhere to be found. Which, while not particularly sitting right with Edwin, was not an unusual occurrence these days. Charles spent a lot of time with Crystal, helping her get used to her new flat or just keeping her company, watching movies. Crystal always made sure to extend her invitation to Edwin as well and he agreed every once in a while, sitting next to Charles on Crystal’s small but cosy couch, thighs touching. He also enjoyed his time spent with Crystal. She had grown on him and he was quite glad to call her his friend. Edwin lent her the detective novels he loved and in return he listened to what she called “podcasts” about psychology.

But even so, he knew that the needling to “come over to hers with me, yeah, mate? The movie’s s'posed to be aces” was solely Charles’ doing because he did not like letting him out of his sight ever since Hell. This resulted in Charles excessively checking in on him via mirror every few hours, which most times was met by Edwin with a fondly annoyed eye roll. Edwin was quick to give in when confronted with Charles’ pleading eyes. It was not like he was any different in that regard. Spending time with them was no hardship whatsoever and Edwin had to admit that he found it quite sweet how Charles would look after him.

Which brought him to exhibit C: Charles had been gone for more than five hours and had not checked in on Edwin once in this time. Which had Edwin more worried than was probably warranted. Charles would be just fine, he was sure. He would just take a quick trip to Crystal’s and then he could calmly get back to his work for the Night Nurse.

Edwin stood up and put the files under their paperweight. Mirror travel had been one of the most fascinating aspects of being a ghost. It required to be precise and focused while not putting any strain on his energy. It took just a fraction of a second until he found himself standing in the middle of Crystal’s living room.

“Holy fuck!” The resounding thump alerted Edwin to their psychic who was clutching her shoulder that she probably hit against the door frame she was currently leaning against, mouth twisted in pain and eyes wide with shock and irritation. “Edwin! How many times do we have to have this conversation until it sticks?”

“Yes, yes, no sudden mirror jumping into your room. I know.” Edwin pursed his lips, looking around. Better get to the point quickly. “Is Charles here?”

“No, he isn’t. I don’t know where loverboy is, why?”

“He is not home either, has he said anything?”

Crystal flopped down on her couch. “Well, he said he wanted to come ‘round today to help me fix the sink but he didn’t show.” Reaching onto the coffee table for her phone, she checked the time. “Yeah, Charles said he’d be here around two.”

Edwin felt his stomach lurch in anxiety. It was half past five. A chilled silence filled the room as they looked at each other in question.

“Let me grab my jacket.”

“Doesn’t seem any different, right?”

The agency lay completely untouched, nothing out of the ordinary. Normally, this would ease Edwin’s nerves, seeing as it was his sanctuary, his safe space along with Charles. Now, though, this also meant that there were no clues as to where Charles had gone.

“Quite,” he agreed. Walking in circles around their desk, he eventually walked up to the window and peered outside. “Maybe there is something outside, he didn’t leave through the mirror.”

They made their way downstairs, Crystal barely holding onto the railing to not slip on the steps in her hurry while Edwin simply opted to let himself fall through the floor to get to the entrance door as soon as possible. The night creeped in steadily, the shadows growing longer, twisting at their ankles. Their office was located a little off the beaten path, but not too far. When they first started flat-hunting, they were conscious that they had to balance on an incredibly fine line of finding a place just secluded enough to not bear the brunt of the daily London tourism but also don’t attract anyone who might be searching for lost places to scout out.

This resulted in a beautiful view from their window but dark alleyways that led to seemingly nowhere, cobblestones streets with missing stones and cracks in them. The walls towered over them here, making it harder to distinguish the darkening sky from the roofs and edges. Their living neighbour had hung their bed sheets on the washing lines on the balcony and whenever Edwin blinked and tried to bring his eyes back into focus, they reminded him of David the Demon when they first exorcised him.

It was dark, dirty and daunting. Nothing looked to be amiss. Except, of course, for the backpack that was sloped against the gutter. Edwin snatched it up and true enough: Charles’ bag of tricks. The straps showed various scratches and the top was stained. Decidedly not a condition Charles would leave his most prized possession in. Crystal was aware of this as well and carefully reached out to read it.

The few seconds that passed while Crystal’s eyes turned white and she stared into the distance were the most agitating of his existence.

Crystal gasped, letting the bag fall to the floor again, supporting herself on her knees. Edwin crouched next to her with his hands fluttering around her, not exactly knowing what he was supposed to do to help her.

Resurfacing, she stood up again, shooting Edwin a small grateful smile that quickly blinked away again.

“Esther’s back,” she announced and tucked her jacket tighter around her. “She ambushed him here and took him.”

And Edwin’s world broke into pieces, shattering from the sky onto the puddle-ridden street and breaking the moonshine.

He didn’t say anything at first, every word vanished from his mind.

“I might know where they are, though. Or, I can find out.”

“How?” His voice sounded rough - harsh, but Crystal didn’t get angry. She knew that this was not borne of anger but sheer gripping despair.

“She had a business card on her and when Charles tried to defend himself, he caught a glimpse.”

This, more than anything, gave Edwin the determination needed to hoist the backpack onto his shoulder.

“Let us not waste any time, then. Do you think this internet you have might be of help?”

“For sure, Edwin,” she answered, petting his shoulder.

If Edwin hadn’t been out of his mind worrying about Charles, leaving him with sparsely any mental capacities to think about anything else, then he could have admitted that Coupeville, Washington was a tranquil but charming little town. With its little art stores and cafes, it gave a delightfully unassuming appearance.

Edwin hated every moment. For the sake of not leaving Crystal alone - he tried to silence the voice in his head that whispered you couldn’t take care of Charles either -, he had suffered through another flight, a ferry and multiple train rides.

Crystal huffed as she dragged her suitcase up the stairs.

“She couldn’t have been less creative, huh? Relocating one ferry-ride away.” Which was true. Port Townsend could be reached in less than an hour.

Personally, he could not care less whether she called this town or the bloody Empire State Building her home. All he cared about was getting Charles back as soon as possible.

They quickly checked into a hotel to get rid of the suitcase. Insisting that she had slept enough while travelling, they immediately headed to the address that Crystal had found out using the business card - a brewery.

It must have been well visited only a few weeks ago, the dust had not properly set yet. But the lights were out and the doors were barricaded. Quickly nodding at Edwin, Crystal got on the way to find a window she could climb through while Edwin seized the opportunity to phase through the doors. Darkness enveloped him and he could not hear a single sound.

He slowly made his way across the reception area, trying to get a feeling for how big the building really was and where Esther might have been hiding in here. If there was actually any connection to Charles’ disappearance and this place, anyway. But Edwin couldn’t stop and think about this very real possibility.

Focusing on his surroundings, he noticed suspicious lines behind a grandfather clock on his left. And sure enough, upon examining them up close, there was a small door hidden behind it. Anxious excitement coursed through his body and he waited impatiently for Crystal’s arrival.

“Searched for the entrance for celebrities, did you?”

“Shut it. Let’s move this clock.”

Despite taking a few tries, at last they found themselves faced with the entirety of the door. The handle was made out of iron, but Edwin didn’t hesitate to grab it despite the pain and the indignant screech Crystal let sound.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You might still need that hand.”

“Irrelevant and inaccurate, I won’t lose it by touching iron for a few seconds, do not be silly. And regardless, Charles does matter more right now.” He tried to hide the red swelling on his palm but he was not ignorant enough to think that Crystal actually hadn’t noticed.

“A plan is needed. I would suggest you wait here, in case Esther is not here and tries to surprise us.”

“Alright.” Crystal nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah? Charles wouldn’t forgive anyone if you got hurt.”

Least of all himself went unsaid but they both heard it all the same.

Edwin inclined his head, opened the door and went inside.

The room unfolding in front of him was surprisingly spacious but shockingly empty except for the enormous carpet. Sliding onto his knees, he felt the cloth and without a doubt: laced with magic. It was easy enough to counter the spell that acted as both a means to soundproof and seal without a lock whatever lay underneath it.

Moving it aside, he was faced with a basement and without a second thought, jumped down.

Like a moth to a flame, Edwin’s eyes immediately found Charles in the completely dark room.

“Charles,” he breathed, the name echoing off the walls like a prayer.

Charles was slumped against the far wall, hands in cuffs mounted next to head which was lolling unoriented. When he finally looked up, Edwin was met with a disbelieving smile. But before Edwin could reciprocate, a look of blinding terror coloured Charles’ face pale.

“Edwin!” he hissed, pulling at his cuffs which brought tears to his eyes in pain. “Please, please leave, Edwin, she’s after you.”

Edwin didn’t even think about leaving without Charles. All it took was the span of a blink and Edwin fell to his knees beside him, trying to find magical leeway for him to put the cuffs out of action, but to his dismay he realised that Esther had reinforced her strategy, not just opting for simple iron but also a curse.

“What? What do you mean by that?” he asked, only half listening as he mentally flipped through all the knowledge he had on this kind of magic.

“She,” Charles began, coughing, “She said she was impressed that we escaped last time. She wants to get rid of me first and see how much it’d raise your pain level to drain you again. Put a curse on me too, in case you showed up.”

That got Edwin’s attention. “What?! Do you feel alright? What kind of curse?”

“Eh.” Charles’ head lolled to the side again, as if he was losing consciousness. “She wants to try sacrificing me and if you tried to rescue me, I’d turn in all kinds of horrible beasts. Wouldn’t want to hold onto me then, she said. Wants to see how far you’d go.”

“Charles, Charles!” Edwin held him by the shoulders, careful not to jostle him. “I’d go anywhere for you, do you understand? A curse is not going to stop me.”

But Charles was barely there anymore, teetering on the edge of oblivion. “S’ planned for t’morrow. I won’t blame you for letting go, mate, you were scared for so long, don’t need any more of that, yeah?” And then he fell into something close to sleep but what most likely resembled unquiet rest.

There was nothing he could do against the cuffs, not with no grasp on what exact kind of magic he was dealing with and no idea how much time he had left until Esther would show up.

Edwin put a hand to Charles’ cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto you, Charles, stay strong.”

With one last glance to his love, he began climbing back out of the basement.

Upon reading up on locations with magical and sacrificial history in Washington, Edwin concluded that their best chance was a secluded part of coastline, the stony beach along with the clear view of the sky providing the perfect atmosphere.

Edwin and Crystal were hiding in the underwood, watching Esther where she was standing near the shore, when suddenly, something moved right in front of them.

Crystal gasped. “Did- did the path just move?”

Quickly, he shushed her. “No, there is no path,” he whispered, “there is only the beach. That is a snake.”

True enough: a black snake slithered up to the ritual circle Esther had set up. This snake was even bigger than the one in Esther’s house in Port Townsend and tied to its back, there was Charles.

“Okay,” he said softly, “wish me luck.”

Consolingly, Crystal put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need luck. Go get him. I’ll deal with Esther.”

They stood up and sneaked closer. From a safe distance, Crystal started tapping into her powers. Edwin trusted her, therefore he turned to Charles straight away.

Edwin had also found a remedy for the cuffs’ curse, which made it easy to pull him off, hugging him close and making it just far enough away to give Crystal the opportunity to handle the snake.

Tightening his arms around Charles, who was panting against his neck, it didn’t take long until he could feel Charles’ body morph.

When Charles told him that he’d turn into various beasts, Edwin had thought about what he had been afraid of when he was still alive. After seventy years in Hell, any scary children’s story he had heard lost its appeal. When he was ten, his neighbour’s children had told him a story about Spring-heeled Jack who’d haunt the streets of London but also other areas of Britain. They told him about his terrifying looks with his claws, jumping at passersby to scratch them and then back into the night.

Thinking back now, though, Edwin would gladly face a hundred variations of Spring-heeled Jack all alone if it meant that Charles would be safe and sound in their office come next morning.

“I’ve got you, Charles,” he mumbled. He didn’t respond and as Edwin looked up at him, he came face-to-face with a doll version of Charles, his eyes unseeing and mouth twisted in a numb smile, a hollow feeling to his body. Edwin could see his own face reflected in Charles’ eyes, unease boiling slowly under his skin. Where Charles’ hold on him had been strong and desperate only moments ago, now it was stiff and felt like porcelain. Edwin’s fear of dolls was real and tangible but he was far more scared of letting Charles go and shattering him on the stones.

He pressed Charles closer to him.

He stayed in this form for a while until Edwin felt a shift again. This time, Charles resembled the demon that had dragged Edwin to Hell. He was a familiar sight albeit an unpleasant one, so Edwin just put his forehead to Charles’ shoulder and waited it out, the haze around them slowly dissipating.

Next was the thing one of his demons had traded him to. He maintained that it was worse than a demon, for the simple reason that there were characteristics one could apply to a demon, it was possible to create a definition and know what to expect when one encountered a demon. This thing, however, was less a physical form and more a foreboding. The feeling deep in the bones that something horrible was imminent and no matter how hard one would try to work against it, failure was predestined. A looming presence - a threat. There was a voice in the back of the mind, whispering knowingly about every mistake he ever made and it was all your fault, right? Niko dying, Charles getting hurt, Crystal being dragged along to all of this, having been in Hell? But you don’t need me to tell you that, you already think so.

It was a sick trick and his only enemy in this was his own mind. But Edwin had grown, he had realised that thinking something didn’t have to reflect reality. And while he did blame himself for all these things from time to time, it was a passing sorrow. None of the people involved in these thoughts would want him to condemn himself and after his second time in Hell, Edwin had understood that he needed to show himself self-respect as well. Hell was an error Edwin had had no control over.

He did, however, have control over not letting Charles fear that he would be afraid enough to leave him. Because he was quite sure that underneath these appearances, Charles was conscious of what was happening and scared out of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”

The fourth form was the spider-doll-demon. Its many arms were gripping Edwin’s back, the dolls’ heads pressing into his chest and neck. Edwin tried to slow his breathing. He spent more than seventy years running away from this demon and being so close to it was associated with blinding pain, being torn apart over and over again.

Maybe now was the time to finally stop running and face his fear head-on. And so he looked straight at it, staring lovingly beneath its surface where he knew Charles was.

One second to the other, the demon was gone. There was no other figure, but Edwin still felt Charles’ presence and he tensed up at once, realising what this particular fear resembled: Charles was invisible, gone from his sight. No means for him to see him again, the only thing left for him to do was anxiously grip where Charles’ shoulders were supposed to be and not let Charles jerk away if he saw the horror on Edwin’s face. This was the only shape that compelled Edwin to screw his eyes shut.

Time passed until he felt Charles change one more time. This was the only one not tailored specifically to one of Edwin’s fears and it showed him that he had been right in assuming where Esther had drawn her inspiration for this act from.

Charles resembled a burning coal, the heat licking at Edwin’s skin. He embraced him tightly, stood up with him and dragged him into the water. Below the surface, he could see Charles turning back into himself, his bright eyes the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Nothing had ever felt as right as holding Charles in his arms.

Bubbles appeared in front of Charles’ mouth even though he didn't need to breathe and Edwin erupted spontaneously into laughter at the ridiculous sight of Charles trying to speak underwater. Despite being in the water, he felt himself get teary-eyed. He didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that they would not both be sobbing messes as soon as they resurfaced. But for now all he needed to do was drink in Charles’ smile.

Back on the shore, Crystal was busy brushing off her jeans.

“Boys!” she yelled as soon as she saw them, running towards them and pulling them both into a hug at the same time. “Esther’s gone, let’s hope for good.”

“Yeah,” Charles whispered, putting one arm around Edwin’s hips.

Crystal pulled back, smiling knowingly but in a comforting way. “So glad you’re both alright. I’ll go check to make sure no one here accidently saw me fighting a huge snake and a witch. Meet me at the hotel, yeah?” With that, she walked back in the direction of the trees.

Charles turned to Edwin, smiling shyly. “So, you kept holding me,” he stated.

“Nothing has ever been easier, Charles.” He put his hands on Charles’ shoulders again. They fit so well there.

They hugged once more.

“You know,” Edwin mused, playing with Charles’ hair, “it was like Tam Lin.”

“Mhh?” Charles mumbled, he sounded tired. “What’s that?”

“A legendary Scottish ballad. Not letting your love go, no matter what.”

“Oh.” Charles’ eyes were wide. “Does that one end in tragedy too?”

Edwin smiled. “No, it ends precisely like this.” And Charles’ smile was brilliant as he leaned in and kissed Edwin.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #dbda #dead boy detective agency #payneland #crystal palace #painland week #painlandweek

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notjustjavierpena · 2 years ago

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Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Part I: Introductions

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Enjoy the beginning of a four-chapter fic, where a cute summer romance starts! This is the same universe as Hurried Morning but before! Chapter two and three are just waiting to be posted.

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. He has big strong arms.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120803500

Chapter One: Introductions

The house had been empty for a while when you had moved in. The location was good, somewhat quietly charming as the suburbs were, but the house’s neglect called desperately for a loving hand to bring out that charm again, which had been allowed to fade for too long. It wasn’t that the house had been willfully neglected by you, no you had wanted the house for a long time, but the whole scenario of you ending up here had been long and ridiculous: Your older brother had finally, out of the goodness of his heart, offered it to you, but only after a few years of having been in doubt about whether or not to move into it with his family. He had only gotten first say in the fate of the old place, because he was the oldest of the two of you, a thing that he liked to remind you of.

The house was overly suburban, missing only a wisteria bush and a fresh coat of paint, additionally, perhaps, a good amount of effort put into the garden as well. It was going to be a time-consuming summer project, but one that you were excited about because of its potential end result.

The house was all paid off by your grandparents, but after the passing of your grandfather some years ago, your grandmother had felt like the house was too overwhelming to live in all by herself, so she had found some place smaller and left the fight of inheritance to your mother, who had then passed it onto you and your sibling. The fact that you had now won that fight was ironic; you would end up alone in a house that your grandmother found too overwhelming to be alone in.

You step out of your car after parking it in the driveway, walking around its back to open the trunk and start unloading its contents. It is half your latest salary worth of a Home Depot haul.

You head to the garage door, knowing that your grandfather used to have a workbench inside and you need tools to assemble some of the things you have bought, amongst other a stepladder that you hope to build without too much trouble.

Though the lock at the bottom of the garage door is already doing its job of causing trouble, and you curse quietly as you have to put everything onto the ground at your feet to use both hands on it. The lock struggles for a moment but then clicks, and you finally pull up the garage door until you can duck underneath it with ease.

You get a feeling of someone watching you as you drag two buckets of white paint into the garage, following with a new set of brushes and paint rollers.

The feeling grows stronger as you reemerge from the garage and you start to hear muffled voices nearby too, but you ignore it due to how much you have scheduled for today. Additionally, you would admit in all honesty that you would be staring at the single woman neighbor too, if she was struggling with the garage door and making a fool of herself. You push your curiosity away and reach into the car trunk again.

“Hey,” it’s the voice of a teenage girl. You jump and nearly hit your head against the roof of the vehicle, and she chuckles a little in a way to seem cooler than she is, “Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you, but you just looked like you needed a little help and I wanted to offer. Well, my dad told me not to.”

“It’s alright, I’m grown. I can handle myself,” you stand up a little straighter to properly look at the teenager, giving her a smile to reassure her that you’re cool too. She’s around fifteen, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in a girl her age, a mess of curls and her thumbs tucked into the belt loops on her jeans. She looks shy, but something tells you that she isn’t. You realize that you are staring, then hold out a hand and introduce yourself.

“I just moved in, inherited the place from my grandparents,” you add as the teen shakes your hand.

“I’m Sarah, we live just a house away. There,” she points to a nearby home, where a man is standing against one of the posts on the front porch. He has his arms crossed over his chest but you’re too far away to read his expression. Sarah continues, “Oh, right, that’s my dad. Yikes, that stance makes him look like a jerk.”

“Perhaps a little,” you laugh genuinely and Sarah beams at your approval. She raises her arm and waves her father over, who protests against it at first by waving his arms no, but then capitulates and walks over to you.

“Joel Miller,” he states as he approaches, holds out his hand and you repeat your name, trying to grab his hand for a shake, but it ends up the other way around with the size of his palm. Joel’s hands are huge and rough, calloused in a way that makes you guess that he doesn’t sit in an office all day. He has a firm grip, and you catch yourself watching the way that the muscles of his underarm flex when he holds your hand in what feels like an instant.

He doesn’t notice you staring at all, but you wonder if it’s because he is so used to it; Joel Miller is gorgeous, scruffy and sexy in his washed-out jeans and a simple army green t-shirt. You wish that you had worn something other than your dark blue t-shirt with a Batman logo, but a sundress would not have been practical for assembling stepladders and carrying tools.

“We were wonderin’ when we were gonna see someone move in,” he speaks with a Texan accent. It suits him very well, “I’ve wanted to paint the surface several times last summer, would be a shame to have it crack if you had the opportunity to save it.”

“I could use some help, honestly. My grandma moved somewhere smaller because it was too much work to be alone here,” you run a hand over your hair, brushing a strand behind your ear. Sarah looks from you to her father, and then back to you again.

“Maybe that’s our summer vacation!” She exclaims. Joel turns quickly towards her.

“Sarah, honey,” he warns but she just continues without a hint of hesitation, sporting childlike enthusiasm and innocence.

“But you said that we needed something to do together this summer, and we couldn’t afford a trip somewhere,” she reasons excitedly, “This is perfect. Very movie-esque, you know.”

“But it’s not our house,” Joel adds, smiles at you apologetically and makes your pulse spike.

“But she says she needs help,” she doesn’t let it go. It’s sort of sweet, “Come ooon, dad.”

“I do actually need help,” you back her up.

“You don’t have a boyfriend who knows how to swing a paint brush? Or who you’ll hurt by not letting him do the heavy lifting?” Joel asks casually. Sarah scrunches up her nose beside him.

“Nope, no boyfriend with a masculinity complex,” your cheeks blush a little as Joel chuckles, hidden by a smile as you shake your head no. You wish you did have a guy in your life, but right now only so you could see if there’d be any detectable disappointment on Joel’s face when you said yes.

Joel reaches up to scratch his beard. He looks like he is weighing the pros and cons, but a part of him also drags out the anticipation to tease his kid. He smirks, “Fine then, but you better be up early every day for a day’s hard work, Sarah Miller.”

“Oh, he used your whole name. You’re in trouble now,” you point out with a grin. Joel eyes you from beside you.

“Yes! Better than summer camp,” Sarah removes her fingers from the belt loops of her jeans to grab her father’s arm and press her forehead against it, “Thank you.”

“You’ve never been to summer camp,” Joel rolls his eyes but wraps an arm around his daughter.

“I sleep in though, so don’t come knocking at eight in the morning,” you point out.

“Dad sleeps in too, don’t worry,” Sarah keeps going.

“Sarah, what’s wrong with you?” Joel is the one who looks embarrassed now. He pushes her gently away, “Go back home, kid. Let the grown-ups sort out the details. You can call for pizza, yeah?”

“Ugh,” you hear her say to her father but she gives you a sweet smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sarah,” you reply but she’s already walking away with her back towards you. Joel, on the other hand, doesn’t move from his spot in front of you, suddenly stuffing his hands in his pockets and almost entirely mirroring Sarah’s stance from moments before.

“Tell me what you need help with?” It’s meant more as a question or a suggestion than a command.

“Right,” you wonder how long you have been staring at his mouth. It’s been a while since you’ve been kissed, so you allow yourself the fantasy of Joel Miller being interested in kissing you. His beard tells you that it’s been a day too many since he would normally trim it, and you can almost imagine the feeling of the hairs tickling your chin and jaw as he kisses your mouth and neck—

Stop.

“Well, I have some work to do on the house facade,” you blurt out after the silence has gone on for too long.

“Clearly,” Joel nods in acknowledgement, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs a little where he is standing. Like this, he looks like he is a good listener, “I should see if I can find some cheap but good wood protection, looks like it’s going to be more expensive in the long run if it doesn’t get some kind of coat.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you give him a soft smile. It is confirmed then; the man is clearly not the office-type with how he talks about restoring the construction of the house to its peak.

He goes on: “Don’t worry about it, yeah? I’m sure you can pay me with hot dinners for Sarah and I or something. I can do this, the work on the house, but I’m terrible at getting her to eat other things than takeout with my normal schedule.”

Suddenly very open. Interesting.

“I wouldn’t mind that, no. It’s going to be a lot of dinners though. I have a whole lot of ideas,” you reply, still trying to not drop your gaze to his mouth again as he talks, “Garden needs to be weeded out, replanted, lawn mowed— oh, you don’t have a lawnmower, do you?”

“Sure do,” he answers, nodding towards his house, “I can get it. You need help with that now?”

You blame the Texan sun for how breathless you feel as you have time to really look at him. He has his hands on the handle of his old lawnmower, gripping firmly to the point of unintentionally showing off his biceps in the form-fitted shirt that he wears as he pushes the lawnmower around the wild grass.

You are sitting on the back porch, legs crossed with a screwdriver in hand and the instructions to the, by now, stupid stepladder. You’re more creative than practical, and it shows in the way that you tighten one screw but the stepladder still wobbles as you test it out.

Frantically, you go through the instruction manual front to back and then back to front until you accidentally rip the thin paper, but you don’t feel any smarter about what you are doing. You throw the screwdriver onto the wooden boards beneath you, fighting the urge to scrape a bad word into the grayish wood.

You lean back on your arms and close your eyes almost all the way, soothing yourself by taking in the sun and letting yourself look at Joel work without him noticing too much. Your eyes travel down his frame, looking at the jeans that have green patches around the base of the legs before going upwards again. You try to convince yourself that looking at his clothes makes up for how you’re ogling him now.

Subconsciously, you stretch out your legs from underneath you, then cross one leg over the other and lean further back on your elbows instead. Joel’s knuckles are slightly white from gripping the lawnmower and his t-shirt has started to form a patch of sweat at the base of his spine, supposedly caused by sweat dripping from the back of his neck because the hair there is damp. You curl your toes a little, press your thighs together. You want to know how strong those hands are, how they work at his daytime job, which you guess by now has to do with construction work. It feels wrong to think these things, but you allow them as long as they don’t leave your head.

You close your eyes fully then, not needing to feel even more warmth prickle at your skin, radiating from your core instead of being caused by the sun. You lay like this until the lawnmower stops.

“Woah, what happened here?” Joel walks over and looks down at you and then to the crime scene you’ve left open on the back porch flooring. You stare at him with a sheepish expression on your face as he shields the sun from you with his body.

“It didn’t want to do it the way that I wanted,” you simply say.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he jokes and shifts where he stands until the sun hits your eyes again. You grin up at him, holding a hand over your eyes to not be forced to close them and miss how he looks as he smiles back.

“Thanks by the way,” you add a moment later, “I’m honestly happy that I don’t have to do it myself.”

“Yeah, no problem… Look, I’m gonna go back to Sarah, have a shower, then the pizza that’s probably cold by now,” he lingers for a moment before starting to move.

“Sorry about the pizza,” you say and start to get up again, leaving behind the mess of screws, ripped pages and stupid tools.

“All good, I think Sarah will forgive me. She likes you,” he waves back at you as he leaves. You wave after him too, something feeling like it’s about to implode inside of your stomach and you know what it is. It is butterflies. It is the beginning of a crush.

In the morning, you find the stepladder assembled to perfection on your back porch.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dilf!joel

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weaveandwood · 4 months ago

Text

In Hushed Whispers

There was a little interest in me posting some Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfic here, so I'm going to share the one shot I have written! I know I have a few mutuals who are also doing their first playthrough of Inquisition, so if you haven't done the quest this one-shot is named for, don't read this! Consider this your warning!

Pairing: Cullen/Female Lavellan (Brinni, my dual wielding rogue) Words: 1,374

Angst

Read on AO3!

Cullen threw the crumpled up message across the room and leaned over the war table, shaking his head, willing himself to take his next breath even as dread constricted every fiber of his being.

Dead.

He slammed his fist against the table, toppling over the markers that had been so carefully placed earlier that day. He told her it was a trap - he told them all! She wasn’t an idiot, she knew it was clearly a trap as well. Still, she was determined - and that determination had doomed them all.

He paced the length of the room. Back and forth, over and over, replaying their last conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he could have said differently.

“Redcliffe has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it,” he had told her. Of course, there was the unspoken reason he hadn’t wanted her to go, one he was too foolish and too scared to voice. No, better to have her believe he only saw her as a tool, a weapon for them to wield. Nothing more.

Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana argued the optics of marching on the castle, the consequences of leaving a foreign magister in power on Ferelden land. It appeared they had been outplayed. No matter how hard Cullen stared at the table, a strategy would not come to him.

“There has to be something we’re not thinking of,” she had said quietly, finally breaking the silence and looking at each of them. “Another way in.”

Discussions took place. Brinni paced back and forth while Leliana and Cassandra spoke of the secret entrance for the family and planned the “distraction” Brinni and her envoy would be for the magister. Someone suddenly barged into the war room with insider knowledge of the magister’s plans - Brinni seemed to trust him and his easy confidence, so everyone else did as well.

It was settled. They would leave first thing in the morning.

“The plan puts you in the most danger - we can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you,” he said to her before parting, his cool demeanor soothing over the storm within. Don’t go. It’s a trap. You will die.

She went. So did Blackwall (prisoner), Varric (prisoner), and the new mage, Dorian (dead).

Dead.

If he had just talked to her, told her how important she was - not just to the Inquisition, but to everyone in their inner circle even after this short amount of time, how he looked forward to reading her messages from her seemingly never-ending duties in the Hinterlands, how their conversations while he was overseeing the training exercises were the best sort of distraction…

He sighed. She still would have gone. Still would have died.

He walked out of the building, staring at the breach in the sky. What were they going to do now?

Months passed. It was almost a year to the day since the Inquisition lost their one hope at closing the Breach. Cullen had been right about Redcliffe. He threw troops at it, but they were no match for The Elder One’s demon army. Thedas was gone - everything was covered in red lyrium. Leliana had been captured on a spy mission months ago. Cassandra and Iron Bull led a charge soon after the news of Brinni’s death reached Haven with the rest of her companions - they never returned. Josephine tried her hand at diplomacy and was caught by a demon possessing a nobleman.

Dead, dead, dead.

Only a handful of troops remained. Templars, warriors, and even a few elves had traveled to Haven after everything really started going south about a month after…after her death. They fought for the fallen Herald of Andraste. He fought for her. Brinni Lavellan. He still found his thoughts easily drifting to her. He did a double take every time he saw an elf with short white hair the color of starlight. He missed her, even now. Even as he mounted his favorite horse outside of Redcliffe Village, ready to lead one last charge against the castle. One last attempt at saving the world, though it was certain they would all end up the same as everyone else who had tried.

Would he see her once this was over? He mulled the thought over as they marched on the castle through fields of red lyrium, the power surrounding it warm and intoxicating. He saw corpses with crystals growing out of them and shuddered. What world was left to save? They got to the bridge and he dismounted, taking all of the riding gear off of his horse. He dropped it to the ground before slapping the horse’s hindquarters, sending it off to live whatever life it could manage. There would be no one left to care for it after today and he could not bring himself to watch the horse die in battle. He smiled to himself. “The Commander has a soft spot” - she had teased him about that once in the stables, long ago.

A horrible grinding noise brought his attention back to the present, the telltale sound of the demons that had laid waste to the land and the people of Thedas. This was it. He raised his sword, rallying the small troop behind him and charged.

They fought as well as they could, taking down a few demons while the demons took down more of them. He watched as they fought and fell, their numbers shrinking further and further until only a true handful were left, each fighting their own hopeless battle. A cry, a thud. Dead. A shout, a demonic laugh. Dead.

“Sir, behind yo-” someone called out, seconds too late. Cullen started to turn, his sword preparing to strike when he felt a sharp pain in his chest, followed by searing heat and frigid cold seeping through his body. He fell to the ground, looking up at the roiling green-grey sky and tried unsuccessfully to remember what it looked like on a clear, blue, cloudless day before magic destroyed everything. He was lying in something warm and wet and he was tired, so tired. His eyes fluttered and the world grew dim. The cries of battle were quiet now and the grinding noise from the demons drifted further from his consciousness.

It was over.

“Sir? Sir? A message from Redcliffe,” a voice called from outside the door of his office, accompanied by urgent knocks.

Cullen startled and sat up. Had he been sleeping at his desk? The long nights and early mornings had caught up with him, it appeared - he would need to keep a better schedule. He cleared his throat, calling for the messenger to enter and took the small envelope from him.

He quickly ripped it open to read the missive from Brinni’s operation, his eyes scanning desperately for a key word to indicate how the mission went. He quickly crumpled it up and threw it across the room to prevent himself from spending all day reading it over and over again before leaning over his desk, his head in his hands.

Mission successful. Recruited mages as allies. Will explain when we return. - B

She was fine. She didn’t die, she wasn’t taken prisoner, and she had recruited the mages as allies for the Inquisition. Once again, she exceeded his expectations. He leaned back in his chair, his face to the ceiling and laughed loudly, the cord of tension within him that had been wound so tightly since they left finally loosening. Was the tension he had been harboring solely due to the fate of their Inquisition? They would be able to continue closing Fade Rifts and perhaps close the Breach with the assistance of the recruited mages. Or…was it something that was beginning to take hold inside him, gentle and warm, just like the way she smiled at him during her rounds the other day when she found him in the stables, brushing his favorite horse’s mane and talking sweetly to it? “The Commander has a soft spot,” she had teased him.

It appeared that the Commander may have had more than one.

#cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisition #dai fanfic #cullen x lavellan #cullen x brinni #my writing #da:i #da: inquisition #this is all truly just for me but i hope you like it because my brain has been consumed by this game since this quest pretty much

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maryonmega · 2 months ago

Text

You didn't ask

It's an idea that came to me in a dream and I posted on AO3 a few days ago: Vaugardians have the capacity to turn into dragons. There's some brainstormed lore too, but I'd rather leave it open for any future additions.

I call it Draconic Vaugard AU!

Again, thank you, @chimerical-daydreams for the designs

You wake up feeling like shit.

No surprise there. You heard the Head Housemaiden tell you to rest and not use craft for a while, then used craft again not even plural hours later.

Not that you regret it.

Your body is stiff and sore, but you can still move your neck enough to look out the window. It's clearly well into morning now. The House doesn't loom over you like a haunted castle anymore. The birds once frozen mid flight now cross the sky as free as nature intented.

On the bed besides yours, Odile is already awake and flipping through the familytale you got her two days ago. Her craft exaustion is not as bad as yours. She didn't loop through time hundreds of times then cut through the House alone then turned into a wish craft titan. But she did stop you from looping. That took strenght.

You hear footsteps up the stairs. Careful, but still noisy.

"Frin!"

Despite the soreness, you smile.

"Bonbon."

They're not as careful now, marching to beside the bed you're in. They have a tray in hands, and an excited look on their face.

"The tall lady said you need to rest, so I didn't wake you up, but you still have to get your strenght back, so you better eat too! But Dile also said you must have had my snacks a bunch of times, so I made a breakfast I'm sure you didn't have in forever school!"

My, someone's hyper. Not that you can blame them. You have to get better, than you all can get on your way to Bambouche.

"Thank you, snack leader, for providing."

Bonbon nods with pride, and puts the tray on your lap.

You try to sit up. Your arms give in before you can rise too much.

"Oh! Right! I have to tell everyone you're awake!"

You hear them rush down. The weight of the tray a tempting thing over your lap. What's this? Punishment?

Odile smirks at you. She must have noticed. Traitor.

"Good morning."

"Please, spare me. I just woke up."

"I haven't said anything. Yet." She marks and closes the book, her attention fully on you now "How are you feeling, Siffrin?"

"Like I got stomped on by many horses."

Odile nods, serious.

"Thank you for your honesty. Please be honest with the person taking care of your medication, too."

"I only lied two times!"

"You've been like this for a day and a half. And spent half of that time unconscious."

She's got you there.

There's footsteps again. More than one set this time. Bonnie bursts into the room like it's a competition. You're kind of scared they'll hit their face on the foot of the bed for a moment but they stop on time. Mira and Isa come in at a more reasonable speed.

"See? They're still awake! And tried to move, too!"

"Already?" Mira looks actually glad. Good "You really recover fast, Siffrin. Uhn, don't force yourself to get good faster, though. You might strain yourself."

You try to give her a thumbs up. Your arm is sore.

"Need help, buddy?"

Embarrassing~

You still nod. Isa gets beside you to help prop you up and sit against the headboard. You can see your breakfast now. No wonder there was good weight! Bread, jam, juice, cut fruit, even a couple chausson aux pommes. Someone takes the "regain strenght" expression seriously!

"Thank you." You offer your best smile and scoop up a piece of peach with the spoon "You're a peach."

You got a laught. Morning victory.

Chomp!

Stars, without the smell of burning sugar lingering all the time you can actually taste food!

"So, Siffrin..." Mirabelle sits on the bed, opposite side from Bonnie "Where are we?"

"In the clocktower."

"What happened two days ago?"

"We unfroze Vaugard."

"And why are you and Madame in bed rest?"

"Craft exaustion."

"He is conscious. Good!"

She claps her hands and straights her back.

"Am I losing something?"

On the other bed, Odile put the familytale on the headboard.

"You see, we intent to-"

"WE'RE GOING TO NILLE AS SOON AS YOU CAN STAND!"

"Boniface!"

"Sorry! But yes! You just need to get to stand again!"

"Well, being able to stand is just the The reference. Walking would be much better." Isa adds, and gives a half chuckle.

You swallow your food and look at him just to have a focus point.

You know just because you can walk doesn't mean you should walk long distances, specially as soon as you're able. Sure, if your friends want to go as soon as possible you can endure it, but...

"Isn't that a little risky?"

"A little, but it's faster." You can't argue with Mirabelle on that "That's why I think you should go on Isabeau." Wait, what? "He's bigger and his shape makes it easier to get a grip lying down. You can get some rest! I guess? You should probably do a test first? I know Madame Odile will be better too so she can go on me."

What?

Beside you, Isa nods.

"Right... Are you really okay with flying, Madame?"

What????????

"I'll survive, I guess. As long as Mirabelle doesn't mind getting more ties than a race horse."

"He, I'll survive too."

"Wait? What?! Fly?!?!"

Bonnie pouts.

"Of course we'll fly! The birds unfroze too, so it's safe now!"

"No! I mean, I know, just-!" You take a bite of one of the apple pastries. Delicious "How are you even going to do that?! And you're talking like it's no big deal!"

"Because, it's not?" Mira is looking at you with confusion "Wait, you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"We can turn into dragons."

...

You pinch your arm with nail.

Ow.

You're still here.

Wait a minute!

"You're pulling a prank on me!"

Odile opened her mouth. Before she spoke, Bonbon took a leap back, and-

It wasn't done in a flash, but, once it was, Bonbon was like a big eel with wings.

You think you're going crazy.

"Wh- I- You- Why didn't any of you do that all this time?!"

This time Isa responded.

"We didn't need to? Sure, flying is fast traveling, but you saw the birds, we didn't want to risk it. Tents and inns made to accomodate dragon forms are too expensive for long traveling. And, you saw Bonbon just now, it's not exactly puf and done, so not a good option when ambushed by an angry sadness."

This makes so much sense it's somehow making you feel crazier.

Little dragon Bonbon landed beside your legs on the bed, legless body slithering over the sheets. They look adorable.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Mira looks embarrassed. Oops, you said something wrong.

"I thought you knew." She looks away, fidgeting with her fingers.

How would you know when nobody tells you?????

"And, it's not like we talk about this all the time. It's weird!"

When your bafflement wears off, half of the breakfast is gone.

"How is it weird to talk about being dragons?!"

"Well Sif, think." Isa places a hand behind your back "It's just how Vaugardians are. Just another part of our lives. It would be like going to a place where people are like "Hello, I'm human", y'know?"

You nod.

...

No. You're not petting Bonnie like a dog. That's still a person.

You down the rest of your fruit.

"Why did you need the orbs, then? Couldn't you just, break down the gate?"

Silence. Were... Were those months of traveling for no reason?

Mira visibly holds back from picking at her nails.

"Siffrin, do you know what the orbs are?"

You're quiet, then shake your head.

"They're craft breakers. Very powerful craft breakers."

"Okay, what does that have to do with not breaking down the gate?"

"Houses of Change have shield craft on the outside. It's a particularly powerful craft, made by multiple people at once. So nobody can be made to break a House from outside. Even if multiple people do so as dragons."

... Oh.

"Combine with the time freeze, and it would be a lost battle. Thankfully, five orbs were enough to break the time craft. But, if they weren't, hopefully they would be powerful enough to break the shielding."

Oh.

Just... outside? Does that mean that the insides are breakable?

They are. You know they are. You broke that counter. Does that mean the other doors were breakable, too?

If... If you weren't so hasty to freeze yourself, would them decide that turning to try and break the door was an option?

"Something on your mind Sif?"

LIGHTLESS CODE LIGHTLESS CODE THINK OF SOMETHING!

"So all those stories about hoarding dragons are racist?"

Mira gives you an awkward smile.

"I, don't really want to say yes. Every tree bears bad fruit, and the loud ones get more noticed. If there's any type of predisposition, it's to get hyperfixations. For exemple, you can say I "hoard" classes."

You hear Bonbon make a noise, and see them wiggle and land on the floor. A bit of time, and they were a smiling human again.

"Oh! Oh! I guess I hoard recipes, then!"

"Interesting." Odile hums, and her gaze gets in your direction. What- "Do you hoard anything, Isabeau?"

Isa gives a big nod.

"Friends!"

Mira's face goes from awkward to pondering, and then realisation.

"Wait! So those cuddle piles after getting the orbs...?"

"Sleeping over my hoard."

You can't help but chuckle. He looks so proud, too!

"Why the surprise? Isn't your room on the last floor with dorms, Mirabelle?"

Mira starts stuttering. Poor lady. On the other side, Bonnie pouts.

"That's dumb. I don't sleep over recipe books."

"Maybe your time will come. You don't know."

Mira's turn to give a mischievous smile.

Stars, you could hear them for hours.

"Okaaaay, so, I'll have to see if I can safely ride Isa?"

You hear a squeak, and the hand on your back gets taken off so fast you hang way from the headboard for a couple of seconds.

"Sif! Don't say it like that!"

"Why? It's what I'll do, right?"

Odile is smiling so broard. What?

"Young one, you need to learn some Vaugardian idioms with urgency."

You blink.

You've been really left out, haven't you?

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

You're able of walking! A little bit. You need help to walk more than a couple of meters, but it's progress! Progress enough to do the test, it seens.

Bonnie lets go of your hand and gives you a pat on the side.

"Ask to get down if you need to, okay? Don't need you falling off and needing extra rest to recover from broken bones!"

Of course that's how they say it.

You nod.

"Alright, Za! Do the thing!"

"Your wish is my command!"

Just like before, it's not a snap of fingers.

You're not sure what you were expecting. You didn't expect Bonnie to be a winged eel. You think whatever came would take you aback.

Isa looks like a large lizard with wings, scaly and with a set of horns. Curiously, still regornizable. You... actually like that.

He lays on the floor, and moves his tail, inviting. Mira helps you get on his back, then backs off to where Odile is waiting with a saddle and chains. You can't judge her.

Another little scene, and you see Mira in all her glory. She looks like a mix between a snake and a bird, full of feathers. Regornizable. Bonnie too. All three are regornizable on those forms.

Hum, maybe that's why body craft is still prevalant. Maybe they don't really control how the forms will be without it.

You're unsure of what to do with your hands, then finally decide to just grasp the horns.

It's not so odd when you feel him lift into his paws. It is when he spreads his wings and starts lifting. And lifting. And lifting. You see the ground get farther. Without thinking, your grip tightens around the horns.

You... think there's an ulterior motive to choose this.

They must have missed flying.

#isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #isat fanfic #in stars and time fanfic #isat au #in stars and time au #Draconic Vaugard AU

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natashashill · 13 days ago

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you are home

pairing: natasha romanoff x maria hill

word count: 1.4k

warnings: very fluffy like obnoxiously fluffy

a/n: this is a repost from my ao3 account that i didnt follow through on after one post & my first ever fanfic actually

summary: a blackhill proposal that marvel never gave us

Her plan to propose to Natasha had been in works for months. It was a fairly simple plan: buy the ring, talk to Clint to make sure she comes home early tonight, ignore the fact that he would pester her asking for details, make sure the home would look extra pretty when Natasha would arrive home under the pretense of an extra nice date night, and then pop the question after a smooth dinner. There was just one question lingering in the back of her mind, would she say yes?

Maria was sure Natasha loved her, there was no doubt that she didn’t. Natasha might not be the type to say ‘I love you’ often but she showed it by her late-night cuddles, making two coffees instead of one in the mornings, bringing lunch for her when Natasha knew she hasn’t eaten yet, and most importantly: letting her guard down in front of her. However, Natasha was also infamously known for being scared of commitment. There was the time Clint asked her to go with her to some place a few months ahead and she freaked out and avoided him for a full day before he snuck up on her before he accidentally scared her leading to a broken nose, Coulson asking Natasha about their relationship and where they’re headed leading to Natasha ignoring Maria’s calls and texts for a week and getting lucky that they were in different cities at the time, and Natasha keeping her bags packed for a month after they moved in together for ‘just being prepared’ reasons.

Maria wasn’t sure she would say yes. It wasn’t her intention to keep Natasha trapped in their relationship, she just wanted some stability in their lives, something normal in their otherwise outlandish lives. Natasha wasn’t one for planning or stability, and just like that Maria had the mind to end up not proposing. Unfortunately for her, before she reached the table, Natasha had chosen that moment to walk through the door and into the dining area.

“Maria? There you are, what’s all this for?”

Crap.

Maria stared at her blankly for a second before pulling herself together.

“I just wanted to surprise you with a nice dinner, it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper date night.”

Natasha stared at her suspiciously for a second before sitting down at the table. She knew Maria planned to propose to her, she knew it two months ago when she accidentally discovered the ring. She went down to the gym and beat a punching bag until her knuckles turned blue that. Eventually, she stopped and sat on the floor wondering why she wasn’t running yet. Two years ago, she would have went running for the hills if someone brought this up to her. It was then that she realized just how much she fell for Maria Hill. She wouldn’t trade the lazy mornings and breakfast in bed, sneaking kisses from her while at work, stealing Maria’s old West Point hoodies to sleep in while she was away, and her corny jokes that no one finds funny for the world. She gathered herself before going home and joining Maria in bed and did her best to not freak out around her the next morning. If Maria noticed that she had been acting strange after that night, she certainly never brought it up. She knew the way her idiot of a best friend has been grinning all day and pestering her to go home early that today would be the day. She sat in her car for thirty minutes staring blankly wondering if this was right, she would marry Maria in a heartbeat but the consequences of putting her in danger scared her. Maria was an angel and she had too much red in her ledger. She didn’t think she would ever be good enough for Maria but if Maria thought she was, she would gladly accept it.

Dinner went smoother than expected and Natasha started to think she was wrong about her suspicions of the proposal. She swallowed down the strange feeling in her stomach that occurred at that thought. On the other hand, Maria was trembling on the inside. She couldn’t postpone the proposal any further, she knew that, but she also couldn’t bare to face the disappointment that would come if, when Natasha turned her down.

“Natasha, I have loved you since the day I first laid eyes on you albeit the whole assassin thing,”

Fuck, here goes nothing.

She’s finally doing it.

“You’ve had my whole heart for as long as I’ve met you and there isn’t a thing in the world I wouldn’t do for you because I am utterly and completely in love with you. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of how lucky I am to be with you and I never will stop. I am so in love with you and I would spend the rest of my days telling you if you’d let me. I know you’re happy where we are right now, I am too, but part of me craves for the part where this becomes something a more permanent. A small sense of security in our lives were everything else is unknown. I would never want to trap you in our relationship, and you’re not obligated to say yes so feel free to walk a way from this at any time, but the fact that you aren’t running out the door yet gives me a small chance of hope that maybe you do too. What I’m trying to say is, Natasha Romanoff, will you marry me?”

If Natasha had tears streaming down her face at the end of her speech, it wasn’t anyone’s business. Her heart broke a little that Maria thought she wouldn’t say yes though she hasn’t shown her the best responses in the past. Her mind was blank and for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to say. So, she did the one thing she could do best, and kiss Maria, her fiancée hard.

“Is that a yes?”

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh a little at that and stared at her fondly before softly replying, “yes,” and kissing her again a little softer and longer that time, trying to convey her emotions into it. And lucky for her, Maria knew exactly what she meant.

“I have most of the forms filled out Tasha, I just need to write out the names and if there’s a name change.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about just going by Hill, if that’s okay with you?”

Maria looked at her dumbfounded and quite honestly didn’t know what to say.

“It would be more than okay, but you know you don’t have to right? You can keep your last name or we could do hyphenated last names if you would prefer it?”

Natasha fiddled with her fingers a little before explaining. She knew she had nothing to be embarrassed about but she was still getting over the fact that what they shared isn’t a weakness and didn’t want Maria thinking any less of her for her reason, not that she would.

“Mia, I want to take your last name I’m sure of that. I’m more sure of it then any other aspect of this wedding. This proposal, our entire relationship, has been the first time that I have felt like I was a part of a family, that I felt like I was home. I didn’t have a family before I came to SHIELD so Romanova never felt comforting to me, and while Romanoff was nice to pretend that I was making amends; it was never real. But becoming Natasha Hill, joining your life and your family, is more than I could have ever asked for.”

Maria couldn’t find the words to respond to that, and she’s sure that even if she did it wouldn’t do what she was thinking justice, so she simply wrapped her arm around Natasha and pulled her closer, letting her lean her head against her. Kissing her forehead softly, she finished filling out the paperwork before putting them all away into an envelope that could be submitted in tomorrow. For today, she’d spend time with Natasha taking her out for lunch and giving her whatever she wanted, because that’s what she deserved.

#blackhill #natasha romanoff #maria hill #talia’s fics ໒꒱.*

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ynisreal · 1 year ago

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wires (2) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: helloo! i updated this on ao3 and forgot to post here :/ so here it is :D summary: You and Michael have the opportunity to get to know each other better. Michael couldn't be happier. (~6k words)

Chapter Two

It was during the night of that same day that you realized you'd forgotten your company radio in the control room, the result of being jolted awake. You flinch as you remember the shame you felt, after all, it was your first day and you had been caught sleeping by the night security guard. In fact, because of your startlement, you weren't yet conscious enough to question why he was hiding in the shadows; it was only when you left the establishment that you thought:

Why was he in the shadows?

It scared you, still afraid of your sister's stories, everything was very strange: your interviewer's lies and this faceless night security guard. Anyway, he had the opportunity to take you by surprise in a vulnerable state, when you were asleep, yet he did nothing. Michael did nothing. That was his name. Shit, you really wanted to see his face. His intimidating presence still wandering through your mind, leaving you with slightly flushed skin and wobbly legs.

You arrived home to find your sister recently home from school. You quickly start making dinner for the two of you, listening to her enthusiastically recount the day she had at school, and answering all the curious questions she was asking about the "haunted place" you currently worked at. You allow a chuckle to escape your lips, still amused by the idea of your sister gossiping with her friends about horror stories involving you. "It was fine," you reply, "Fine in the sense that there were no ghosts or any robots trying to steal my soul," you continue, smiling at her as you serve her plate alongside your own.

And it really was all right as far as it was possible, nothing you wouldn't expect, after all, it's a tedious job. Apart from the man in the shadows and Noah, nothing really struck you. That was good, you weren't working there for fun or looking for adventures, you need the money and you need stability for once in your life. You and your sister need that. Especially her, it's hard to live like this, that's the reason you were working so you could pay for her college. She deserved a happy ending.

With these thoughts in mind, you watch your little sister help clear the table and wash the dishes, smiling a little at how eager she is to help you all the time. You carry her in your arms to her bed, giving her several affectionate kisses on her chubby cheeks, laughing fondly when she lets out little giggles happy with the affection. You sing softly, holding her in your arms, lulling her to sleep on your lap, feeling the little sighs and groans she lets out in her deep sleep. You don't move from your position, wanting the moment to last a little longer, the feeling of peace was flooding your head, knowing that tomorrow you'll have food on the table, she'll have a school to go to and you'll have a job to attend to. Things were finding their footing again. You both deserved that. Because of this feeling and today's tiredness, you didn't even realize that your eyes were closed, letting your head fall on your sister's forehead, the two of you sleeping cuddled up in her baby bed, a little too tight for your comfort.

Your bedroom alarm goes off so loudly that it wakes you up even though you're in another room. You quickly get ready, taking the shower you had failed to take yesterday, hurriedly putting on your clothes, then opening the door to the neighbor who has come to take care of your sister. You thank her again, smiling in gratitude at the elderly woman who had generously offered her help in your new job, looking after your sister while you were away. She had lost her husband a few years ago, so having the company of a child nearby helped her through her grief, by distracting it with childish games and conversations. Children really can help give you purpose.

When you get to the elevator at Fazbear Sister Location, you manage to fix your hair in the wide mirror on the wall, feeling a little uneasy at the many posters staring back at you. It's like being watched. You hold the keys in your hand, ready to open the doors when you get out of the elevator. The loud sound of the doors once again startles you, making you angry at yourself for being so easily impressed. But, really, the sound was quite loud for this time in the morning. You scan the main hall, finding it completely clean again, meaning that the night security guard must have cleaned up once more last night. Caring, you remark. You know that cleaning wasn't in your contract, and probably not in his, and yet he took the initiative to organize the surroundings. That caught your eye in a positive way.

A note lying on one of the many tables in the large hall caught your eye. Your forgotten radio was there with a note on the side. You carefully picked it up and smiled at the shaky, careless handwriting as you read:

You forgot this.

-Mike

You smiled at the nickname. Michael. Mike. You truly must have given the other worker a bad impression, sleeping on the job and forgetting an essential part of your work here. The thought made you hesitate, guilt showing on your face. Seeking to make amends with your coworker, you reach for the pen in your pocket and begin writing on the same piece of paper, underneath the note the younger man left.

Sorry again. I'll be more careful today. Good work tonight :)

-Y/n

What you didn't expect was that these notes would become a regular occurrence between the two of you. That was a bit surprising, because on the very day you said you were going to be more careful, you ended up forgetting your security badge. So, the next day, you arrived in the main hall with another ticket on the same table, next to your forgotten credential. You flinch in embarrassment.

"I'll be more careful," Y/n said.

-Mike

In the other corner of the paper was a (very accurate) drawing of you leaving the establishment and dropping your badge on the floor. The strokes were well done, which you couldn't believe, given the poor quality of his writing. The words were all in sticks and shaky, while the drawing was delicate and shaded, as if he had spent more than a few minutes doing it. He must have been bored at work, wanting to make fun of your carelessness in forgetting various items at the office, even though you said you'd pay more attention. The thought made you laugh, you couldn't have made a worse impression, but you were glad that he seemed to have taken the situation into a comedic range. You didn't have a long interaction the night you met him in the shadows of the corridor, but you could see from the papers you were exchanging that he had a sense of humor and from the cleanliness of the place, he was very attentive.

You take another piece of paper from the control room and start drawing. Okay, your drawing wasn't as good as Michael's. In fact, it was nowhere near as good as Michael's drawing. You drew a lanky stick figure, with what was supposed to be a security guard's hat on its head and its hair, but it turned out to be a loaf of bread on a head with strands of black spaghetti. You hope he understands that it was a drawing of you with a smile and your thumb up making an "okay" with your hand.

Sorry again.

-Y/n

You write, topping off your hideous drawing. Michael couldn't hold back the loud laughter that rang through the corridors and the main hall when he saw your attempt at a drawing on the other note you left. You were fun and a bit clumsy, constantly forgetting important items for your work in the establishment. He could hear the conversations you had with Alice, always being polite and considerate to the poor woman. Michael found himself coming out of hiding more and more to watch you work, it was a bit dangerous and not at all clever, but he couldn't ignore the desire that was growing to know you better. You spent a few hours of your working day, when there was no company employee for you to look after, cleaning the floors and polishing the tables. You had brought some cleaning materials from home, making it your job to help him keep the place clean and smelling good. Michael appreciated that about you, the way you paid attention to his care and decided not to get in the way, but to actually help. You didn't have that obligation, nor did he in fact, but it was the place he spent every hour of every day, so the least he could do to make that gloomy place seem a little more comfortable was to clean it up. And you decided to do something about it.

You didn't notice his presence, he assumed it was because of the thousands of responsibilities in your head. You had a sister to look after, and Michael understood what it was like to feel responsible for another life, flooding your own head with someone else's needs. You start to live not for yourself, but for the other person. That's why Michael didn't judge you or think negatively of you for always forgetting items or not noticing his presence lurking in the shadows. He thought it was great, in fact, managing to communicate with you through notes, picking up on your little giggles when you saw his drawings or your concentration when you mopped the floor and watched the monitors. You were clumsy but hard-working, wanting to do your job to the best of your ability, and that didn't go unnoticed by Michael.

At the end of the day, Michael was still watching you. Your day at work had gone smoothly, favorably, with no company employees coming in to disturb your peace. Alice might be a nice girl and help you pass the time with casual conversations, but her boss was unbearable and stressful, instantly making you rigid with hatred and irritation. Without the presence of the two of them, you can better focus on organizing the establishment, not that it needed much arranging, but you could finish organizing the dozens of metal parts in the Parts & Service room. Strangely enough, walking past the Funtime Auditorium made you feel a little down, sad to find yet another empty stage, where once there were concerts and children having a wild time, today it's just an empty stage to dust off and tables to organize.

The stories your sister had told you involved these same animatronics killing children or kidnapping them, which was really scary. But there were no confirmed deaths or bodies found in the establishments, and hey, you spend all your days here, looking at the same monitors and the same rooms, if there was a secret room or hidden bodies, you'd know. Would you? With that thought, you hesitate, almost dropping the product in your hand. The tables in the Funtime Auditorium were almost all shiny, and with 30 minutes left of your workday, you didn't know if you'd have time to finish polishing all the tables. You sigh in exhaustion, the weakness in your arms becoming noticeable from all the manual labor you've done today, but that doesn't stop you from continuing your activity.

Michael is back in the shadows, his purplish skin merging with the darkness in such a way that he's almost impossible to see - not that you'd look for him, so lost in concentration on your own activities. He was in the auditorium with you, a safe distance between the two, but to already be in the same room with you was an audacity. Mike was getting more and more bold when it came to you, gradually reducing the distance between the two of you, surely observing the limits of your inattention, hiding in the corridors when you were in the control room or choosing the back of the rooms when you were spending your time organizing the animatronics' chambers. However, there was only one place he didn't follow you. The Circus Gallery. Michael can still remember all the feelings that went through his body when he saw Elizabeth for the first time in a long time. In fact, not Elizabeth, but Circus Baby.

They talked, the animatronic would speak to him and he would respond, something that was unimaginable to him nor Henry at the time when he was still alive and working in the same position as you. Hope flooded his body back then at knowing he could get in touch with his sister, but as Michael now knows, his life is submerged in injustice. That's why, today, he finds himself the way he is. With a hood hiding his face, a mask covering his mouth and only leaving the eye area visible, hoodie and pants over his entire body, hiding and watching you from afar. Michael sometimes allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if you had arrived at the establishment a little earlier, perhaps he could have had a coherent conversation with you, not exchanging notes full of drawings and short sentences, or he could even have taken you out to dinner after work, where you would certainly have told him all about your family and your sister, making him forget a little about the dysfunctionality of his own family.

A loud noise wakes him from his trance, the sound of something metallic hitting the floor. His eyes immediately went to the stage, ready for the possible reality that the horde of animatronics that had attacked him was back. For the next few seconds, he closed his fist in defense, knowing that, due to the lack of weapons in his possession, if Ennard had returned, Michael would have to protect you with just his own bare hands. And call him crazy, sometimes he missed fighting, it would be a splash of normality in the mess his life had become. But fortunately, no animatronic or threat appeared in the room, only your whine was heard. Michael returned his eyes to your figure, and you held open the door of Parts & Service with a frustrated look on your face.

"I don't fucking believe it!" You blurt out, irritation present in your voice. In your lack of attention when clearing the tables, you ended up opening the door with an unnecessary amount of force, which caused the wood to collide with one of the shelves, knocking it down as well as all the pieces you had organized. You had 15 minutes to go, but you didn't want to leave this mess for Michael to find. If you left this mess here, he would have to clean it up in the middle of the night. Night shifts are naturally tiring, and would you force him to clean up the mess you've made? No.

Michael's eyes follow your figure as you enter Parts & Service, he knows you'll try to sort out the mess as quickly as possible before his shift starts. He thinks it's sweet of you to care about his comfort, but he knows how heavy these shelves are for you, the metal being strong enough to hold the remaining parts of the animatronics. With your lack of strength and assuming that you will rush the process to get everything done before your workday is over, Michael comes to the conclusion: you will definitely hurt yourself. Not that he doubts your ability, but he knows how heavy these shelves are and, given your carelessness during your work shift, combined with your hurry, something is bound to go wrong. He doesn't want to see you get hurt, knowing that he couldn't take you to a hospital or call for help, so he would have to listen to your grunts of pain and see your body on the floor helpless until Henry arrived. That thought alone makes Michael's body respond negatively, the image messing up all the thinking he was doing. Apart from that, a selfish part of Michael doesn't want you not to be here for the next few days, assuming you'd have to miss a couple of days of work to recover. Or worse, you would come to work and stress your body even more.

With these ideas running through his head, he unconsciously begins to take the steps to reach the room where you were. The scene he finds proves all the theories that were forming in his head: you, holding the shelf with both hands, fighting against the force of gravity so that it doesn't fall on you. Michael immediately joins you, helping you put the rack upright again, which, frankly, wasn't that hard, given that he was the one who put them up and fixed the whole place up before you even worked here. He ignores the sound that escapes your lips in surprise, concentrating on getting the shelf upright and away from your body, to avoid you being harmed.

With Michael's help, surprising you with how quickly he had arrived, you manage to get the stand on its feet very easily. Too effortlessly, which fascinated you. You wipe the dust off your hands and watch the security guard in front of you do the same. Without saying a word, you roll up your sleeve, looking at your wristwatch indicating the end of your shift and the beginning of his. He had arrived quickly at the building, and frankly, it's a good thing he did; you didn't realize how much strength it took to lift that rack until it was too late.

"Thank you," you say, a little breathless from the effort you were making. Now you can see him more clearly, without the darkness of the corridor he was in when you first met. Michael was indeed pretty tall, wearing the same hoodie and jacket he wore that day, but you still couldn't see the man's face properly, his mouth and nose covered by a mask, leaving only the areas of his eyes visible. You didn't know if it was tiredness blurring your vision or the lack of illumination in the room, but his skin had a purple tone and his eyes were practically black. Were you that tired?

"You didn't have to fix that, I could have done it in my shift," he replied, turning his back to you and starting to pick up the pieces that had fallen. This gives you an almost perfect view of his back, broad and attractive, the movements of his arms making the muscles shape the stretched fabric of his jacket. You blush a little, still surprised by the man's abrupt arrival and his proximity.

"No, I made the mess, I'll clean it up," you say, "First rule you teach any child in kindergarten," the joking tone clear in your voice. He laughs, and gosh, he laughs, a little chuckle so attractive it makes you want to hear it forever. You bend down to start picking up the seemingly animatronic Ballora's arms, wanting to put them back where they were before. Michael continues to wrap the threads that have fallen off before seeing you bend down to pick up the heavy arms of the old animatronic.

"No, no, let me get that," he says quickly, setting aside the wires, and bending down beside you to grab the pieces from your arms, knowing that they would be too heavy for you to put on the shelf. You catch a glimpse of the man's hands, which are bandaged, leaving only his fingers, which also have a visible purple tinge. You must be seeing things.

"What about me? What do I do?" You let your arms fall by your sides, a little embarrassed that you had made a mess and he was organizing all the things for you. The sight you had was wonderful though, letting the night security guard do all the manual labor on your behalf, seeing this extremely tall and fit man holding heavy pieces for you.

"Sit there and look pretty," you can't see his smile, but you can hear the mocking tone in his voice, already imagining the playful grin that must be on his face. Even with the lack of lighting in the room, you manage to decipher where he's pointing, a chair left next to the intact shelf, away from the pieces that had fallen. You huff a little loudly, wanting to make it obvious that you were frustrated with your lack of cooperation, sitting down and returning to your task of admiring the man in front of you working.

Michael continues to pick up the forgotten pieces of the old animatronics and put them back on the shelves they were on before. After being stuck in the same rooms for so long, his memory was able to retain even the smallest details of how things were organized. He genuinely thinks that one day he'll be able to draw the whole establishment down to the minutest of details. Michael's back seemed to burn under your stare, he had noticed that your eyes hadn't left his figure since he started helping you collect the pieces. Very smooth, Y/n.

"You can draw really well," you break the silence, taking him by surprise. The drawing he had left on the note really surprised you, despite seeing you once, he managed to trace your body in a very recognizable way on paper. Your failure to do the same comes to mind for both of you, in the form of a lanky stick figure with a loaf of bread on its head, which was actually supposed to be a hat.

"You too," Michael says in a serious and convincing tone, leaving what looked like a few pieces of the endo-skeletons on the last shelf. "The noodle hair was a creative touch under the bread," he continues, now with his arm resting on the shelf, leaning over to rest his body against it. His convincing tone being easily identified by you as sarcasm.

"It was supposed to be a hat on top of my head," you smile, accepting defeat at your lack of talent in the art field. Michael lets out another laugh, which takes you by surprise, causing small giggles to escape from your own lips, glad to have been able to hear him laugh once again. "At least I accepted defeat and tried to draw myself, if I had tried to draw you, it would have been much worse."

"That's something I would like to see," Michael continued, smile invisible to you. Man, how he had missed laughing or smiling, Henry was good company, but with the various events that still cursed his mind, humor or comedy were not a strong trait in the older man's personality. You were young like Michael, still full of life and concrete dreams in your mind, and as much as you had taken on a great responsibility, which was looking after your younger sister, Michael could see traces of youth in your face, fighting to make themselves apparent in the surroundings where life had forced you to become a mature woman prematurely.

"I'll try my best," you say, a smile still present on your tired face. Michael was fun to talk to, distracting you from the fatigue that still weighed on your shoulders. "Have you started working here recently? You seem to know the place pretty well," you ask, looking at how he had re-organized the pieces, quickly putting them back where they were before they fell.

"No, I worked here for a while before you started," Michael lies easily, given that he had already practiced this lie with Henry several times before you even dreamed of asking him that question. "I worked both shifts," which wasn't entirely a lie, he really was here for both shifts, but it's not as if he had much of a choice.

You flinch, once again feeling that sensation you always felt when someone lied to you. Many years of listening to your mother's lies must have strengthened your intuition, but you didn't know why Michael was lying or hiding. You wouldn't ask, nor would you have the luxury of judging what he was doing, you weren't naive to the world you both lived in, he must have his reasons. He wasn't dangerous, given that the acceptance process for this job involved a lot of questions and documents, so if he had anything suspicious to hide, he probably wouldn't be accepted for this job, even more so for working two shifts.

"It must have been boring," you reply, "but you had the privilege of not being able to meet Noah," you add, a defeated sigh escaping your lips as you remember the insufferable architect who constantly ruined your mood at work hours. Michael did indeed know him, but you had no idea, so you believed him when he asked you who he was.

"He's one of the architects who is redesigning the facility for a new attraction," you repeated what Henry had already told Michael, but he didn't care, listening to you talk was something he was discovering he loved doing. "He's extremely rude and clueless, treating Alice, who is the other architect, in a derogatory way, acting as if everyone should cater to his every need and not minding their welfare".

Michael senses the annoyance in your voice as you talk about Noah, and frankly, he understands your frustration, from what he hears from the corridors to his hideout, the man's voice is extremely obnoxious in every way. "Sounds like every human who has too much power in his hands," Michael replied, returning to his task of wrapping the wires.

"No, I've worked in several places that had considerate bosses and, well, had the minimum of human dignity," you respond, still frustrated by Noah's behavior. This architect managed to fail at all the social skills possible.

"Why did you come to work here then?" Michael asks carefully, not knowing if it was a sensitive topic for you, he didn't want to possibly overstep any boundaries and lose the chance to continue talking to you. It was the first time in ages that he had managed to have a sincere conversation with someone other than Henry, and once again, that milestone had been achieved by your company. And, yet one more time, he was extremely grateful that it had been you, a beautiful, charismatic and attentive woman, how could it be better?

"Well, I don't have one of the best resumes, so there was always someone who was better trained than me or better prepared. In addition to my age, in jobs that involve constant contact with other workers, sometimes they would try to take advantage of my - how did they say it? My youthful disposition," you wince as you remember how much you were overworked in other positions because you were younger than the other employees. Michael hesitates too, annoyed that you had to deal with these situations, he always got to work in the businesses built by his father and Henry, so he knew he had the privilege of avoiding the possible charges he would have on his criminal record for beating up some scumbag bosses.

"I need the job, I have a greedy little sister at home to feed," you continue, too tired to realize that perhaps you were sharing too much information about your personal life to your co-worker.

"Hm, what's her name? Michael asks, curious to know more about you and your family. He missed his siblings and the family they could have been, even if he never experienced that opportunity. If he had the chance, he would be in your shoes, running away with his two siblings in his arms and living an eternal life of manual labor in order to provide a better future for them. Elizabeth and Evan would have gone to college, had dinner every night with Michael, spent Christmases just the three of them, until they each found a partner and Christmases expanded to three families with other kids running around the house. Perhaps in this dream, Michael would have called you on a date, telling you about the dysfunctionality of caring for two children alone.

"Cassie," you smile, remembering your little sister, who is probably now talking to the neighbor until her ears drop. She was always chatty, expressing herself confidently and stubbornly. “I can't complain about her, she always helped me in whatever she could,” you complete, the sincere smile on your face being noticed by Michael. The dead man's heart warmed, he could see the adoration you carried for your sister, it was lovely to watch. You must be a great big sister, Cassie was really lucky to have you, Michael notes.

”You should be an inspiration to her then", Michael compliments you sincerely, finally putting the last piece of metal on the shelf, everything arranged as it was before. Your smile expands humbly, your insecure mind not accepting the compliment of the attractive man in front of you.

“I don't know, sometimes I feel like she takes care of me, instead of me taking care of her,” you reply, raising your eyes, which you hadn't even realized were on the floor, to face Michael. He returned to rest his body on the shelf, his figure inclined, and yet, his face was turned towards you. You couldn't see his features, but you could feel his smile in the sound of his voice.

“All the older siblings feel this way, don't worry, I'm sure you must be doing a great job,” Michael says, confident in his statement. You were caring, hardworking and polite, he was sure Cassie must notice all these qualities of yours, unlike him, who was violent and angry, and he was sure Evan noticed that. "I speak from experience, you are a good example for Cassie," he concludes, a sad tone in his speech. You notice the change of emotion in the man's voice, a heavy intonation that almost made the room where you were darker than it really was.

“I'm sure your siblings are very lucky to have a brother like you, " you try to comfort, although your speech was not as confident as his. You didn't want to hear his voice sound like that again, sounding like all of his life had been sucked out of him, words so quiet and charged with regret. ”After all, you are careful with your surroundings, eager to help me even if I haven't done anything for you, and to top that, your impeccable cleaning skills, " you try to joke, and fortunately, it seems to work, as a low laugh fills the room with life again. You feel so relieved that you don't fail to smile too.

You roll up your sleeve, oblivious to the several minutes you spent talking to Michael. The number 7 and two zeros scream on the screen of your wristwatch, realizing that you had already finished your shift and were disturbing the work of the night security guard in front of you. You get up quickly, which takes Michael by surprise, thinking you had seen something you shouldn´t. Before Michael could explain the millions of reasons created in his own head as to why his skin was purple and his eyes so black they could mask themselves in the shadows of the hood, you say:

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was disturbing your work- fuck, I'm leaving now, don't worry about me,” the words getting mixed up as you talked, showing your nervousness at having spent the first hour of the night's shift with him. Michael finds your awkward and nervous manner comical as you left the room, practically running from him to grab your backpack and leave him alone for his office hours. He doesn't fail to follow you, walking the same dark corridors behind your hurried, clumsy figure, only stopping to lean against the entrance of the control room to watch you.

He keeps watching as you quickly grab all your materials and practically toss them into your open backpack, making the conscious decision not to tell you that you were once again forgetting your radio on the table in the main hall. You were such a cute sight for Michael, babbling various excuses as you frantically packed up your items. He did not regret the risk he took in approaching you today, knowing more and more of the pieces that completed you, and even then, the hunger for more did not seem to subside. He was totally attracted to you, the way you talk, how you comforted him today, how you also noticed his efforts and, not least, your appearance. The illumination at Parts & Service wasn't the best, but he managed to see your face more clearly today, your smile, your eyes that were lost in his working figure, your small hands and how the uniform did a good job of grabbing every curve of your body. Michael had always known injustice, but the feeling was stronger now. How fate managed to deliver someone so perfect into his hands and he just couldn't feel what it would really be like to have you as his.

You run past him, shouting a nervous goodbye, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible to let him work. Your footsteps could be heard through the corridors and into the main hall, opening and closing the main doors with rapidity. Michael smiles, pulling his bandaged hand up over his mask, feeling his cheeks tingle. If he still had blood running through his veins, he'd be blushing. He couldn't stop you from leaving so frantically like that, finding the whole situation too adorable to be stopped. His legs begin to make their way to the main hall, picking up the radio you forgot again on one of the tables. He reaches for the pen and paper in his pocket, writing another small note for you.

I'm starting to think it's on purpose.

-Mike

#michael afton fanfic #scooped michael #michael afton x reader #fnaf michael afton #michael afton #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf fanfic #michael afton x you

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therealstacyfakename · 11 days ago

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Fic preview bc this I thought of this wip three days ago and have been obsessed with ever since. I have written 8k words and planned out sequels whoops.

Twin Rocks (Part 1 of ?? of Twin Rocks, Oregon series)

Tentative Summary: Tommy needs a new deck hand and Evan is the best candidate for the job. He’s on some kind of find-himself road trip so he also takes Tommy up on the offer to stay in his spare room during the summer season. They live together, work together, and spend their weekends together exploring the local area, a lot of people also think they’re dating for some reason. He knows Evan’s time in the area has an expiration date and just wants to savor it while he can.

Excerpt:

The first time it happens when he’s standing on the dock helping a woman step off the boat.

“It was a lovely trip dear.” She said as she pressed a $50 bill into his palm. “You and your partner took such good care of me and the girls. Susan is the only one of us who knew anything about fishing and you got us all to catch them! Ah it was great. And you kids are really cute by the way, you better lock that boy down because if you don’t I’m going to give him my number.”

Tommy hadn’t been able to form a response. He retraced his actions and recognized that he and Evan did act pretty familiar with one another. He put his arms on Evan’s shoulder when he wanted to get his attention, and he would sometimes tease Evan and ruffle his windswept curls while they were cruising to the fishing spots.

His face flushed as the reality that he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was settled into his awareness.

Other customers started making assumptions too, being mistaken for a couple became common.

“It’s so sweet that you and your husband work together.”

“I’m glad you’re able to be your real self now that Thomas is gone.”

Google Reviews: Queen Lucia Ocean Charters: Five Stars

“I had the best time. They’re much more supportive than other charters in the area and take out smaller groups which allows for more personalized attention. Also it’s family owned, the gay couple that runs the boat is just the sweetest.”

“How long have you two been doing this?”

“Why do the hottest guys in this town have to be gay?”

Tommy hoped Evan never heard what people say about the two of them, he would probably die of embarrassment. They'd only been working together for a month and Tommy didn't want it to scare him off.

(sorry to the fic I posted the first chapter of on ao3 last week you'll get attention soon)

#my writing #bucktommy #Oregon coast au #I really want this to be good ahhhh #I already wrote the ending scene lol #911 fanfic

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guessimwritingficsagain · 6 months ago

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Kintsugi (the golden roses will bloom prettily in the space between your ribs) Chapter 7

Summary : You'd met Joel a year ago. Then you learn he and Tess are gone from the Boston QZ. You go find Jackson on your own. (Change of summary incoming)

Warnings : Mature content, MDNI, murder attempt, pining, ANGST, canon violence.

Tags : Just ask, and if I've forgotten you, do not hesitate to remind me.

Special note (copied from AO3) :

This is the end.

This story was supposed to be something like 4 or 5 chapter longer but, as I said on Tumblr a few days ago, I have the feeling that this fic is not exactly liked and while I usually don't care about what's popular and what's not and I'm happy to not be popular, just happy to do my little thing in my corner, I've been wondering about my place in the fandom, considering the patterns that are more and more popular these days (I didn't say this in my Tumblr post because I was upset about something else and I would not have worded it right).

And I know that when I start looking at the numbers and wondering why people don't like my work, it's that I'm uncomfortable, not in the right headspace. So I'm killing the fic. This ending is not the on I had in mind but that was the only way I could end it.

Thank you to everybody who has liked it/engaged with it. It has meant a lot to me, especially considering that what was once a OS became a fic because some people asked for it.

Fanfiction is a place of experimentation on many levels. It's also a place of connection. I'm glad I got to write what I wrote, even though it didn't speak to many people. But connection, something I'd known in the glory days of ff.net, is not in the cards for me anymore. So I'm taking a bow. Thank you everybody. I don't think you'll see me around for a while.

Chapter 6

———

Life with Joel is strangely domestic, made of cups of coffee shared in the morning, when the light that shines through the kitchen window makes the curls on his head glow so beautifully you want to run your fingers through his hair.

You don’t, afraid to touch him, to give those feelings of yours, feelings you’ve had for too long, something tangible to hold on to. If you’re afraid of them being rejected, you’re even more frightened of them being accepted.

Soft, caring Joel scares you, because you don’t know him.

He, though, is not as shy. Always the same, like it’s second nature for him.

You’re drinking coffee, and the he comes up to you, and his fingers tangle into your hair, the nails slightly scrapping you. He doesn’t tug but his handle on you is firm when his mouth finds your temple, presses a kiss there, as he whispers :

‘You’ll feel better soon.’

You don’t know who he says it for : you, or him. It sounds like it’s for him, but even though you’ve been feeling fine, you’re always tired. Always wary of the front door, unable to bring yourself to leave the house. It’s like everything’s off kilter, like you’re missing something, like a shadow permanently in the corner of your eye that disappears every time you try and look at it.

Like Joel knows something you don’t.

Everyday Joel kisses you on the temple and leaves for the day. He usually tells you

I’m on patrol with Tommy, today. Missed the idiot, I haven’t seen him enough lately, but don’t go telling him that.

Ellie drops by when she can, during the day, filling you in on the gossip around town. Sometimes she brings comic books, and reads them to you- all the better, she’s much better than you at doing the voices.

Joel always come back quite late, but you’ve kept his food hot and you watch him as he eats and tells you about his day., your chair close to his, and he sometimes lets his thumb graze your cheek and this is what you wanted but-

It scares you, now that it’s here.

It scares you because there’s a nagging feeling it won’t last, even though everyday you see more and more of your stuff in Joel’s house, like he’s moving you in.

Tonight, he comes to bed and puts that vase you’ve repaired a long time ago, before he and Ellie got here, right on your nightstand. He gets under the covers and sneaks his arm around your, whispering in your ear :

‘I’ll find some nice flowers tomorrow.’

You hum, content, the pull of sleep too enticing to resist.

You hear the thumping on the front door, feel Joel get up but you pay it no mind. He’ll be back soon enough.

———

Joel closes the door behind him, carefully, as not to disturb you. When he turns around, Tommy and the doctor are looking at him, faces weary. It’s Tommy who speaks first, voice low as if the nurses around around discreetly listening in anyway.

‘You can’t keep sleepin’ here, brother. Won’t help her wake up.’

Joel dismisses him with a shake of a head but the doctor :

‘She’s not getting any better, Joel. I think she’s not gonna wake up.’

Joel leans on the wall of the hospital room, arms crossed against his chest, deep breaths in an out because if he doesn’t calm down he’s gonna lose it and Tommy knows, by the way he holds himself, stern, hard, ready to strike should Joel want to make the doctor shut up.

The back of Joel’s head hits the wall, and he sighs.

‘Gimme’, he starts, and stops, and hates how his voice wavers. ‘Gimme tonight. Tomorrow I’ll go back home. But, just tonight, please.’

He’s begging, he can hear it and he hates that too. But it gets them to agree, gets them to leave, and for a second he thinks of going straight back to bed, back to you. Instead, he leaves, and walks, walks and walks, and he finds flowers he thinks you’ll like, muttering an apology here and there when he gets into someone’s garden,

Sorry, it’s for-

He never gets to finish the sentence, the looks of sympathy enough.

He makes his way back flowers in hand, looking like a young man going on his first date, awkward and nervous. He hopes- really hopes- you’ll like the flowers.

———

You hear them talking, downstairs, on the porch, but from the bedroom up here you can’t quite figure out what they’re saying.

Doesn’t matter, you think, snuggling your pillow. Joel’s gonna come back and he’ll tell me.

You fall asleep like that, waiting for him.

———

It’s pretty, he thinks, looking at his work : the vase is an old thing, Patterns of white and blue that were once broken but now mended with gold that you put here. The flowers are mismatched but in the moonlight it’s almost as if they’re glowing and if thinks you’ll like it. You never minded a mess anyway.

He gets under the covers, puts an arm around you, presses a kiss right below your ear and that’s when he hears it-

The silence.

He doesn’t even panic. He doesn’t even-

He doesn’t-

He presses a hand right in the middle of your chest and there’s nothing.

He leaves his hand there, scoots the closest he can, and he holds you.

He presses a kiss on the back of your neck, and then a second, and then a third, and then-

He cries.

———

Taglist

@pedritobalmando @amidjarin @ajeff855 @justpedropascal @sara-alonso @sarahjkl82-blog @amidjarin @sara-alonso@justpedropasc@mrsbentallmadge @farfromjustordinary @hnt-escape @kirsteng42 @ace-27749 @pocket-of-possibilities @missladym1981

#joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us

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frogychu · 2 years ago

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Antirrhinum Ch. 3

ellie x gn!reader

ch. 3 of 4

other parts: 1 / 2 / 4

word count: 2.5k

Hanahaki (花吐き病) ; disease affecting the lungs, proven to be caused by keeping one's true feelings hidden for too long Or Where you and Ellie have been friends for years until she finally slips up, coughing up petals in front of you.

a/n: of course its also posted on AO3 here if u wnna read there instead 🫶 ty for the love and all the reblogs!!

You and Ellie had spent almost all night on your roof, talking and watching the stars. You learned that green was her favourite colour, that her favourite season was fall, plus when and where she got all of her scars.

Much as you liked to hear her talk, she was insistent on asking you things and learning more about you. Her eyes would light up as she listened to you rant about something you liked or anything that was bothering you.

At one point, you figured that if you were really going to let your guard down around her, she would have to learn something crucial. “I have something else to tell you.”

She shoots you a look of genuine worry. “What's up?”

“I watched Curtis and Viper the other day.”

You watch as her soft expression quickly turns into a shit-eating grin. “Yeah? Without me and everything? I'm impressed, did you even like it?”

“Yeah, I did,” you twiddled with your hands, “I mean, now I'll have to watch the second one.”

Honestly, you wanted to watch it with Ellie, you wanted her to pick up on your hints at least a little. Who knew if she even liked you back, it wasn't really asking her out on a date, you just wanted to spend time with her.

You both cut each other off trying to speak.

“Did you want-”

“I was wonder-”

Ellie panicked. “Fuck, sorry, go ahead.”

“No, no, it's fine! What did you want to tell me?” You answer, trying to be polite.

“Uh,” you can tell she's nervous by the way she plays with her hands, “You could come over and watch the second movie. With me I mean.”

Your eyes lit up at her advance. “Yeah, that’d be fun, when were you thinking?”

“I was thinking like, maybe now? This is nice but it's fucking freezing.”

You nod your head. “Yup agreed.”

She gets up and pats the snow off of her pants and extends her hand to help you up. You can't help but feel your face get flush while you hold her calloused hand; somehow it's still warm despite her complaining about the cold.

You both get down from the roof safely and she walks you back to her garage, still holding onto your hand as you made your way over. You immediately warm up once you get through the door, her fireplace roaring in the corner.

Her small house is still exactly the same as a few hours ago, blunt still put out in the ashtray from earlier. You couldn't help but wince as you remember your argument from earlier, even if you've already made up.

Ellie motions for you to sit on her bed and crouches in front of her TV, trying to find the DVD on her shelves. You sit at the edge of her bed nervously, legs and hands stuck together, scared to take up too much space in the room. Even if you two were closer now, you couldn't help but still feel a little awkward.

She takes out a movie from her shelf after a while of rummaging and looks at your awkward posture. “I'm not gonna bite you know.”

“Oh, sorry.” You answered, as you moved back to lay on the bed more comfortably, your back resting on the headboard. She quickly joins you in bed after setting up her tv and sits beside you, leaving about a foot between the two of you.

Awkward.

The two of you watch the movie mostly in silence. Sometimes you'll give an offhand comment about something that happened, or Ellie will try to make you laugh with a stupid joke, but most of it was just the two of you sitting stiffly beside each other.

About halfway through the film, you notice your movie-watching partner slowly start to nod off, eyes droopy and head having a hard time staying upright. She eventually gives in and lets her head droop onto your shoulder, causing you to jump.

You sat there, not daring to wake her up; she looked too peaceful. Besides, she has had quite the day so you decided to let her rest, even if by this point the movie was over and it was just the blue screen of the TV keeping you company.

Eventually, you couldn't help but be lulled to sleep by her presence. Her soft snores and warm body, now clung onto you from her lack of awareness, force you to fall asleep with her by your side.

You jolt awake from strange sounds coming from the bathroom. Somehow you had made it under the blankets, and Ellie was no longer beside you. You start to get worried as you deduce that the weird sound was loud hacking and wheezing, and it was definitely her making those sounds.

Before you had the chance to knock on the door to make sure she was okay, the door opens slowly and you pretend to still be asleep. The bed creeks and you feel it sink in on her side as she sits on the edge for a while. She lets out a shaky breath before getting back into bed with you, pulling herself into the crook of your neck, and wrapping her arms around your waist.

Faint sobs fill the silence of the room as she cries into you, feeling the hot tears on your neck. You don't know what's wrong, you wish you could help but you don't know how, she won't tell you. So, you sit there, letting her get it all out before she falls back asleep, without her knowing that you're here for her.

You don't know if it would make it better or worse.

Oddly enough, you have a dream while you're asleep.

It's about the first time you and Ellie had ever met.

You're back as your 16-year-old self, just getting used to living in Jackson. Though your body isn't your own, you're still able to think your own thoughts. This particular vision is of you moving into your house, slowly unpacking the contents of your frayed backpack with the very few items you owned, making you feel appreciative of the things you have now.

Then, the time jumps; you’re with Maria. She’s telling you about all of the possible jobs available for you to do. You had chosen gardening to start, before moving on to patrol. Your heart feels full and warm as you reminisce on your gardener days, hands always dirty trying to make a nice patch of flowers nearby, even if you weren't really supposed to.

Snapdragons, or Antirrhinums, a wildflower native to the surrounding area. Even if they were everywhere, it felt nice to take care of some of your own, they smelled nice and were easy to take care of.

As soon as you blink, your hands are out of the soil, a knife in hand instead. It was your first patrol with Ellie, you had never talked to each other beforehand. The sun is warm on your skin, making you miss spring. Ellie was easy to talk to, you immediately felt comfortable around her and you were glad to finally talk to someone your age other than Jesse.

Maria had given you an easy patrol route to start you off, passing through a lot of scenery to help you get used to this line of work. She had thoroughly explained to you the route and even showed you a map, so when Ellie decided to stray off the path to show you something, you were afraid.

That is until you got to where she wanted to go, looking out into a field of flowers.

Antirrhinums scattered through an opening of trees, dense and lush with all of their different colours. You can see Ellie behind you smiling at you softly, proud of her find, saying she noticed how you liked growing them. The amount was definitely exaggerated, but you knew that it was because your brain liked the memory. A time before the fighting started, when you were simply happy to gain a new friend who cared about you.

It was serene.

For the first time in a while, you wake up peacefully, Ellie in your arms and soft light coming through the window warming your face.

Up until you remembered you both had morning patrol. Although this time, it wasn't a race, it wasn't a battle, there were no arguments; simply the rush of getting there on time.

You wake Ellie up quickly, nudging her a little hard until her eyes open, and hastily tell her that you were both going to be late for work. She wasted no time getting up, not acknowledging the fact that you were both sleeping together, and got ready.

You grab your coat and sprint to your house for your backpack, not even bothering to change clothes while you were there.

Ellie greets you at the door as you leave, startling you a little.

“You ready?” She asks.

“Yup, yes, let's just go.” You reply, hurriedly making your way over to her.

She wasted no time running out into the street, you quickly followed behind, until you ran into the crowd of people already working in town. Neither of you think anything of it as you interlock hands, weaving through everyone in your way.

You're pretty fond of all of this physical touch that's been happening between the two of you; whatever the meaning behind it was you’re just glad she's getting comfortable around you. Once you get to the stables, Jesse looks at the two of you holding hands with a puzzled look. Ellie notices and lets go, slapping her hand against her thigh very loudly.

“El, can I talk to you for a sec,” he turns to look at you, “privately.”

She clears her throat. “Yeah, sure”

They talk for a while. Who knows what they're even talking about, it couldn't possibly be because you were late, he would have scolded you both and move on. To make matters worse, they keep shooting glances at you, which only makes you look at the ground and play with your hands as to avoid their gaze.

After what feels like forever they part ways and Ellie walks back over to you with your gun in hand. “Here,” she hands you your gun and brushes past you to grab Shimmer. “Jesse just said we're doing the upper neighbourhood trails.”

He could've just said that to both of us.

‘Oh, ok.” You answered a little dryly.

Something was totally up, but none of the pieces were connecting together. It was bothering you, gears constantly turning in your head over what your patrol partner could possibly be hiding from you.

Ellie brings out your horse and hops on, extending her hand with added flare to help you up. “My liege.”

“How chivalrous!” You laughed.

She shrugs, “I felt like being nice.”

You hold onto her tightly as you set on course for patrol yet again.

There's light conversations happening during the route. Ellie asks you if you enjoyed the movie last night and you say yes despite not being able to recall any of it. Even if your crush on her was still very new, she clouded your mind simply by being around you. Even now as your arms are wrapped around her, you can't help but think of how it felt to lay together, bodies intertwined.

Though the moment was bittersweet since she had cried for god knows how long. You didn't want her to be upset anymore, you can't stand it. You're thinking of bringing it up.

You want her to feel safe around you and talk to you about these things.

“So…” you nudge her side, trying to get her attention.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to tell me what's up with you? First, you're skipping out on patrol, then you're all weird and sick, even Jesse has been super weird with me lately. You promised you'd tell me why you skipped out anyway.”

“Can we maybe not talk about this while we're on patrol? Besides, we're here.”

There are a few houses and a gas station, but it's quiet. There probably aren’t even any infected in any of these buildings but, it's your job to check anyway. She was probably just trying to deflect from the conversation.

Typical.

“Alright, fine.” You give in anyway and hop off of the horse.

You tie up Shimmer on a tree and quickly follow Ellie across the street to the gas station.

“You do the house, I'll take care of this place.” She orders you.

“Shouldn't we go in together? You know, teamwork?”

“We’ll be fine, besides we both have our guns, just in case.”

“Okay, fine.” You relented and made your way over to the small house besides the gas station.

It was quiet, but you were still cautious when you opened the front door. The exploration was short since the house was so small, and just as you thought, there was no infected inside.

Ready to call this an easy win, you made your way out of the house with a little pep in your step, until-

Pow, pow.

Gunshots.

You felt the world go in slow motion as your mind suddenly clouded with adrenaline, sprinting towards the nearby building as if your life depended on it. Your whole body trembling with fear as you pulled out your gun and held it in front of you as you swung the door open at full force.

There were two runners still alive in the building, one coming towards you as soon as you came in, you wasted no time shooting it down. You quickly shot the other one coming for Ellie, finding herself helpless against the wall.

Only sounds of gurgling infected and your ragged heavy breathing filled the silence until reality hit you.

“Ellie!” You ran to be by her side, worriedly checking her body for injury, “Are you bit? What the hell happened?” Her head was still facing away from you, she didn't speak for a while, “Ellie? Look at me, say something please!”

You forcefully grab her cheeks and turn her to make her look at you. Her face is full of blood and-

Petals.

Tears start streaming down your face, mouth agape as you stare at each other. You're unsure of what to say, words are too much and not enough all at the same time. She leans her head back onto the wall as you let go of her face, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes.

Hanahaki. You swore that sometimes it didn't even feel like a real thing. You understood even less why anyone would hold back their feelings for that long, it was so easy to avoid if you were honest with whoever you loved.

But, as you stared at the petals for longer, even studying a fully intact small bud, everything started to come together. You would recognize those flowers anywhere.

Fucking Snapdragons.

a/n: r u screaming crying throwing up yet anyways the part after this one im guessing will be the last one!! ty for all of the love on this fic🫶🫶

tags: @champagnelovers101 @florenceisacoolname @cherriesnwatermelons @sufloerfs @sawaagyapong @kayler-23 @ciaireredfleid @boosaye @kyootsies @intrnetdoll @zoddiachead @blairfox04 @roarriita @prrimordiais @addisonnie @sparkleswonderland @minustwofingers @trilogyss

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gmariam321 · 3 months ago

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I'm sure I've posted this before, since I started it years ago. But I think I can actually finish it now, so here's the beginning. Nothing deep, just a long one shot that puts Ianto and Gwen in quarantine. Because why not? Interesting dynamic, especially set after 'Meat.'

I'll be sure to share when I post it to Ao3! Enjoy!

Sunflowers and Seclusion

"You do know you're not supposed to touch the pretty things either, right?" asked Owen, his white hazmat suit failing to obscure both the tone of his voice and the roll of his eyes. He taped a plaster over Gwen's inner arm and pocketed three vials of blood. "SOP with unidentified flora or fauna in the field, Cooper. Didn't you read the manual?"

"There's a manual for flora and fauna?" Gwen asked. She sounded more upset than annoyed at Owen's rebuke.

"And Merriweather too," Ianto murmured, leaning against the glass outside the large suite where Gwen would be spending her time in quarantine now.

"Ha bloody ha," she said; now she sounded slightly annoyed, though also a bit scared. "You could have stopped me, you know."

"I believe I did say something to the effect of 'Let me get the hazmat gloves and containment box first,'" Ianto replied easily.

"They looked like sunflowers," Gwen replied sullenly. "I like sunflowers."

"A comically large bouquet of bright red sunflowers in the middle of the park didn't raise the 'Don't touch this without gloves' flag?" Ianto asked. Gwen sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought they were nice. We never get anything nice from the Rift."

"Maybe you were supposed to think they were nice and pick them up," Tosh piped up from behind Ianto, where she was studying one of their field scanners. "I'm getting some strange preliminary readings from them."

"You're being careful, right Tosh?" Owen turned and asked.

“They’re still upstairs in the box,” she said. “I’ve got a scan running remotely.”

“Good,” Owen replied. "I don't want us all coming down with some strange intergalactic rash."

"Ooh, I had that once," Jack said, appearing behind Tosh. "Found some cute guys with tentacles to rub in some cream and was better in no time."

Gwen blanched, Tosh frowned, and Ianto rolled his eyes. If he had pound for every time Jack talked about tentacles, he could eat at the fanciest seafood restaurant in Cardiff. Owen snorted and turned back to Gwen.

"I've got what I need to start looking into whatever this is." He waved his gloved hand vaguely over Gwen's body. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, her arms and legs covered in bright red spots. They were perfectly circular with a pale center, and apparently quite itchy, as she laid down on the and started scratching her arms like mad the moment Owen stepped into the decontamination airlock.

"Maybe it's just hives?" she suggested.

"I don't have any allergies on file for you, though that doesn’t rule it out," Owen said, taking off his helmet in the corridor. "It could be anything— allergies, a fast acting virus, bacteria, even fungus. But I don't think those flowers are quite normal given that you found them after a Rift alert, so we're going to assume your rash isn't normal either."

"Do you have anything for the itching?" she asked. "It's bloody awful."

"The shot I gave you should start to help. I'll bring down some cream once I start some tests running. If it’s not an allergic reaction—and if it’s alien—it might be a while before I have some better answers."

Gwen sighed and laid down, still scratching. "Thanks, Owen. Make it the good stuff, yeah?"

"As long as you don’t go picking alien flowers again," he tossed over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "Hey Tosh, what kind of readings? And can you help me with some of these tests while your scan runs?"

They walked upstairs together, talking quietly. Jack watched Gwen for a moment before turning toward Ianto. "And you're feeling all right?" he asked. "No spots, no itching?"

Ianto shrugged. "Nothing," he said. "At least, not yet. I didn't touch the bouquet, not being much of a flowers man myself, but I did help Gwen to the car."

"So we'll keep an eye on you as well," said Jack. "I doubt it's contagious, as it seems directly linked to the flowers, but you were close when it happened. Let us know if you notice anything."

"I figure I would have by now," Ianto replied. "Considering how quickly it hit Gwen."

"Maybe," said Jack. "But maybe indirect contact takes longer to create a reaction."

"Thank you for the optimistic outlook, sir," Ianto replied with the driest tone he could manage. "If you don't mind, I'm going to start looking through the records for other alien sunflowers that may have fallen through the Rift and infected past agents."

Jack motioned at the door. "After you," he said with a grin. He turned back to Gwen first. "Take it easy and get some rest. We'll figure this out."

She sat up, clearly miserable. "Can I talk to Rhys?" she asked. "We were supposed to work on the wedding tonight."

"I can call him if you like," Ianto said.

"I want to talk to him," Gwen said. "I'm already going stir-crazy in here!"

"You've been here for barely half an hour, Gwen," Jack pointed out. "If you're that freaked out about being in a room by yourself, maybe you need to spend more time alone."

Ianto tried not to roll his eyes. Of course Gwen was going stir-crazy, because, like Jack, she was the kind of person who thrived on the company of others. She liked action and adventure and functioned perfectly well with chaos and noise. Ianto, on the other hand, would love the chance for some peace and quiet in the Hub once in a while—even if it was in quarantine.

"How about I call him first,” Ianto said. “I can tell him what's going on, reassure him you're all right and we're doing everything we can, then bring your mobile. I'm not sure about the signal down here, but if you’re still awake, you can try. Sound all right?"

"Thanks, Ianto."

"You're welcome. Anything else? Some water? Owen says coffee might not be a good idea with the shot." "Shit," she said, falling back down on the bed. "No coffee? Tea, maybe? Isn't that supposed to be calming?"

"I'll see what we have," Ianto replied. "Give me ten minutes."

"Always ten minutes with you," Jack murmured, wagging his eyebrows. Ianto smirked at him. "And counting," he murmured. "Excuse me, sir, work to do."

He headed upstairs to call Rhys Williams and prepare some tea. Jack winked at Gwen and followed, while Gwen sighed, flung her hand over her face, and clearly tried not to cry.

* * *

It wasn't ten minutes later, after Ianto had got off the phone with Rhys and was waiting for Gwen's tea to steep, that he noticed a strange feeling on his hands. Glancing down, he saw several familiar looking red spots dotting both the tops and bottoms of his hand. Mouthing a curse, he took off his suitcoat, rolled up his sleeves, and saw even more covering his arms. And as soon as he saw them, it was as if his mind gave his body permission to start itching like mad.

Suddenly he wanted to rip off the rest of his suit; he understood now why Gwen had insisted on shorts and a t-shirt, as the heavy wool fabric was hot and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, he didn't have anything besides long pants at the Hub at the moment; maybe he could borrow something from Jack. But first he had to let Owen know.

Walking toward the medical bay, he was hit by a wave of dizziness and found himself clinging to the railing as he glanced down at Tosh and Owen running their tests. Taking a deep breath to stop the world from spinning, he cleared his throat.

"Looks like I'll be joining Gwen downstairs," he said, his voice coming out lower than he'd expected. He rubbed the back of his neck. "And I think I'll take one of those shots you gave her as well."

"Shit," said Owen. "Get down there fast, I'll grab my gear and meet you."

"Right." Ianto nodded and turned to leave. He scratched at his arms. "Tosh, can you ask Jack if he has any shorts I can borrow?" he asked. "There is no way I can stay in this suit."

"Of course," Tosh said, looking concerned. "We'll be down right away."

"Quarantine, teaboy," said Owen. "Now." He started gathering supplies while Ianto hurried back to the suite that Torchwood had long ago set up for exactly these situations. Used only for agents compromised in the field by unknown biological agents, it was a large, sealed off chamber with several beds, a table and chairs, and its own bathroom. It was rather like something from a medical thriller, but it did what it was supposed to do even if it looked cliche: kept the pathogens in and the rest of the Hub safe. Assuming Gwen and Ianto hadn't already spread it by making their way through the Hub.

Gwen sat up as Ianto let himself into the chamber without a hazmat suit. "Oh no," she said. "You didn't get it too?"

"Yep," said Ianto, taking off his shirt and tie. He left on his white undershirt and tried not to claw at the red blotches rapidly covering his arms. "So either it's spread through contact or through the air."

"God, if it's through the air, then the entire Hub might be infected!" Gwen exclaimed. "Or the park!"

"We've got procedures in place for this sort of thing," Ianto replied. "I imagine they'll lock down the Hub and go into quarantine mode now to filter out any particles in the air. And if we need to, then we quarantine the park, though we've never done anything that big since I've been here." They'd have to disinfect the SUV as well, and keep an eye out for any reports of the rash spreading beyond the park. It was the worst possible timing, that two of them were in seclusion when there was suddenly so much to do. Jack would almost certainly have to call UNIT if the park was involved, and he always hated that.

Ianto glanced around and claimed the bed opposite from Gwen, then let his elbows fall to his knees, wishing he could rip the itchy trousers off, but not wanting to sit around in his pants with Gwen. He was rather stunned at the ferocity of the rash and how suddenly it appeared. It was exactly as awful as Gwen had said in the SUV as he'd driven them back to the Hub less than an hour earlier: the sudden dizziness, the hot and itchy spots, and increasing fatigue. He only wondered why it had taken longer for him to break out. Perhaps he hadn't contracted it from the flowers directly, but from helping Gwen back to the Hub.

"I'm sorry I picked up the flowers, Ianto," Gwen said quietly. "You wouldn't be stuck in here if I hadn't."

"They were quite pretty," Ianto replied with a shrug. "But you really do need to read the manual."

"Maybe Tosh can find a copy and you can stand over my shoulder and quiz me," Gwen said with a laugh. She scratched at her forearms. "Because I will never, ever touch another plant, flower, or seed in the field again."

Ianto snorted and let his eyes slip closed as a wave of pain and discomfort gripped his legs, causing him to tense. He breathed deeply through his nose to try and resist the urge to scratch.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" she asked quietly. He nodded silently.

"I'm going to scratch myself raw soon," she said. "It's my arms that are bloody awful."

"Legs for me," Ianto replied, lying down to try and calm the unexpected anxiety. What was it that could cause such an intense and quick reaction? Why was it affecting them in different places? Was it alien? Was it fatal? Where were the others?

"You'll need to get those trousers off," she said. "We're all friends, after all." She tried to sound light-hearted, but Ianto could hear the effort.

"I asked Tosh if she could borrow some shorts from Jack," Ianto replied. "Hopefully they’ll appear with the shot Owen is getting ready."

Gwen was silent for a moment, then abruptly giggled. "Jack owns shorts? I don’t believe you. He only ever wears blue trousers!"

"Or black," Ianto pointed out. "Occasionally grey."

"And brown, I think I remember brown." She turned her head toward Ianto. "You'd look good in brown."

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "A brown suit? Seriously?"

"I saw one at Marks and Spencer the other week, it was gorgeous. Rhys doesn't need such a thing, but you could pull it off—tan shirt, burgundy tie…" She trailed off, her eyes slipping closed with a sigh.

Ianto watched her with concern. "You all right?" he asked.

"My arms hurt," she said quietly. "Probably why I'm babbling about suits, I'm trying not to think about it."

Ianto smiled as he stared at the ceiling, wondering where Tosh was with his shorts and Owen with his shot. "There are worse topics of conversation."

There was another pause of silence. "Can't really picture you in shorts either," she said. "Seeing you in jeans is shocking enough."

Ianto laughed quietly to himself. "Believe it or not, I used to be quite the jeans guy. I've got myself a studded belt and everything."

Gwen rolled over onto her side. "Now that is something I'd like to see, Ianto Jones decked out for clubbing! And what about Jack? Does he ever wear jeans? That’s even stranger than him wearing shorts."

Ianto smirked as he thought about the last time he and Jack had gone out. They'd gone to a local pub and played pool, and Jack had looked amazing dressed more casual. He almost said something, but was saved when Tosh, Owen, and Jack all came dashing into the corridor.

"Ianto!" Jack exclaimed. "You just told me you were fine!"

Ianto sighed and sat up. "And ten minutes later I broke out in spots, so clearly I misdiagnosed myself."

"Whatever it is, it's quick and virulent," Owen said. He stepped into the airlock and started pulling on his hazmat suit again. "I want a blood draw to compare with Gwen, and I've got a shot for you, plus lots of cream for you both." Jack waved a pair of shorts and socks and tossed them into the airlock. "Oh, and we get to see your legs. Wonderful."

"I have perfectly fine legs," Ianto protested. "At least when they’re not covered in spots."

"How do you feel besides the rash?" Owen asked as he stepped into the room. "Any other symptoms?"

"It's getting more painful," Gwen said. "And I'm dead tired. Feel like I could sleep for a week if only my brain would stop running in circles."

"That might be the shot," Owen said. He tossed her the cream and walked over to Ianto to start his examination. "How about you?" he asked. "Anything besides the rash?"

"A bit achy," Ianto replied. "Tired. Head's starting to hurt."

Owen stuck a thermometer in his mouth. "Low grade fever. So maybe not an allergic reaction. If it gets worse, I'll give you both something for the fever, but right now I'd rather let your body fight whatever this is on its own before throwing something else at it that could end up making it worse. Speaking of which, give me your arm so I can get some blood."

He did a quick draw, then had Ianto turn around so he could give him a shot in his upper thigh. Gwen giggled and Jack wolf-whistled when he unbuckled his pants enough for Owen to get it in the muscle. Owen grumbled under his breath. Ianto decided his legs itched bad enough that he didn't particularly care about dropping his trousers anymore and stepped out of them. He grabbed Jack's shorts, pulled them on and changed his socks, then collapsed on the bed, the small effort exhausting.

Owen bent over him and started poking at his legs. They were worse than Gwen's, and he flinched as Owen pressed on several large red welts, finally smacking the doctor's hands away as a furious burst of itching commenced.

"Stop it," he muttered. "Hurts enough without you poking it."

"It's blanching," Owen said. "Which is a good sign. Could still be an allergic reaction, which would be a damn odd coincidence if it were earth-based, but not so much if it's alien. So slather some cream on it while we go run some more tests. Call if you need anything."

Gwen was sitting up on the bed, her face pinched. "When is the medicine going to help?" she asked, her voice laced with pain and frustration. She hissed as she started rubbing the cream up and down her arms.

"Depends on what’s causing it,” Owen said with a shrug. "Not much else I can do until I know exactly what to throw at it. I'll be back to check on you in a while and bring a steroid in case it’s worse."

He left the suite and returned upstairs with Tosh. Ianto sat down and rubbed the cream onto his arms and even more on his legs, then laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying his hardest not to scratch and rub them. It was worse than any childhood illness he could remember; he half wondered if adults were in fact weaker than children, as he seemed to recall his niece and nephew going through their fair share of rashes with little complaint. Then again, maybe these things hit adults harder, or they worried about it more while kids kept playing their video games with little thought for things like aliens and death by spots.

"How are you feeling?" Jack asked quietly from the other side of the glass. Ianto sat up, surprised he was still there. Jack was standing close to Ianto's bed, watching him with a look of concern. He tried not to read anything into it.

"Pretty rotten, actually," Ianto said. "Never itched so bad in my life."

"I'm sorry," Jack started, but Ianto stopped him before he could continue.

"What for? It's not like it's your fault."

"I sent you out there," Jack pointed out.

"And did you drop the poisonous sunflowers in the middle of the park?" Ianto asked. When Jack shook his head, Ianto sighed. "Whoever went out there would be in here now—even you, I suspect."

"Yeah, but I could always—"

Again Ianto stopped him. "Don't even say it."

"Sorry."

Something occurred to Ianto, and he glanced over at Gwen, wishing he had a bit of privacy, then stood and walked around his bed over to the glass, turning so his back was to her. Jack moved closer, mirroring him as if he wanted to reach out.

"The…you know…" He tried to give Jack a look, knew it wouldn't work though. "The thing tonight? That we were going to? I won't be able to go. I'm sorry."

Jack frowned as his hand came up to the glass. "I didn't even think about that," he said. "Of course you can't, and don't apologize. We can go another time."

"You could still go," Ianto suggested, though he sort of hated it. "Maybe take Tosh? She'd enjoy it. Not Owen, though, since I'd prefer to have my doctor on call." He offered a smile, but Jack shook his head.

"Of course I'm not going without you. We're all staying here until we know what we're dealing with."

"Lockdown?" Ianto asked.

"Teamwork," Jack replied. His face softened and he smiled. "We'll go another time. I promise."

Ianto sighed. "All right. Sorry I mucked it up."

"You didn't muck anything up," Jack said. "Besides, you're wearing my clothes, and that's a good show too."

Ianto rolled his eyes, then made a motion back toward his bed. "I'm going to go lie down again. Standing is actually quite a chore."

The look of concern reappeared instantly. "Do I need to call Owen?"

"No, let him work on figuring this out," Ianto replied, slowly letting himself back down to the bed. The fatigue was a weight on his shoulders, heavy and overwhelming on top of increasing soreness and stiffness. "The quicker he runs his tests, the faster he can cure it."

"All right. I'm going to poke around the archives and see if I can find anything similar." Jack grinned when Ianto sat up, eyes wide. "I'll be careful, I promise."

"If you make a mess," Ianto said, laying back down. "I'll know it was you."

"And if I find something that helps, you won't care. I'll be back in a while to see how you're doing." He turned to leave, then stepped back. "How're you hanging in there, Gwen? Still awake?"

Gwen opened one eye and offered a crooked grin. "Can't very well sleep through all that, can I?" Ianto groaned, because he knew from that tone of voice—even sick—that as soon as Jack left, she was going to start asking questions. Lots of questions.

"I'll leave you two to it, then," Jack laughed. "Get some rest and call us if you need anything."

Ianto nodded, Gwen waved, and Jack left. Ianto closed his eyes and flung an arm over his face, hoping he gave off the clear impression of trying to sleep.

He heard Gwen turn toward him and imagined the curious look on her face.

"So," she started. "You had plans for tonight."

"So did you," Ianto pointed out without moving his arm. If his voice was muddled, he didn't really care.

"You had plans for tonight with Jack," she said. "Personal plans?" He was silent. "Date-like plans, perhaps?"

"Gwen…"

"Come on, Ianto," she said. "We're stuck here together so we're going to have to talk about something."

"How about the wedding?" he suggested. "How're the plans coming?" She snorted, which finally prompted him to open his eyes. She was laying with her head on her left elbow, her right hand idly scratching at her forearm, red lines streaking her pale skin.

"I know perfectly well you lot are sick of hearing about it," she said. "And that's not what I want to talk about. Do you have a date with Jack tonight?"

"No," Ianto grumbled under his breath. It was true, since he was stuck in quarantine.

"Did you?" she pressed, catching on quicker than usual.

"We…we had plans to meet someone," he admitted. "Piano player. Friend of Jack's."

He saw the look on Gwen's face and huffed in frustration; everyone always assumed that any 'friend' of Jack's was a 'friend' in the sexual sense of the word. But contrary to the image he worked hard to project, Jack did not sleep with everyone he crossed paths with. Yes, he had quite an impressive back catalog—that much he'd admitted was true. He'd also confessed that as the decades wore on, his usual inclinations toward such things started to slow down. Not that he was celibate; far from it. Yet he didn't sleep with nearly as many partners as he liked people to think he did. He said it was fun to keep up the reputation; Ianto suspected the playboy image was as much of a shield as his own suited archivist persona.

"Jack does have friends, Gwen," he said. "Some of whom are even aliens."

"What?" she exclaimed. "What do you mean, alien?"

He turned back toward the ceiling, satisfied that he'd distracted her from her original line of questioning. "Winstead Wallis is a jazz pianist. Second generation Mintoo. His family was stranded here a long time ago. Jack helped them settle, kept in touch with the family, and never slept with any of them. Now Winstead's retiring and playing some of his last shows. So we thought we'd go out and support him."

Gwen was silent for a moment. "On a date."

"Gwen…"

"Ianto," she parroted back.

"Leave it."

Silence.

"Why?"

Ianto turned toward her in surprise. The simple question sounded completely honest, with none of her usual guile, manipulation, or frustrating ignorance.

"Because it's none of your business?" he suggested as dryly as he could so she would get the point.

"If you're going out to meet aliens, that is certainly Torchwood business," Gwen replied. Sometimes she was smarter than she came across; Ianto tried not to roll his eyes.

"Then I’m sorry we didn’t invite you all. We'll plan a team bonding night to go hear the six-fingered alien pianist retire."

"Six fingers?" Gwen asked in surprise. Ianto simply smirked in reply.

"That's not the point,” she huffed. “You're good at deflecting, you know."

"And you don't know when to let something go."

"All I asked was if you were going on a date with Jack."

"And I told you where we were going."

"But not if it was a date."

Ianto sighed and sat up, his head fuzzy. He glanced around the room, trying to find something to distract him from scratching his legs, but there was nothing, so he did, letting his frustration find an outlet. "Why do you want to know? Why do you need to know? Just because there are only five of us working here doesn't mean the expectation of privacy is null and void."

"When two out of five coworkers are dating, the probability of privacy is pretty low!" Gwen said. She sat up as well, hugging her arms to her chest, her face a pinched mask of pain. "Look, Ianto, I'm not trying to pry—"

"Could have fooled me," Ianto muttered.

"But … well, you know how Jack is. He doesn’t seem…well, like the dating type, does he?"

"And you know this how?" Ianto asked, his voice both flat yet pointed. She flushed and waved her hands about.

"I don't, I'm…from the way he talks, the way he acts…" She trailed off with a sigh. "He's clearly a player, Ianto. He's not one to settle down."

Ianto grinned, showing his teeth in that same way Jack did when he was playing the shark. "Who says I want him to settle down? Maybe I don't want to settle down."

Her eyes widened, and he stood up to loosen his tense legs. A quick turn around the room convinced him to return to his bed and lay down again. The silence was uncomfortable, but the effort of walking upright and doing something was almost too much.

"I don't want to see you get hurt," Gwen said quietly. Ianto bit his lip, then released it, and with it the words he'd wanted to say for almost a fortnight came tumbling out.

"Gwen, if that was true, then all those things you said and did when Rhys was here helping with the space whale wouldn't have happened." He waited for the inevitable response of hurt and anger, protestations of defense...

#torchwood #ianto jones #jack harkness #janto #gwen cooper #fanfiction

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