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saynotononsense · 19 hours ago

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My Girls

The one where I try my hand at writing a fic, because I forgot how much I love Noah Wyle until I binged The Pitt.

This one is: Dr. Robby x Wife!Mom!Dr. Reader ft. a cute baby girl (bc Robby is a girl dad, sue me)

No content warnings, just straight fluff & likely medical/hospital inaccuracies

The late morning sun was bright in your eyes as you stepped onto the front step of your apartment complex. You adjusted the little bucket hat on your daughters head to shield her little face from the sun. She let out a little grunt in response.

“Are we going to visit daddy at work, baby?” You cooed, it was a rare day off in the middle of your week, so you were able to skip daycare today. Her legs kicked in response, a big, gummy smile stretched across her face. Robby was her favourite person, second only to you. He said it was luck, you knew it was all the time he spent talking to your baby bump after long shifts drained him.

After a quick stop at yours and Robby’s preferred coffee shop to pick a coffee for you and a lunch for him, the walk to the hospital was enjoyable. The early spring day finally warm enough to skip a jacket. It had been too long since you had a chance to have a slow day with just you and Miriam. Maternity leave was a fast three months before you were back into the regular rotation that the Pitt kept you in. Adjusting to a new schedule, on top of being deep in the throes of hormonal changes, returning to work was a challenge that you wished could have been pushed back another few months.

The staff entry door opened with a beep as you slid your key card back into your pocket. You stopped quickly in the break room to stash Robby's sandwich in the fridge and write a little note on the bag.

Walking through the hall, you could see that the emergency department was its regular flurry of activity with Dana leading the charge. She turned to see you and Miriam walk in coffee tray in hand,

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Robinavich 2.0 and her mini!” She left her post to give you both a quick squeeze, Miriam letting out a little giggle from her carrier as the older woman tickled her foot.

“And you just keep getting cuter and cuter each time I see you!” Dana gently squished Miriam’s cheeks in her hands. Your daughter only giggled harder and kicked her feet.

“Heavier too,” you laughed, “I wish I could press the pause button though. She’s started trying to crawl during tummy time and my heart can’t handle it.”

“Isn’t that just the way it goes, one day they’re small, squishy and totally dependent on you, the next they’re off to college saying they know everything.” Dana patted your shoulder, “I take it you’re looking for Robby?”

You nodded, scanning the busy department for his familiar gait. Giving a quick wave to Collins, as she made her way to her next case.

“Yeah, Robby forgot his lunch this morning, and I figured he may need a pick me up after last week.”

“He was just leaving a room in South about five minutes before you walked in. Let me see if I can get eyes on him.” Dana started to walk to the south wing, while you pulled a chair up at the nurses station. Miriam fussed a little in the baby wrap, and rubbed her eyes. You began to pat her back, hoping she’d settle.

“There’s my girls,” Robby’s warm voice pulled your daughter from her almost nap. Her brown eyes popping open looking for her dad. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead then the lips. His other hand came to Miriam’s back, rubbing softly. Miriam’s face broke into a heart melting smile.

“Can you take five?” You asked, “The sun is beautiful, and I think you may need to see it.”

Robby grinned, checking the board,

“I may have five minutes, Dana?”

The nurse turned to look at you both, shooing you towards the ambulance bay.

“Get out while you can, I’ve got it covered.”

Taking advantage of the reprieve, Robby linked his hand with yours and walked with you into the bright sunlight. It wasn’t often he was able to catch his breath during a shift, but with your constant encouragement, he tried to be more consistent in allowing himself moments to refocus.

“Oh! Almost forgot! I put your lunch in the fridge, you need to remember to eat more often, baby."

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” He asked, leaning down to kiss you. When you parted you answered,

“At least once or twice.” He smiled at that, eyes brown eyes warm and comforting. Home. You stayed tucked up against his side only shifting apart when an indignant cry from Miriam rang out. As you loosened the wrap, Robby supported Miriam’s little body as he pulled her into his arms.

“And what about you? Have I ever told you that I love you?” Robby’s voice slipped into a honey sweet tone he only ever took with her. Miriam giggled and blew raspberries, a string drool sliding down her chin. Robby kissed her cheeks, tickling her with his scruff. You watched with love and admiration, sipping your coffee and trying to take as many mental pictures as possible.

This is exactly what he needed. His two girls, a coffee, and a break in the sun. A reminder that life can be more than just despair and loss.

“Robby, MVA vic arriving in five, time to go!” Dana called out to the from the ambulance bay doors. Robby turned to you,

“Duty calls,” He said. He gave Miriam one last kiss on the head before he handed her back to you.

“Of course, it always does,” You replied, “Now, go! The sooner you go do what you need to, the sooner you get to come home to us, my love.”

Robby gives you a quick peck and a shoulder squeeze,

“I love you.” He was beside you then, in a blink he was at the doors of the hospital.

“We love you too,” you called after him. A raised hand and a smile let you know he was going to be just fine for the rest of his shift.

#dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #another peepaw to add to the list

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beasangel · 2 days ago

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the quiet between us

⤷ Joel Miller x youngerfem!reader | age gap

💭 “I ain’t gonna be good at this,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of bad. I don’t know how to be what you need.”

summary : he’s too old for her, too haunted by the past to let himself feel, but he does anyway. She’s too young to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, too stubborn to stay away from the one person who makes her feel safe.

warnings: injury (stabbed), light smut, age gap.

joel masterlist main masterlist

my first time writing smut so idk how i feel about it

You were twenty-six when you first met Joel Miller.

He was… not what you expected.

You’d heard his name whispered around town like a cautionary tale. Ellie’s guardian. Tommy’s brother. The man who walked across half the country with nothing but a gun, a girl, and a mission.

He was older. Weathered. Eyes like flint and a voice that could make people flinch. And when he looked at you for the first time, it was sharp assessing. Like he was trying to figure out if you were going to be a problem.

You weren’t. You didn’t want to be. You were just tired. You’d been on the road since you were nineteen—too young to have seen what you did, too old now to pretend you hadn’t.

Tommy offered you shelter. A bed. A patrol schedule.

Joel offered you silence.

You didn’t mean to care about him. But then you started getting paired up for patrols.

He didn’t like that at first. Said you were too green, even though you'd proven otherwise a dozen times over. You didn’t argue. Just kept showing up. Bleeding, bruised, breathing.

At first, he barely spoke to you outside of missions. “Watch your six.” “Stay low.” “You good?”

No softness. Just the rhythm of someone who’d been doing this too long to waste breath.

But you noticed things anyway.

How he always walked a half-step ahead. How he double-checked your ammo count when he thought you weren’t looking. How he’d never let you take the first watch on patrol nights. It wasn’t kindness exactly. It was… guilt. Protection. Like he’d decided that if you died on his watch, it would be one too many.

You were used to people brushing you off. Too young to be listened to. Too old to be coddled. But Joel? He didn’t brush you off. He watched you. He remembered things you said.

And when he let you patch a wound on his shoulder after a firefight, his eyes never left yours.

That was the first time you thought: he feels it too.

The age thing was always there.

Not in the way people stared—Jackson wasn’t like that—but in the way he held it. Quiet, heavy. Like a weight he carried between you.

You weren’t a kid. You were grown, capable, had seen more than anyone should. But still, when you laughed, Joel’s expression would twist—like it made him ache. Like it reminded him of a life he lost.

It happened after a patrol gone wrong. You and Joel had been paired together, again.

This time, it was a group of raiders on the road to the old hydro station. Too many, too fast. You both fought hard, but you took a knife to the side before Joel dragged you out of there, blood soaking through your shirt, your voice cracking with pain as you half-collapsed behind an abandoned truck.

He pressed down on the wound with his jacket, his hands surprisingly gentle. “Stay with me,” he said, voice rough. “Hey, hey. Look at me.”

You looked. Not because he told you to, but because you wanted to. His eyes were wild, scared, and that scared you more than the pain.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he muttered. “Just—fuck. Don’t do that again. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I didn’t exactly plan on it,” you whispered, trying to laugh. You regretted it instantly.

“You think this is funny?” he snapped. Then softer, almost a whisper: “You can’t die. You hear me?”

You did hear him. And not just the words.

You woke up in the infirmary to find him still there, face drawn with days of sleepless worry.

When you tried to thank him, he just shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be this important,” he said quietly. “You’re too young. You’ve got time.”

You sat up, chest tight. “None of us have time, all this is just extra.”

He turned away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

And Joel - strong, stubborn, selfless Joel - still couldn’t look at you. “You deserve more than a man who’s got one foot in the grave.”

You laughed, wet and bitter. “You think I don’t know what this world is? We all do, I don’t care about age. I care about you. You’re the only thing that’s made me feel safe in years.”

That made him pause. Then finally, finally, he sat beside you, hand curling around yours with a gentleness that nearly undid you.

“I ain’t gonna be good at this,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of bad. I don’t know how to be what you need.”

You leaned in, eyes searching his. “You already are.”

He was waiting by the door when the nurse cleared her to leave days later, arms crossed tight over his chest like he was trying to hold something in. She moved slower than usual, still sore, but he stepped forward before she could reach for her things.

“I’ll take you,” he said, quiet but firm. She didn’t argue.

Outside, the cold bit through her jacket, but Joel walked close, hand hovering at the small of her back like he wanted to touch her but didn’t quite let himself. Not here. Not yet. Not when every step toward her house felt like crossing some invisible line.

She glanced up at him once, searching, but he kept his eyes ahead, like if he looked too long, she’d see everything he was trying not to say.

When they reached her door, he opened it for her, stood in the threshold like he didn’t know if he was supposed to go in or walk away. And she just looked at him, soft and tired and still a little wrecked, and said, “You can come in.”

So he did.

The door had barely shut behind you when Joel pressed you back against it, slow, not rushed, like he needed to make sure this wasn’t a dream. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“I’ve been sure,” you whispered back. “Just needed you to be.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, more urgent. His hands slid down to your waist, drawing you in, and when your fingers tugged his flannel open, he didn’t stop you. His breath hitched when your hands touched bare skin. Scarred, solid, warm.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, tracing a long-healed mark on his ribs.

He shook his head like he didn’t believe you, but the way he looked at you said he wanted to.

You ended up in your bed, half-undressed, tangled in each other, lit only by the soft golden spill of the bedside lamp. Joel took his time. Like he didn’t know if he’d get another chance.

His fingers were careful on your skin, unbuttoning your shirt slowly, pausing only when you shivered. You weren’t nervous, just overwhelmed. His eyes never left yours, even as he leaned down to press warm, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs.

“You tell me to stop,” he said, voice gravel and heat, “and I will.”

“I won’t,” you breathed. “I want you, Joel.”

His hands slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down as his mouth followed. When his tongue slid between your folds, slow and deliberate, your hips bucked instinctively. He held you in place, groaning against you, and kept going, torturously slow, then faster when you whimpered his name.

He didn’t stop until you came against his mouth, panting, one hand fisted in his hair and the other gripping the sheets.

Joel crawled up your body and kissed you like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Still with me?” he rasped, thumb brushing your lip.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I need you. Please.”

He slid a condom on, your heart caught at the way his hands trembled slightly, and lined himself up, pausing just long enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“This okay?” he asked.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in. “Better than okay.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you just right. You gasped into his mouth, and Joel groaned low in his throat, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Fuck- you feel so good,” he murmured, “so tight, so warm…”

He moved carefully at first, like he was savouring every second. You moved with him, hips rolling, hands gripping his back. The drag of his body against yours, the quiet, desperate sounds slipping from both your lips, it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Joel,” you whimpered. “Please.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Harder. I can take it.”

He growled softly, thrusting deeper, slow and rough and just right. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, and he kissed your throat, your jaw, your mouth, whispering your name like it meant something holy.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t frenzied.

It was real.

When you came again, he followed, grinding deep inside you with a ragged groan, like the sound had been ripped out of him.

After, he held you.

Not out of obligation. Not because he didn’t know what else to do.

But because he wanted to.

His fingers traced lazy circles along your spine. Your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, his scent—sweat, smoke, skin—like something permanent.

“Was that okay?” he asked softly.

You laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah Joel. That was okay.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“Then I guess I gotta make sure it wasn’t the last time.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller age gap #joel miller x younger!reader #joel tlou #pedro pascal

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mywritersmind · 1 day ago

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SILVERWARE - LN4 spy au

summary : She gets flirted with all the time, called hot by attractive men, offered drinks by ugly ones. She’s seen it all. Tonight however, is a first for her. Called beautiful by a stunning man himself, and shooting the same one twenty minutes later.

listen up : spy!landonorris. suggestive comments. blood. guns. talk of sewing skin. knives. fighting!! hope you enjoy! this is very different from what i normally write but i loveeeed it! also spy carlos cameo.

words : 4615

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s been watching her. She knows it. It’s only a relief to one of them when he finally walks up to her and gives her the peace of mind that he wasn’t about to kill her.

She wants to say something first, but then she remembers her role. A role that isn’t too hard to play when a handsome curly haired man is trying to flirt with her.

“I’m sorry to bother you… I don’t know if you noticed me staring… building up the courage to talk to someone so gorgeous is harder than you’d think.” she switches her drink into her other hand and smiles innocently, liking the sound of his accent against the chatter filled room.

“With a face like that, you don’t need to apologize.” She sips out of the martini glass, her lipstick transferring on, “And thank you.”

“I’m Bob.” She doesn’t laugh, but is tempted. Instead she eyes his hand that’s being offered to her and shakes it. His eyes are a mix of blueish green, something only she could pick up in this environment.

He watches her face as she tries not to laugh, something he’s seen far too often when introducing himself with that name. Her hands are soft, his a bit ragged, but they both notice the shocking difference in size as they pull away. “Nic.”

“You here all alone, Nic?” His eyes still glance to the crowd, making sure to not miss the one thing he’s here for.

He knows he would get scolded for getting distracted, but he could easily argue that she was simply too beautiful to overlook. She wouldn’t get scolded, she’s a great multitasker and her team knows it.

“I’m here with my friend.” She lies, “She went off with someone a while ago. You?”

“Alone.” He nods, “Much happier now though, this is horribly boring.”

She nods at this, “Less boring when you’re a few drinks in.” She isn’t a few drinks in, in fact, she’s regretfully been sipping on the same martini for two hours.

He smiles at this, something devastating because she knows she won’t see his stunning smile again after this sad little conversation. He’s stunning and his smile is something she would love to explore.

She eyes his suit, perfectly fitted to him with a couple buttons undone. He likes her dress. It hugs her body with a perfect elegance, an almost hidden slit is what draws him in the most, that and her straps practically falling off her shoulders.

He doesn’t know that the slit is for easy access, and not the sexual kind. The metal kind that is strapped to her thigh and loaded.

She looks around the room, eyeing the man she’s been watching. What she doesn’t expect, is him to look at her. She turns quickly back to Bob, stepping closer and resting a well manicured hand on his chest, touching the collar of his shirt. “Breaking dress code… how bad boy of you.”

He smirks at her touch as she tilts her head, “What if I said a kid nicked it off me?”

Her fingers slip below the fabric, “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Smart girl.” He says. It makes her want to roll her eyes but she’s quickly distracted by the hand that rests on her waist. “I like your dress.”

“You like my dress or how my boobs look in my dress?” her manner drops for a second, something she can’t help. To her luck, he laughs.

“Both?” He watches her eyes, knowing she can’t decide between being charmed or confused. He really has got to work on that-

“I’ve got to go.” She says suddenly, backing away. His eyes dart to the figure moving across the room.

“Me too! Lovely meeting-” But she’s already gone, taking off in the other direction, her drink discarded on the bar counter. He shakes his head, walking away and trying to focus on the job at hand, not the beautiful woman who just left him in her dust.

⋆༺

The gun is in her hand now, pointed at an old man who’s struggling to open a door. He clumsily fiddles with the key, apologizing over and over again to the three men that stand behind him. They don’t seem to care, standing pin straight in their suits.

The one in the middle is who she turns her gun at, Mickey Chavez. Her old partner and new target. The two behind him are the large, silent, you look at Mickey wrong and you die, type.

The hallway is long and shaded at both ends, she stands in the corner, looking around it with her gun poking out just enough. She won’t shoot, not yet.

The man finally gets the door open and she knows what she has to do. Except, someone seems to do it for her. Right as her trigger is pulled, two shots are fired but not from her gun. The two men fall to the floor in agony.

Her shot flew right over their heads and landed in the wall. She never misses. What the hell is happening?

The two men weren’t shot to kill, they hop around and groan because they were shot in their… feet?

She turns the corner, her gun out and her eyes narrowed, ready to meet whoever just ruined her perfect shot.

She expects someone she knows, at this point, she knows every woman and man on the circuit. She does recognize his face, but she’s never held a gun to him before, she only held her hand out.

“What the fuck!?” They say at the exact same time. He’s standing in the exact same position as her but at the opposite end of the hallway. They shoot at the same time, Y/n ducking even though the shot was nowhere close to her head. Lando turns, trying to get out of the way but the bullet grazes the back of his arm.

“Bob!?”

He groans, “Why is it always the pretty ones!?”

And then the hallways fills with gunshots.

In a temporary lapse of insanity, they apparently both forgot the two wounded men had guns.

She ducks instinctively, rolling to the side and shooting right back. Mickey doesn’t carry a gun, she knows this. It’s the exact reason why the old man and Mickey dive into the room and shut the door.

One man is running at her, a flash of blue behind him tells her that ‘Bob’ (Something she definitely knows is fake now) is charging at the other man.

The one that comes at her is honestly short, which makes her smile. It isn’t a long time until he’s on the floor in front of her. Thank you seven years of training and a lipstick taser.

He’s knocked out, slumped at her feet. She steps politely over him and struts down the hallway in her red bottomed heels. The other bodyguard is still fighting with the handsome not so stranger, something she rolls her eyes at as she shoves the door open.

“Y/n!” Mickey screams, scrambling up from the door and clearly not expecting her.

“Mouse!” She scoffs, using his old codename and pointing her gun at him. “Get on the wall or I shoot!”

“What are you doing here?” He stands, pulling his knife out. Ah yes, Mickey was always one for theatrics.

“Take a guess.” She steps closer, glancing at the whimpering old man, “Shut up, you’re not gonna die. You will be going to jail for having a hand in a murder and tampering with evidence!” She yells probably louder than needed, but so worked up about this case. “Oh and jewel theft.”

She glances at the giant glass box with a crown in it. The historic fashion girly in her wants to totally geek out over seeing the jewels but when the light hits them, she looks back at Mickey. “I always hated you.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s cause i’m gay, isn’t it.”

She shoots the wall behind him, “You’re not funny either. You sold me out! You were a shitty spy and now you’re a lousy thief.”

“I had to!” He whines as ‘Bob’ runs in behind her, out of breath and heading straight for the old man.

“Cut the shit and get on the ground!” I yell, “Where’s the crown.”

‘Bob’ is already getting to work on the glass, having tied up the old man already. He raises a brow but doesn’t say anything as he cuts the glass with a tool from his suit pocket.

“It’s right there!” He points to the glass, frowning.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” she hears the dropping of glass as she keep my eyes on Mickey, and then, because apparently no one trusts her, Bob drops to the floor.

What she doesn’t expect is someone to charge through the door and spray her in her shocked face, falling right next to Bob as the world fades away.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He wakes up hungover with a girl next to him, or at least, that’s what he thinks at first. It wouldn’t be the first time, but they’re both fully dressed and when she wakes up, she screams.

Now that would be a first for him.

She goes to sit up but is yanked back down by something. He looks up and gets a horrible feeling because it’s the same thing on his wrist. Rope. He comes to the horrible realization that the pounding in his head is not from too much alcohol and the sharp pain on his back is not just because he slept funny.

Rope is tight on both of his wrists, except there’s someone else’s skin against one.

One wrist is tied to the headboard, the other is tied… to her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She says, staring at their bound wrists.

Wiggling around a bit, she groans even more, “They took my gun.”

He leans over, not feeling the familiar weight in his pocket, “Same.”

He frowns, not really knowing what to do and going through options in his head. They took his watch, glass cutter, knife- What the fuck is she doing.

Her leg is stretched out in front of her, through the slit in her dress and bending her knee to get her foot close to the banister. He gets distracted for a moment, watching her long tanned leg slip away from the fabric.

“What are you-” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence because she slips the heel of her shoe between the rope and it falls right off. “Christ, you’re flexible.”

She gives him a look, sitting up and untying their wrists, “You’ve got a blade in your heel?” She doesn’t say anything, just slips the rope off and stretches her arms, looking around.

“Who are you?” She turns to him, “Actually. And why are you in my way?” He tries to get himself untied, fiddling with the rope and staying unsuccessful.

“I’m Lando.” He sits up, reaching across him and wondering who tied this horrible knot, “And i’m not in your way- you’re in mine.”

“You’re a spy?” She says, quite rudely in Lando’s opinion.

“I don’t look it?”

She doesn’t respond, standing up and walking around the room that seems to be a basic hotel suite. “Why would they throw us in here…?”

“What’s your name?” Lando asks as she checks the room for weapons and people, peaking into the bathroom, then under the bed… giving Lando a great view of her ass-

She sits up suddenly, sending a sharp look his way. “I told you- It’s Nic.”

“Okay love, you’re awfully pretty but please don’t lie to me. I’m a spy too.” The fact that they met, both armed and on a mission, and She didn’t realize what he was concerned her.

Maybe he’s a better spy than she thought. But then again he didn’t know what she was either. She stands, moving her hair over her shoulder,

“Y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/n. For real this time.” He smiles, “Now… could you help me out here?” He’s still tied up, something that makes Y/n a bit too happy about.

“You’re supposed to be a spy. You’re not good with your hands?” A cool smirk slides over his face.

“If you untie me i’ll let you find out.”

She rolls her eyes at his line and walks over to the window. It’s fully clear, the night sky looking back at them with winks of city lights.

“Y/n.” He says her name softly, something that makes her pause, “I’m on your side- I mean… I want to get out of here as much as you do. And I don’t mind a little competition along the way.”

“Competition you can eliminate easily to win.”

“I pinky promise I won’t hurt you.” He holds up his free hand, sticking his picky finger out with a hopeful smile, “My wrist really hurts.”

She sighs, walking over to him and sitting on the side of the bed, trying to untie him with her hands first. He watches her intently as she makes the attempt. “Hard, isn’t it?”

“Shut up before I make you.” She whips off her heel and cuts him out.

“So I'm the one who should be worried then…” He rubs his wrist, now red and burned, “Doubt i’d mind having you shut me up.”

Her heel is at his throat in seconds, “Say it again, Curly.”

His smirk stays in place on his face, his hands up in surrender, “Jeez love… I’m sorry.”

“Help me with the door.” She slides her shoe back on, something Lando doesn’t understand considering her feet must hurt by now, and walks over to the door.

The second she touches the door handle, she flinches back, “Shit.”

He reaches into his pockets, just to be disappointed. “They took my shock blocker.”

She looks at him, slightly amused as her hand still tingles, “You have a shock blocker?”

“I get electrocuted a lot…”

“Is that how your hair ended up like this?” She steps closer, running a hand through his hair as if they’re back at the bar.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t back away, “Windows are locked?”

She drops her hand. “We’re on the Fiftieth floor. They don’t open at all.”

“Shame.”

“What would you do?” She crosses her arms, “Jump?”

“Better than getting shot again. Thank god they took your gun away-” He turns his arm, showing where he was sliced by the bullet through his suit and skin on the back of his bicep.

“Holy shit!” He’s bleeding still, soaking his shirt with deep crimson as she stares wide eyed at it. “Lando!” She hits, actually hits his arm! “Why didn’t you say anything!?”

She physically drags him by the collar of his shirt, proving to be far stronger than she looks before shoving him back onto the bed that they now realize has blood on it.

“It’s fine- i’m fine…” Until he sees the blood on her hands, making him a little woozy. “Okay maybe not…”

She marches over to the closet, throwing it open and pushing past the fluffy robes and safe, going straight for the tiny emergency kit.

Apparently their kidnappers did not have much time to think because most everything is still in this room. To her luck, there’s a small sewing kit. When he sees her pull out a needle and thread, he tries to get away, “No!”

“Yes.” She slams his shoulders back down, making him groan in pain.

“You are not sewing me up-”

“Yes the fuck I am!” She pulls his jacket off of him, unbuttoning his shirt next. He frowns, watching her hands move and pull the fabric off his skin. She tries not to have her gaze linger on his body, something even a highly trained spy struggles with. “Go ahead, make the dirty joke.”

He smiles despite the pain, “I wasn’t going to. But if you have one i’m all for it-”

Y/n huffs and climbs onto the bed behind him, hiking up her skirt so he can sit between her legs. “It’s going to hurt so just breath, yeah?”

She gets straight to it, wiping the dried blood with a washcloth and piercing his skin with no warning. “Fuck!” He bites his lip, hard. “Ah!”

She scoots her leg closer to him, “Grab my knee.” He does with no hesitation, the pain too great.

He leans his head back, “I hate you. Why did you have to shoot me!? Oh fuck-” She doesn’t cringe at the sight, having to do this to herself too many times. Her hands are shaking though. They always shake when she sees blood.

“Tell me about your mission. Tell me about why you shot those two idiots in the foot- I mean why the foot!?”

“Ugh!” He groans, “Um- I don’t shoot to kill. I can’t- Ow! My mission- to get Mickey. Just Mickey, I don’t know why.” She watches his jaw tense, making her oddly even more attracted to him.

“Interesting… He used to be my partner.” Everything in her screams to not tell him more, but the groan he lets out makes her continue, “Shitty partner. Only uses knives, likes the gore of it I guess. Creepy right? Anyway, He sold me out. Got me kidnapped too so I guess this is the second time.” She sighs, pushing the needle through skin as if it’s nothing.

“That- sucks!” He squeezes her knee tightly, hurting a bit but not complaining since it can’t be worse than what he’s going through.

“I always work alone but my team said I needed to be less of a loner or something- look where that got me.”

Lando chokes out a laugh, “Same- I mean, I only trust myself. Why complicate it?”

His curls brush her shoulder as he leans back into her, “Shit, Are you done yet!?”

“Actually…” She ties it off, “Yes!” She rubs his arm soothingly, something Lando could fall asleep too, “You did good.”

The words and touch combine make him shudder, standing up and rolling his shoulder, “Sorry about the blood…” He looks down at her hands, Her eyes leaving his only to glance at his body.

“I’m sorry about shooting you… And what’d I tell you?” She slides off the bed, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Well if I don’t then you definitely shouldn’t either. You didn’t know who I was.” He shrugs, “You wouldn’t shoot at me now, right?”

Y/n nods slowly, not making him feel any more confident, “Whatever you wanna tell yourself, Curly.” walking past him, she goes straight to the bathroom to wash the blood off her hands.

There’s a bang at the window, making them both jump. Y/n hurries out of the bathroom, Lando pausing as he pulls his shirt back on.

The whole thing happens in seconds, there’s glass everywhere and a breaking noise coming along with it. It’s not very loud, but a glass wall shattering isn’t quiet either.

The man that swings in has a harness on his waist, staring at the two people who hold up a lamp and a hanger to defend themselves. Y/n has no clue who this is, and is even more confused when he laughs.

He pulls his goggle like glasses off, “Wow you look stupid.” She’s about to be offended but then she realizes that his words are directed fully at Lando. He’s got thick dark hair and a spanish accent to match, wearing dirty jeans and a navy button down, he hugs Lando.

“What are you doing here!?” Lando says as if they’re old friends catching up at a highschool reunion! Y/n just drops the lamp and brings her hand to her hair.

“Saving your ass!” The mystery man claps Lando on his back and finally looks at Y/n who has been watching their bromance intently. “Of course you’d get stuck with a pretty one.”

“She shot me!” He says, turning to show his cut just as she groans and stomps over to the two men.

He’s still looking at the cut as if it’s the greatest thing on TV. “Hello!? You said you’re saving our asses?”

“Oh so you’re including yourself?” The man says, “I guess that’s fine.”

“Dude!” Lando says, “I just said she shot me!”

“Yeah mate… I'm taking her with if she got you.” He turns to her again, “Slippery fuck is impossible to shoot in drills, i’m impressed.”

“Back to the issue at hand!” Lando interrupts them, looking disgusted at his friend speaking to her, “You saving us or what?”

Turns out, he is! Lando steps into a harness as the man turns to her, “I’m Carlos, by the way. I don’t usually save Lando’s ass for fun but there was a call and I was the only one in office.”

Y/n smiles at this, liking the man more and more by the second, “I’m Y/n. How’d you get here…?”

“Chopper.” Carlos explains, “Not very inconspicuous so you better hurry!” Lando is all clicked in and ready to go, “Look, Y/n, I only planned on one damsel in distress today so you’re gonna have to piggyback off of Lan.”

Y/n’s heart drops, “Sorry?” but Carlos is already pulling himself back up the building.

“Don’t worry!” Lando smiles, “You trust me, right?”

“No!” Her eyes widen as his hands wrap around her waist, “Lando, No!”

“You’ll be fine, love, we only have one story to go-” he steps closer to the broken glass, the sound making Y/n nauseous as the open air hits her.

“No!” She stops in her tracks, “Lando- You don’t get it. I actually can’t.” Shes a world famous spy, she’s been shot, kidnapped, cut, and used, but her worst fear is still heights. “I’d rather try my luck with the door again.”

Lando stops, understanding her fear now and putting his hands on the sides of her arms, “Y/n. You just put a needle through my skin. I trust you enough to do that. I pinky promised you I wouldn’t hurt you. So please, trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His eyes are so sincere and oddly comforting in the moment.

He’s holding onto her dress only, her hands wrapped around the harness and rope that holds him up. Her eyes squeeze shut as they start dangling. Lando keeps his promise. He doesn’t let go.

It isn’t long until they reach the top, but for Y/n, it feels like years. She didn’t dare open her eyes, still keeping them shut as her heels met the gravel of the roof.

She intends to keep them shut, until she hears a thud. Carlos is on the roof, groaning at the impact as Mickey stands over him with a knife. “No!” Lando jumps into action, tackling Mickey and definitely getting cut in the process.

He’s holding the crown, she realizes. The real one. It gets flung out of his hand and as he scrambles to grab it, Lando kicks him in the stomach.

Y/n forgets every doubt she’s had about the two men, hurrying over to help Carlos, “He just knocked the wind out of me- Just, try to get Lan into the helicopter.” He stands and Y/n runs at Mickey.

This asshole. He sells her information. He gets her kidnapped. He tortures her. He kidnaps her again. And now he wants to hurt her hot new spy man!? No fucking chance.

She sees the knife get slashed across Lando’s chest, his shirt still unbuttoned and barely holding on as they roll around. Carlos is in the helicopter by now, starting it up and yelling over the noise.

Carlos throws a knife at her, apparently having enough faith in the woman who does catch it. “Mouse!” She screams as Lando pushes him off, the two now standing, “You always begged me to spar with silverware only, now’s your chance.”

Mickey grins, malicious and full of a sick want to see her bleed. The crown is on his shoulder, not going anywhere unless someone chops his arm off. If it’s going to be anyone, it will be her.

He runs at her, almost making her want to roll her eyes. Amateur. She stabs the knife right into his shoulder, but he uses these things more than she does, reciprocating the slice across her stomach.

Still, her corset keeps her safe. “Fuck you I liked this dress!” She goes for his chest, then neck, missing both as he sidesteps her.

“Y/n!” Her name is yelled over the whipping of wind, distracting her for a second too long and letting Mickey cut her ankle.

She kicks him in the face, making him fall over and blood start pooling out of his nose, “Cunt!” He yells as her heel grinds into his arm.

He grabs her ankle and twists it, forcing her to the ground and trying to climb over her. He makes an attempt to straight stab her neck but she swerves out of the way.

The movement and grunts next to her makes her realize that it was Lando’s voice who distracted her, the bodyguard from earlier pointing a gun at Lando and Carlos. “Shit, Mickey! You’re ruining my impression with my new friends!”

A knife comes at her again, her shoe intercepting it and making the silver clatter to the ground feet away. She gets him then, Stabbing his collar deep. She looks away, the sound making her sicker than usual. She doesn’t want to kill him, oh no, she wants him alive for what she’s going to do to him.

She doesn’t hesitate, standing up and throwing her knife straight at the bodyguard. Carlos is still in the helicopter, Lando standing below and watching her with wide eyes.

The knife hits the man right in the side of his neck, slicing through far too easy and making him shoot his gun. Except with the knife in his neck, he cries out and misses either of the men, shooting upward.

Lando runs to her without hesitation, “Are you okay!?” Is not what she expects him to say.

“I- yes!? Help me!” Mickey is half passed out, the pain too much. She grabs his feet, Lando grabs his arms.

Carlos helps throw him in, tying his wrists just in case, even though he’s fully out now. By the time they’re in the air, Lando and Y/n aren’t even strapped in.

They’re both breathing heavily, Y/n leaning back into Lando as they turn. His hand goes around her waist again, feeling the cut on her dress and panicking for a moment before he realizes it’s only the fabric. He holds onto the seat, as she leans her head back into him this time.

“I guess that’s why people have partners, huh?” Lando says, holding her tighter in his arms as they turn.

She nods weakly, “We both got what we wanted.” She holds up the glittering crown, proud of herself this time. Even if it took some blood.

“You basically brought my mission to me.” He says, “I owe you.”

She laughs dryly, “Buy me dinner and a a fucking trophy.”

Even though she laughed when she said it, he takes it to heart. “You know… having a partner might not be too bad.”

She looks up at him, her eyes narrowed, “I am not the person for that job.”

He smirks, a sense of warm relief finding its way back into her chest when she sees it, “Thing is love… I think you might be.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris spy au

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jenjensd · 2 days ago

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I’ve been having random but increasing pain in my body since I was about 16 or so? Maybe younger. They’ve done full blood panels, multiple ultrasounds, exploratory surgery, an mri, and so many hours in doctors offices trying to figure out what they could possibly look at next. All the meanwhile I’ve kept slipping further with fatigue and pain to a point where I barely can live my life. I can’t work or go back to studying. I spend more time in bed than out of it. I can’t get through a day without napping

. And I’m on such a high cocktail of medication that it would take at least 10 minutes to take every pill separate, even if I were swallowing easily and immediately taking them one after the other. I have to measure by the month and it takes literal hours to sort out 2 weeks worth of medication into it’s appropriate day and time boxes.

I want even a single diagnostic test to come back with SOMETHING that isn’t just fibromyalgia or functional neurological disorder. And the only reason I’m not satisfied with those answers is because it’s basically them saying “we diagnose you with ‘can’t figure out what’s causing it’ and ‘can’t figure out how to help so leave us alone’”. It’s genuinely depressing and really disappointing and I just want one goddamn test to tell me something, anything actionable.

“Normal” test results are not the relief people think they are. When you wake up in pain and continue to be in pain for hours every day and your tests come back normal you don’t stop being in pain.

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nobookclub-eh · 1 day ago

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JIGSAW FALLING INTO PLACE || TRAVIS MARTINEZ

NOT MY GIF!!

inspired by jigsaw falling into place by radiohead

rec creds - @district2222 (i’m so sorry if you don’t like it, i tried my best, i just didn’t know the song that well!)

warnings- cursing, shrooms, and maybe cursing

summary- travis and reader talk about one night they had together while on shrooms before the cabin burned down

-your pov-

My eyes darted back and forth as I laid alone on the wilderness floor. This has been a daily occurrence for me, take some shrooms and just lay there. Anything I can do, since I had run out of alcohol months ago, to cope with everything out here.

Shauna was my best friend but I don’t recognize her anymore. I’ve tried and tried to be there for her but she’s turned cold and almost malicious. Travis had been a big help for getting me through this awful time of my life. I mean surviving a plane crash and being stuck here in the wilderness for almost a year now hasn’t been easy.

Travis doesn’t really talk to me anymore since that one night, that one night that changed everything. I miss him. But he’s been hanging out with Lottie more and more and it kills me.

I was taken out of my thoughts when I heard a twig snap. My head quickly turned in the direction of the noise. My eyes widened. It was Travis. He gave me a weak smile before plopping down next to me. “Oh so now you wanna talk?” I scoffed, sitting up, brushing all the leaves out of my hair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking into my eyes. His pupils were dilated and I can tell he’s taken shrooms as well.

“Well now’s a better time then ever to talk, I guess,” I shrugged, motioning towards his eyes.

He blinked a few times, thinking that would help somehow, “Before you run away from me, I wanted to talk about that night.”

“What is there to talk about?” I raised an eyebrow, “You fucked me and then never talk to me again, Travis. So there is nothing to explain.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled once again, looking down in shame and guilt.

“I’ve tried and tried to be there for you but you wouldn’t let me.” I sighed, “I don’t care if you don’t feel that way about me, I know you don’t. But I want to be in your life.”

I closed my eyes and suddenly I could see that night. We had been out looking for Javi, but it was getting dark and we were headed back for the cabin. Travis and I had reached where the plane crashed and I smiled, reaching in my pocket pulling out the last bit of alcohol I had.

“We should get back,” he said with a small chuckle. “What about the others?”

“We’ll be back soon, let’s just have some fun.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the plane.

But suddenly, I couldn’t remember the night correctly. The walls were bending shape and everything blurred into one.

I opened my eyes and I was in the present again, Travis just staring at me intensely. “I can’t remember.” I sighed.

“You don’t want to remember,” he whispered, grabbing my hand gently. “This place is on a mission, Y/n, and you want no part in it.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“The time I’ve been spending with Lottie… it’s dark, it’s a very dark place.” He stuttered, figuring out what he was trying to say, “With Javi… I’m just trying to wish away the nightmare.”

“All I want is to help you,” I scooted closer to him, our sides touching at this point, “Let me help you. As your bad day disappears, I’ll be here, Travis. I’ll always be here.”

“You can’t,” he sighed, dropping my hand and scooted away from me. “That night, the one in the plane… I never really got there, I just pretended that I had.”

My heart dropped to my stomach and I could already feel the tears threatening to fall, “What are you saying?”

“I don’t feel that way about you. I never did,” he looked at the trees, completely avoiding eye contact. “I did a shitty thing that night, I knew you’ve always liked me and I used that.”

I shook my head as I processed his brutal words. I thought back to the times at school as we’d eye each other as we crossed paths in the hallways.

I would look back and he would look back, not just once, not just twice… and he’s telling me he never felt the same?

“You used me?” My voice cracked as tears fell down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He said, finally looking into my tearful eyes again. “I never meant to hurt you and I know it was shitty of me.”

To me, Travis had always felt like a missing piece of a puzzle in my life, he was like a jigsaw falling into place, but to him, I was just a quick fuck.

I sniffled wiping tears from my face, “After everything? You used me after I told you everything about Shauna? Travis, I understand you lost your brother but that gives you no right to treat me that way.”

“I know and I’m sorry.” He repeated but I didn’t want to hear anymore. I stood up, pulling myself together and looked at him one last time, “I wish I never met you.” With that I walked away leaving him alone with the tress.

#yellowjackets #travis martinez #travis martinez x reader #jackie taylor #natalie scatorccio #shauna shipman #yellowjackets x reader #misty quigley #taissa turner #van palmer #mari ibarra

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phatm0th · 1 day ago

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Reader catches Brahms touching himself. They bang!!

Hiii!! It has been a while since i wrote a full fanfic! I’ve been busy with college. I haven’t come across a freaky brahms fic in a while so i figured this would be the lucky post that made it outta the drafts. Anyways yeah, not my best work but im ovulating. What can you expect? This is just gratuitous smut. Sorry. I hope you like it anyway!

As always, reader is written as chubby but all can enjoy! This’ll be posted on ao3 tomorrow night or something.

MDNI! NSFW. 18+

You discovered Brahms all on your own. With your clothes and food from the fridge going missing and creepy bumps in the night and the undeniable, chilling feeling of being watched constantly you were able to put two and two together. You weren’t sure what to do at first but you surmised that his parents weren’t coming back and you were starting to like him and the financial stability so you stayed.

After months of living with him you like to think you made progress with him. He gained a bit of weight because you were cooking him meals fit for an adult man. He became softer, belly hairy with a layer of muscle underneath. He was better about his hygiene, too. He wore clean clothes and showered. His hair had grown a bit longer and it wasn’t greasy and tangled anymore. You convinced him to sleep in an actual bed in an actual bedroom rather than a raw mattress in the fucking walls. He willingly helped with household chores. You showed him some of your hobbies so that he had something to do while you were away or just busy.

Somehow, it worked. It was all so domestic.

One night, you were half asleep as you heard the bedroom door open. You felt a flash of panic, remembering the time before, when you weren’t aware of his existence. “Brahms?” you called, voice thick with sleep. “Can’t sleep,” he said in that small voice. You slowly sat up and patted the bed, inviting him in.

Within the next few minutes he lay beside you, soft snores muffled by his mask. He had never crossed that boundary before. There had been times when he fell asleep in the library while he watched you read, sure. But this was more intimate. You turned your back to Brahms, trying not to stare at his sleeping form.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find Brahms attractive. You did, especially after “fixing” him. There were just so many risks. What if he didn’t like women your size? What if he didn’t like women at all? What if he saw you as a maternal figure, despite you being close in age? If you decided to tell him how you felt, and it wasn’t reciprocated, what would happen? He would clam up. Likely kick you out, or go back into the walls.

You ignored your feelings for him as you did with every other crush and infatuation in your life, and tried to go back to sleep.

You woke up to a sliver of sunlight on your face. You were going to get up and adjust the curtains, planning to go back to sleep for another hour or two, but you found it hard to move. You looked down and saw his large hands wrapped around your soft tummy. You felt his slow, deep breaths against your neck and turned your head to see his peaceful face, sans mask, which you assumed he placed on the nightstand.

You didn’t mind this. You rolled over to face him so the sun wouldn’t be in your face, and went back to sleep.

You were stirred awake again, this time from the bed shaking, just barely. His voice was deep and shaky. You could tell he was trying his best to be quiet but he couldn’t help tiny moans and whines from escaping. His back was turned to you and you saw his hips slowly moving back and forth.

“Brahms?” His hips stilled. He became as quiet as a mouse. “Brahms I know what you were doing.” You felt a powerful throb in between your thick thighs, wondering if you caused him to feel that way.

“Please don’t be mad, I couldn’t help it!” he whined guiltily. “It’s fine Brahms, it’s natural.” You hoped it was because of you, but realistically it was probably just morning wood. You imagined his prudish parents made him ashamed of his body as he grew up. You wanted to reassure him, let him know he was safe with you.

After a few beats of silence he said, “You were just so pretty while you were sleeping.” Your pussy throbbed again. “Look at me Brahms.” He didn’t move. “You can put the mask back on if you need to, but I want you to look at me.” He put his porcelain mask back on and then sat up to face you, head hung in shame. You considered your next words carefully. “I uh, I thought you looked pretty while you slept too. I wanted to do what you were just doing.” He lifted his head and stared at you, his breath quickening. You wished you knew what he was thinking.

“Think you’re pretty all the time,” he said quietly.

Your eyes moved from his masked face to his crotch, where he was still rock hard. “You can touch me, Brahms.” His breath hitched. Tentatively, he placed his hand on your thigh, testing the waters. His fingers stroked across your flesh gently. You held your breath.

Before you knew what was happening you were on your back with him hovering above you, chest rising and falling heavily. His hand hovered above your large breast. “Hm?” he wordlessly asked for permission, too afraid to speak. “Yeah. Yes. Please,” you said.

His warm palm groped you over the fabric of your sleep shirt. He groaned as he watched the fat spill from around his hands. He could feel your nipple harden against him. “Want… I want…” he cut himself off with a shuddering breath. Brahms pulled his mask off and placed it back on the nightstand. “Kiss me, Brahms.” He obeyed, sighing and licking into your mouth.

You knew from the beginning that Brahms was a needy man. In those first few weeks, he would throw tantrums whenever you had to leave. He was clingy. This was something completely different, though. He touched and sniffed and licked every part of you he could reach as if you were going to disappear into thin air.

Brahms ground his sizable cock between your thighs as he buried his face in your neck. You were sure you both could cum like this, but you were needy too.

You said his name gently, trying to get his attention. He either didn’t hear you or didn’t care as he continued to rub himself over your clothed pussy. “Brahms!” you yanked his head back by his hair so you could look him in the eyes. He moaned, the desperation obvious on his face.

“I need more, okay?” He nodded and moved back, eyes fixated on the boxers you slept in. Tentatively, he rubbed you with his hand over the underwear, effectively holding the core of you. He watched a small wet spot form before he pulled the boxers off of you and dropped them to the floor.

“I’m most sensitive here, Brahms,” you grabbed his hand and led it to your swollen clit.

He swiped the bundle of nerves with his thumb, your hips jerking in response. He moved his hand a bit lower to collect some of your wetness. You expected him to rub it onto your clit but he instead brought the hand to his mouth, tasting you.

His breathing deepened as you watched a drop of precum bead at the head of his painfully hard cock through his pants. He grabbed both of your thighs and pushed them further apart, bringing his face closer to your cunt. “You taste so good,” he muttered.

Tentatively, he licked you from hole to clit, savoring the taste again.

He had no finesse, no technique, he didn’t even think to use his hands at all other than to hold your thighs open for him as he devoured you. What he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. He moaned and whimpered as he ate you out, and ground his cock down into the bed, desperate for some sort of friction. Without warning he moved his hands from your thighs to up under your fat ass, lifting your hips in the air so he could get even closer to your cunt.

He switched from licking into you to sucking on your clit, relishing in your shaky moans. He liked feeling like he was doing a good job.

All of a sudden it was too much, and you felt that familiar coil in your stomach. Your hands shot to his soft hair again and you said, breathless, “Brahms im gonna cum pleasedontstop.” He licked and sucked in every way he knew how, trying his best to get you there. Within seconds you were cumming on his face, pulling his hair just because you needed something to grab. He licked you into over-sensitivity, and didn’t stop until you pushed him away.

He did very well, one of these days you’d have his head between your legs for hours, showing him the best ways to please you.

He sat up on his knees, deciding for himself that he needed his pants off that very moment. His cock bounced as he roughly yanked them down and, Oh. You didn’t know what you were expecting. You caught a few glimpses of it under his pants just now but they didn’t do it justice. You weren’t even sure if it would all fit, especially since you were out practice. But by god, you would try.

You sat up too, but since he was still standing on his knees, your face met his chest. You coaxed hm to take his shirt off, admiring his stocky physique.

“May I touch you, Brahms?” He grabbed your hand and led it directly to the tip of his cock. You wanted to play with his tits, get him off slowly, run your nails up and down his torso, but you felt bad for how long he stayed denied. next time, you thought. Instead, you grabbed his hardness, feeling it throb in your hand. His hips made small, abortive thrusts as you slowly stroked him. You looked up at his face and saw his lips were pressed in a thin line. You could tell he was holding back from fully fucking your fist.

You decided that you both waited long enough, and laid on your back, opening your legs again for him. You pulled his cock towards you, edging him closer to your wet heat. “Please?” he begged, pushing his dick against you. You nodded, unwilling to wait any longer.

He held his cock and slowly guided it inside you. You felt the sting almost immediately. You placed a hand on his stomach, stilling him. He whined. my bratty boy, you thought. “Brahms, you’re very big. If you don’t go inside slowly, it will hurt.” He nodded obediently as he pushed inside, careful to not hurt you. The slow stretch was a bit more pleasurable than it was painful, and all you could think about was how you had never felt this full before.

After a few moments, Brahms bottomed out inside you. He swallowed, waiting on your okay to move. You stared up at his face, brows furrowed and lips pouting. You wondered how long you could keep him here inside you, not allowed to move. A very long time, you imagined.

“You can move now.” He sighed loudly with relief. You probably would’ve laughed if the air hadn’t been punched out of you as soon as he moved. It was gentle and slow, but impossibly deep. You clenched around him involuntarily, he yelped, startled at the sensation. “Oh, I’m sorry sweet boy, I didn’t mean to do that, I couldn’t help it.” You felt him pulse inside you as his breaths came it short, loud puffs. He thrusted his hips again, more powerful this time. It was your turn to yelp then, pleasantly surprised by his roughness.

At first, you thought that perhaps you needed some gentle treatment. It had been a while, after all, and he was the largest you’d ever taken. But something feral and eager in the back of your mind wormed its way to the forefront of your thoughts. You wanted it hard.

“Faster Brahms!” He made a choked off sound, excited at the prospect of getting to drill into you like he always wanted. Brahms followed your command immediately, shifting his position slightly so that he could move easier. The air was getting punched out of you with each thrust. The pudge of his stomach dragged deliciously across your sensitive skin.

“Good boy!” It just sort of slipped out. You hadn’t meant to say it. But the effects were almost immediate. “Hunh?” he moaned, confused and unbelievably turned on. His hips stilled as he stared at you, panting, eyes wild. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your stomach, folding you in half. He leaned over you, impossibly close, both of your shaky breaths mingling with each other. He rubbed himself against your core for a bit. The sound of your slick mixing with his precum was obscene and maddening. Part of you just wanted him to do as he pleased, use your body as his very own fleshlight. But you were waiting for him to beg. At least this time.

“Please can I? I’ll be good,” he asked, voice shaky. What did that even mean in this situation? you wondered. Perhaps what he meant to say was “I’ll make you feel good?” That wasn’t what he said though. He said he’d be good. For you. How could you refuse something like that? You nodded wordlessly, lifting your hips incrementally. He pushed his cock inside you slowly, slowly, wanting to savor every wet and velvety inch of your pussy.

When he finally bottomed out he somehow felt even bigger than he did before with this new angle. It was as if he was in your stomach. In your ribs. In your throat. You felt dizzy. His grip on your chubby thighs tightened as he began thrusting again, starting immediately with a punishing pace. He didn’t pull out very far in this position, unwilling to fully leave your warmth for even a second. It was like he was trying to fuck a baby in you, you thought deliriously. Shit. Where’d that thought come from? It got you dangerously close to cumming and the way he was constantly rubbing against your clit because of your proximity wasn’t fucking helping. You weren’t going to last very long, though you wouldn’t mind being put into a mating press like this for hours at a time.

You needed to cum again. You needed him to cum with you. In you.

You started deliberately clenching around his length, relishing in the way it made his hips stutter and his voice crack. “More, Brahms. Be good for me.” He made a startled sound but didn’t stop his hips for even a moment. He redoubled his efforts, pile driving into you like he hated you. The combined stimulus of his fucking and the sounds of his desperate moans and the vulgar plap plap plap of your hips slamming together and the god damned breeding thing had you teetering over the edge.

You realized then why Brahms hadn’t cum yet. You hadn’t given him permission. You tightly gripped the hair on the back of his head, pulling it so that his ear was right next to your mouth. You licked his ear and felt him shudder. “You fuck me so well, Brahms. Wanna cum now?” He nodded eagerly with his hair still gripped in your palm. The sting of it made him shudder. “Can I? Can I? Can I?” he chanted, making sure to fuck you in the way they you needed. “Cum. Cum in me like the good boy I know you are.” That did it for him. Two more sloppy thrusts and his hips stilled, cock deep inside you. His voice keened as he let out an impossibly large load inside you. You followed close behind, feeling your pussy ripple around him.

You both struggled to catch your breath. Your mind felt foggy and all you could focus on was his comfortable weight on top of you. And the fact that he hadn’t softened, still hard and pulsing inside you.

Yes, you had become addicted to him just that quickly, and he hadn’t softened always been addicted to you.

#fanfic #reader insert #smut #chubby reader #plus size reader #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #mdni #slasher x reader #fat reader

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seitmai · 15 hours ago

Text

Many thoughts

Jake’s green eyes dart toward the door before returning to his friend and narrowing. “Be kind, Coyote. I would prefer under the age of sixty-five.” Natasha’s brows shoot up. “Prefer, but you’d be open to-”

Hahaha worth a try 😅

“It’s on me,” the stranger says, wearing an irritatingly gorgeous grin. Your eyes narrow as you assess the man beside you. He’s wearing a well-fitting pair of jeans and a dark green button-up shirt, untucked. He’s effortlessly handsome, with sparkling green eyes and light brown hair that is perfectly combed into place. It’s almost as if someone cast a spell on a Ken doll to bring him to life. But you can tell by the way this man is grinning at you that he is much more devious than a newly animated children’s toy.

The real life Ken doll as he lives and breathes 🤭

“Hangman.” He winks. You frown. “I prefer Pictionary.”

What a perfect answer 😂👏🏻

You’d figured as much – duh, you live on North Island – but you’re not in the mood for this guy’s bullshit right now. “That must be so fun for you.” You push off the barstool with your drink in hand. “Thanks for the beer.” "Wait a minute.” He doesn’t block your path, but his words are enough to stop you out of sheer habit. “I didn’t catch your name.” You give him a tight smile. “That’s because I didn’t throw it.”

I am absolutely obsessed with her perfect and quick-witted answers 👏🏻

“The right one for what?” You cock your hip and hold it with your free hand. “A good one-night stand or something real? Because you don’t strike me as a guy who’s looking for something real, and I’ve just about had it with one-night stands.”

I mean totally fair and open and honest communication 🤷🏻‍♀️

His mouth pops open, but no words come out. You pause, waiting for him to respond or tell you that you’re crazy, but he doesn’t. He just looks at you with that same curious stare, like you’re a fascinating piece of art in a gallery.

He is already in love lol

Natasha’s ambiguity would usually make you nauseous with curiosity, but after the day you’ve just had, you can’t find the energy to be anxious about whatever it is she wants to talk about. You send her an affirmative text, accepting the boozy brunch, before tucking your phone away and staring out the car window for the rest of the drive home.

Oh this is gonna be so good 👀

Jake has been lying awake for over an hour by the time his alarm goes off. It’s Saturday, which means he doesn’t have to be at the base, but he still likes to start his weekends early with a good workout. Normally, he’d jump out of bed at the sound of his alarm and slip straight into his gym gear, but not today. He’s barely slept, and he feels like his consciousness is on a completely different plane of existence. He can’t stop thinking about you. You’d caught him completely off-guard last night. When Natasha had pointed you out, he could clearly see that you were gorgeous, which is why he was more than happy to accept the challenge of ‘charming’ you. Then you had the audacity to be witty, and Jake Seresin is nothing if not a sucker for a woman with a sharp tongue. You didn’t fall for his smirk or his cheesy lines, but you weren’t rude about it either. You’d clearly had a bad day, and he felt bad for borderline harassing you, but now he feels even worse for not at least getting your name. Jake has never believed in love at first sight, but last night is starting to prove him otherwise.

Oh, he is so gone 🤭

His workout today is half-assed, and he knows it, but he doesn’t bother pushing himself any further by the time his hour in the gym is up. Usually, he wouldn’t leave until his whole body was slick with sweat, but not today. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see your face, and then he doesn’t want to open them again. He’s worried that the details will start to fade, and he never wants to forget the face of the woman who has so thoroughly rocked his foundations. So that’s why when he gets home, he lays on the couch and closes his eyes, trying to burn your image into the back of his eyelids.

That is actually so cute 🥹

There’s a beat of silence. Jake is usually always down to hang out with his friends, but he has half a mind to spend his night scouring every bar and restaurant in town to see if he can run into you again. “Come on, Seresin,” she presses. “One of my friends is coming too, and I really think you’ll like her.” At that, Jake’s curiosity piques. Natasha has never offered to set him up with any of her friends before. In fact, she has distinctly threatened him should he ever try to go just is any of them. “You want to set me up with your friend?” She scoffs. “Well, no, but- Look, you’ll understand if you come. Am I counting you in?”

This is too good, it alsoakea a lot of sense that Nat as a best friend iconic and quick-witted like that😌

You stare at your best friend in disbelief. You’ve barely taken a sip of your first mimosa, and she’s already telling you that not only was she at that bar last night, but she was the one who told the gorgeous man to approach you.

Nat is pulling all the strings 🤭👏🏻

You take a deep breath before blowing it out through your nose. “Well, no, but I’m kind of hurt that you saw me walk into the bar and didn’t come say hi.” She rolls her eyes playfully. “That would have ruined all the fun.” You raise your brows. “The fun of sending one of your friends into a losing battle?” Her smile is sheepish. “Look, if you knew Hangman like I do, you’d completely understand. And when I saw you sit at the bar, of course I wanted to come and give you a hug, but then I had this beautiful opportunity presented to me. You got to take out a little bit of frustration on the male species, and Hangman got a nice big bruise on his ego. It was a win-win.”

Someone has to be the mastermind and make the necessary sacrifices for it🤷🏻‍♀️

“Come on, please.” She leans forward, doing her best puppy-dog eyes. “I know you don’t know my navy friends, but you’re never going to if you keep avoiding meeting them. Plus, Hangman should be there.” Your heart begins to thump heavily against your sternum, which is ridiculous because you barely know the guy.

That peaks her interest 👀

“I guess I should probably apologise to him.” She scoffs. “You don’t need to apologise. I was kind of hoping that maybe you’d reject him again.” You roll your eyes. “Nat, come on. I was rude to the guy, and he was perfectly-”

Suuuure just ro apologise

“Wait.” Her eyes go wide. “You actually think he’s cute, don’t you? Like, not in a flippant ‘that guy is hot’ kind of way, but in the way where you can’t stop thinking about him.”

Haha I love how Nat has instantly clocked her

She can’t stop giggling, her brown eyes like saucers above the hand covering her mouth, and it only takes a few more seconds before you dissolve into laughter too. You’ve definitely had enough mimosas for the morning.

This is peak girlhood 🥰

You’re turning into the cold aisle where all the meat is cut and packaged when Natasha pulls out her phone and calls Hangman. It’s stupid the way your heart races when you hear his muffled voice, but you can’t help it. You’ve been thinking about this man nonstop for the past fourteen hours and now you’re going to see him tonight. You’ve never really believed in love at first sight, but the memory of those sparkling green eyes is starting to convince you otherwise.

If they knew that they are on each other's mind

You’re starting to think that maybe you were doing yourself a disservice by not meeting Nat’s navy friends sooner. Everyone is super nice and incredibly fucking fit. It doesn’t take long for you to relax and enjoy the conversation with Fanboy while Nat argues with Coyote about what ‘medium rare’ looks like.

Fair, if Nat was my friend I would have invited myself a lot sooner lol

He smiles, and it’s hot enough to melt your bikini bottoms. “Pictionary, right?” You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, that’s right. Nat tells me you’re actually Bagman?”

God they are perfect for each other

He says something to Natasha along the lines of calling her evil, but you’re not listening anymore. You’re too busy drinking him in, and oh my, is that a big drink. You clear your throat. “I- um, I wanted to apologise for being rude last night. I’d had a bad day, but you honestly didn’t do anything wrong. Any other day I’d probably have jumped right into bed with you.”

Valid 🤷🏻‍♀️

Your eyes widen and you smack a hand over your mouth, heat crawling into your cheeks as you realise what thoughts you just let slip through your lips. Jake laughs, his smirk morphing into a genuine and breathtaking grin.

Hahaha she had to get it out of her system

“Don’t worry about it.” He licks his lips and looks you up and down, like a predator sizing up its prey. “You don’t have anything to apologise for, but considering this is any other day, why don’t you start by telling me your name? Then we can see about jumping into bed.”

I have to give it to him, smooth

You can feel yourself melting faster than a popsicle in the sun. It’s not that you want to be immediately smitten by this ridiculously gorgeous and charming man, but you can’t help it. Ever since last night, you’ve had a weird feeling about him. A feeling that makes you think he’s important to your story, one way or another. All you can do now is hope that it’s in a good way.

I'm sure it's in a good way, Nat is good in her role as Cupid 😌🥰

If you evwr feel up to it, I would love to read more about these two!! I'm just obsessed with their banter and how their wits and attitude just matches so perfect 👏🏻

at first sight ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: the squad challenge hangman to charm any girl in the bar, and phoenix chooses you, but you end up making more of an impression on him than he's is expecting

notes: i asked for some inspo and i got some! i hope this is okay, i wrote it in a day and just had a bit of fun, so let me know what you think! (i also got another request for jake, and honestly if he's who y'all want, i'm so here for it)

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, text screenshots, and it's a little horny but otherwise fine (let me know if i've missed anything!)

word count: 3304

“Any girl in the bar?” Reuben echoes Jake’s words, disbelief saturating his tone.

Jake nods. “Any available girl in this bar.”

Bradley chuckles into the mouth of his beer bottle as he tips it to his lips while Mickey and Bob crane their necks to survey the busy bar.

“What about that one?” Mickey nods toward a high table where a woman is sitting by herself.

Jake rolls his eyes. “I said available. She’s clearly got a date and he’s just gone to get a drink. Do you see the keys on the table?”

As if on cue, a tall man with thick brows and a very square jaw places two drinks on the table before sitting across from the woman.

Javy chuckles as he subtly points toward the main door where two women have just entered the bar. “What about one of those two, Hangman?”

Jake’s green eyes dart toward the door before returning to his friend and narrowing. “Be kind, Coyote. I would prefer under the age of sixty-five.”

Natasha’s brows shoot up. “Prefer, but you’d be open to-”

“No.” Jake scowls across the table at her.

The group share a laugh before they all return to scouring the bar for an acceptable target. Jake Seresin makes big claims about his ability with ‘the ladies’ but the dagger squad are yet to witness such skill in action.

“Her.” Natasha says, brown eyes focused on someone at the bar.

Every single one of them turn to follow her gaze, and Jake’s mouth twists up into that signature smirk.

You sigh and slide your phone out of your back pocket, opening the text chain that made you leave the restaurant you’d been waiting at and order an Uber to the nearest bar. Another message pops up as you stare at the screen, asking where you are and if you got a table yet. You roll your eyes and take a screenshot before going to your text thread with your best friend and sending it to her.

You slide your phone back into your pocket just as the bartender places the beer you ordered in front of you. You glance up with a small smile and open your wallet to find your credit card, but someone beside you is quicker to hand the man some cash.

“It’s on me,” the stranger says, wearing an irritatingly gorgeous grin.

Your eyes narrow as you assess the man beside you. He’s wearing a well-fitting pair of jeans and a dark green button-up shirt, untucked. He’s effortlessly handsome, with sparkling green eyes and light brown hair that is perfectly combed into place. It’s almost as if someone cast a spell on a Ken doll to bring him to life. But you can tell by the way this man is grinning at you that he is much more devious than a newly animated children’s toy.

You pick up your drink and turn to face him, silently asking him to explain himself.

“Hangman.” He winks.

You frown. “I prefer Pictionary.”

His pretty smirk falters for a second before he fully processes what you said, and then he chuckles. “No, it’s my callsign. I’m a naval aviator.”

“Wait a minute.” He doesn’t block your path, but his words are enough to stop you out of sheer habit. “I didn’t catch your name.”

You give him a tight smile. “That’s because I didn’t throw it.”

Despite the dim, yellow lighting inside the bar, his eyes still sparkle like freshly tumbled jades. He doesn’t look as smarmy as he had a few moments ago, he looks more intrigued than cocky now. His smile isn’t quite as smirky, and his gaze is less predatory, but his eyes are still raking up and down your body. On any other day, you’d be willing to give this charming man a run for his money. You’d drag him into a booth and see if he could keep up with your verbal warfare before deciding whether or not you wanted to take him home. But not tonight.

“I’d be willing to earn your name if you give me a chance.”

You look down at your beer and sigh quietly before glancing back up at him. “Look, Hangman, I don’t doubt this routine – this charm – works on most girls, but you have really picked the wrong one tonight.”

He raises one challenging brow. “You look like the right one to me.”

His mouth pops open, but no words come out.

“And while I don’t doubt that it would be a really good one-night stand, because- well, I’m not blind, I’ve just had a really crappy day and would like to drink my beer in peace while I craft a careful and incredibly scathing text to the asshole who put me in this mood.”

You pause, waiting for him to respond or tell you that you’re crazy, but he doesn’t. He just looks at you with that same curious stare, like you’re a fascinating piece of art in a gallery.

“So, thank you for the drink, but could you please let me have my pity-party alone? You can go tell your friends you got my number, and we can just pretend that I reacted to this whole situation like any other normal person would have.”

His brows pinch as you offer him another tight smile before turning and walking toward a spare table. Once you settle in one of the chairs – your back to the room –, you have to resist the urge to turn around, because a tiny part of you wishes that you could have humoured him. He was hot, there’s no denying that, but he also seemed like an actual gentleman – an experienced gentleman, but one, nonetheless. Which is something that your life is sorely lacking.

You pull your phone out again and open up your text conversation with Declan – the guy you thought you’d been dating for the past three months.

You were supposed to have met for dinner at 7PM, and you'd been waiting at the restaurant since 6:45PM because you were so excited for your date. But after those texts, you threw your napkin on the table and walked right out the door. You hailed a cab and told the driver to take you to The Hard Deck, a bar you’ve only heard of from your friend. The same friend who you’d sent the screenshots of your conversation with Declan.

You shake your head and decide to compose a ‘get fucked’ message to Declan later. You're tired and a little upset, so you tip your beer to your lips and scull the rest of it, plonking the glass down harder than necessary as you stand up.

You call an Uber to take you home and when you slide into the back seat, you feel utterly drained and more than a little guilty about blowing off that gorgeous guy. You open your phone and tap on your text messages, pulling up your conversation with your best friend and typing out a few new messages.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

You’d caught him completely off-guard last night. When Natasha had pointed you out, he could clearly see that you were gorgeous, which is why he was more than happy to accept the challenge of ‘charming’ you. Then you had the audacity to be witty, and Jake Seresin is nothing if not a sucker for a woman with a sharp tongue. You didn’t fall for his smirk or his cheesy lines, but you weren’t rude about it either. You’d clearly had a bad day, and he felt bad for borderline harassing you, but now he feels even worse for not at least getting your name.

Jake has never believed in love at first sight, but last night is starting to prove him otherwise.

A couple of hours and a lot of unsuccessful internet sleuthing later, his phone rings, the screen lighting up with Natasha’s caller ID photo.

“Hello?”

“Bagman, you sound tired.”

“I’m busy. What's up?”

“Well, now you sound depressed.” He can hear the amusement in her voice. “Are you still bummed about striking out last night?”

He doesn’t care about striking out, he cares about the fact that he’s now seemingly obsessed with a mystery girl he might never see again.

“I’m not in the mood, Phoenix.”

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to see if you were coming to the beach barbecue tonight.” He can hear another muffled voice in the background, but he can’t discern who it is. “It was Payback’s idea, and everyone else is in, but you didn’t reply to the group chat. So?”

“Come on, Seresin,” she presses. “One of my friends is coming too, and I really think you’ll like her.”

At that, Jake’s curiosity piques. Natasha has never offered to set him up with any of her friends before. In fact, she has distinctly threatened him should he ever try to go near any of them.

“You want to set me up with your friend?”

She scoffs. “Well, no, but- Look, you’ll understand if you come. Am I counting you in?”

He lets out a long breath as he falls back against the couch cushions. “Yeah, sure.”

- Three Hours Earlier -

“Are you mad?” she asks, holding her champagne flute in front of her face as if it could protect her.

You take a deep breath before blowing it out through your nose. “Well, no, but I’m kind of hurt that you saw me walk into the bar and didn’t come say hi.”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “That would have ruined all the fun.”

You raise your brows. “The fun of sending one of your friends into a losing battle?”

Her smile is sheepish. “Look, if you knew Hangman like I do, you’d completely understand. And when I saw you sit at the bar, of course I wanted to come and give you a hug, but then I had this beautiful opportunity presented to me. You got to take out a little bit of frustration on the male species, and Hangman got a nice big bruise on his ego. It was a win-win.”

You take a generous sip of your mimosa and point a finger at her. “Win.”

She gives you a wink before taking a big gulp of her own drink. You spend the rest of the morning talking about Declan and crafting a simple but nasty message to send him before you block his number. After three mimosas and a shared croissant, you’re starting to feel a little boozy.

“Okay, I think we should stop.”

She nods. “Probably. I still need to go shopping for tonight. You’re coming, right?”

You roll your lips and avert your eyes, instead deciding to stare at the crumbs on the plate between the two of you.

Your heart begins to thump heavily against your sternum, which is ridiculous because you barely know the guy.

“I guess I should probably apologise to him.”

She scoffs. “You don’t need to apologise. I was kind of hoping that maybe you’d reject him again.”

You roll your eyes. “Nat, come on. I was rude to the guy, and he was perfectly-”

“Wait.” Her eyes go wide. “You actually think he’s cute, don’t you? Like, not in a flippant ‘that guy is hot’ kind of way, but in the way where you can’t stop thinking about him.”

Your pulse thrums even faster. “Pfft, no.”

“Oh, my God.” She holds a hand up to her lips to stifle her laughter. “You don’t want to apologise to him, you want to fu-”

“Nat!” you exclaim. “We are in public.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually you compose yourselves enough to pay and exit the cafe. Neither of you had driven this morning, thankfully, so you decide to Uber to the nearest grocery store to get supplies for tonight’s beach barbecue.

Hours later and after trying on every bathing suit you own, you find yourself walking toward the gazebo on the beach where Nat’s location on your phone is pinging. There’s a fold out table with a portable barbecue on it and half a dozen beach chairs scattered across the sand. There’s also a volleyball net set up, where two very fit men are batting a white ball back and forth.

You’re starting to think that maybe you were doing yourself a disservice by not meeting Nat’s navy friends sooner.

“Hey!” Nat exclaims, yanking two beers out of the ice tub before jogging toward you. “I’m very impressed that you didn’t bail.”

You roll your eyes and try to be discreet about surveying the group for a face you’ll recognise. “Of course I didn’t bail.”

“Come meet everyone.” She links her arm with yours and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Hangman isn’t here yet.”

She points at the two men playing volleyball and tells you that they are Rooster and Payback. Then she pulls you into the gazebo’s shade and introduces you to Coyote, who is manning the barbecue, and Fanboy, who is second in charge. Harvard, Fritz, and Halo are occupying a few of the beach chairs, and apparently there are two more naval aviators on their way. One of which you’ve already met.

Everyone is super nice and incredibly fucking fit. It doesn’t take long for you to relax and enjoy the conversation with Fanboy while Nat argues with Coyote about what ‘medium rare’ looks like.

“Oh, and here’s another one,” Fanboy says, glancing over your shoulder with a grin. “This is Hangman.”

Your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you turn around and come face to face with those gorgeous green eyes.

He smiles, and it’s hot enough to melt your bikini bottoms. “Pictionary, right?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, that’s right. Nat tells me you’re actually Bagman?”

He rolls his eyes and turns to your best friend, who is grinning like a maniac. “Jake Seresin, this is my best friend. Have you two met?”

Jake.

He says something to Natasha along the lines of calling her evil, but you’re not listening anymore. You’re too busy drinking him in, and oh my, is that a big drink.

He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of khaki shorts, and his taut tan skin is making your mouth water. He has to have been sculpted by the gods, that is the only explanation for this man. Your eyes rake across his broad chest, the smattering of hair at his sternum, and down his defined abdominals. You can imagine licking every line, tasting every inch of his skin and following that V with your tongue below the waistband of his shorts.

Natasha nudges your ribs as she walks past, and you only just catch her wink before you look up and find Jake’s eyes on you. He’s smirking, and this time, it’s working. “Phoenix said you wanted to tell me something.”

Oh yeah, he definitely knows you were just checking him out.

You clear your throat. “I- um, I wanted to apologise for being rude last night. I’d had a bad day, but you honestly didn’t do anything wrong. Any other day I’d probably have jumped right into bed with you.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say quickly. “I have no filter sometimes.”

All you can do now is hope that it’s in a good way.

END.

619 notes · View notes

starryeyedwolves · 6 hours ago

Text

Misunderstandings and Misgivings

Sirius sat in the common room, slouched into the armchair, staring into the fire with an intensity that would have been alarming if anyone had been paying attention. But the Gryffindor Tower was quiet for once, save for the crackling of the logs and the occasional rustle of parchment. It wasn’t much, but it was the perfect backdrop for his thoughts to spiral.

James' voice broke through the haze of Sirius’ self-imposed gloom.

“Is he whining about Remus being mean to him again?” James asked, leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows were raised in that familiar, teasing way that made Sirius’ stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Not whining, just… concerned,” Sirius muttered, barely glancing up. “He’s avoiding me.”

James smirked, stepping further into the room. “You talk about him more than you talk about girls, Sirius, it’s getting concerning. Anyone would think you had a crush.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes. He could feel his cheeks flush, but James was too busy grinning to notice. “I’m just trying to figure out why he’s been so distant lately.”

“Maybe he’s just annoyed that you keep reading into things that aren’t there,” James suggested, sinking onto the couch. “You’ve been overanalyzing every little thing he does. It’s getting old.”

“Why is he acting like this then?” Sirius asked, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “One minute, we’re laughing, having a good time, and the next—” He trailed off, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Maybe he’s not mad at you at all,” James said, his tone softening a little. “Maybe it’s something else.”

Sirius stared at his friend for a long moment, then sighed. “Yeah, well, it feels like he hates me.”

James didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes softened with understanding. “Maybe you should just… talk to him. Ask him directly.”

Sirius grimaced. “I’m not going to ask him if he hates me. That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” James said with a shrug. “I can’t fix this for you. You’re going to have to figure it out yourself. But one thing’s for sure—you're not going to get anywhere by sitting here sulking.”

Sirius didn’t respond. James was right, but that didn’t make it easier. He wanted to avoid making things worse, but the weight in his chest told him that leaving things unresolved was just as bad.

Later that evening, Sirius found himself wandering the hallways, aimlessly, as he had been doing for the past few days. His footsteps echoed in the silence of the corridor, and before he could stop himself, he was standing in front of the door to the Gryffindor common room again.

He hesitated. Should he go in? Should he just... walk away? His mind raced as he turned to leave, but the faint sound of a voice from behind stopped him.

"Sirius?"

He turned to see Remus standing at the end of the hallway, a hesitant look on his face.

"Hey," Sirius said, his voice betraying the nervousness he felt. "I didn’t expect you to be out here."

Remus offered a small, tight-lipped smile. "I was looking for you," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "We... need to talk."

Sirius’ heart skipped a beat. "About what?"

Remus took a step forward, his gaze flicking away briefly before locking with Sirius’s. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough. “I’ve been avoiding you lately.”

Sirius’ chest tightened. “I thought you hated me. You’ve been so distant, and—”

“What?” Remus interrupted, sounding genuinely surprised. “I don’t hate you, Sirius. Far from it. I—" He paused, and his face flushed. “I’ve been pushing you away because… I think I might have feelings for you. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

Sirius blinked, stunned into silence. "What?"

Remus ran a hand through his hair, looking a little frantic. "I know this is ridiculous, and I’ve probably messed everything up. But I—I’ve been trying to figure it out for weeks, and I’ve just made everything worse, haven’t I? I thought if I kept my distance, maybe it would go away, but it hasn’t.”

Sirius could feel his mouth go dry. His mind raced, processing the words that had just been spoken. For weeks? For weeks, Remus had been avoiding him because of feelings? Because of those feelings?

He took a hesitant step forward. “Remus… you— You’ve had feelings for me? This whole time?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, almost sheepishly. “But I didn’t want to risk making things awkward. I didn’t want to ruin everything, so I thought the best thing to do was… keep my distance. But I guess I’ve just made things worse by being cold.”

Sirius’ heart pounded in his chest. It was his turn to take a step forward, closing the distance between them. “You’re an idiot,” he said softly.

Remus winced, clearly expecting Sirius to be angry, but Sirius only smiled a little. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” he asked, his voice warmer now. “That I wouldn’t feel something was off?”

Remus looked down, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius reached out and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re a bloody idiot, but you’re my idiot.” He paused. “And for the record, I think I might have feelings for you too.”

Remus’ head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Wait… really?”

Sirius grinned, feeling an overwhelming rush of relief. “Really.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, caught in the strange, surreal shift of their friendship. Then, without another word, Sirius closed the space between them and leaned in, pressing his lips softly to Remus’. It was tentative at first, as if both of them were unsure, but it quickly deepened, fueled by weeks of miscommunication and the weight of unspoken words.

When they pulled away, Remus was smiling, albeit a little shyly. “So… does this mean you don’t think I hate you?”

Sirius laughed softly. “No. It just means you’re terrible at hiding things, Moony.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not much better at it,” Remus replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

And for the first time in days, Sirius felt the weight in his chest finally lift, replaced with something much lighter—hope.

The hallway felt different now. Warmer, somehow. Like even the drafty stone walls couldn’t quite cut through the quiet glow blooming between them.

Sirius stepped back just slightly, his fingers still brushing against Remus’ arm, reluctant to let go. “So,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing utterly, “where do we go from here?”

Remus chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his hair again. “I guess we stop pretending, for one.”

“Pretending we’re not hopelessly into each other?”

“Exactly.”

There was a pause. Not awkward this time, but charged in a different way—something new and tentative stretching between them. Sirius found himself staring at Remus again, memorizing the curve of his grin, the way his eyes softened now that the tension had dissolved.

“Do we tell James?” Sirius asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Remus groaned. “Merlin, no. At least, not yet.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll kill him that he wasn’t the first to know,” Sirius teased, grinning.

“He’ll never let us live it down.”

“That’s part of the fun.”

Remus shook his head with a fond smile. “Let’s just… see where this goes. For now. Just us.”

Sirius nodded, more serious now. “Yeah. Just us.”

They started walking side by side, a bit slower than usual, their arms occasionally brushing. Neither of them moved away.

As they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Sirius hesitated again. “Want to sneak out? Go for a walk by the lake? Or just sit and pretend to study while we make eyes at each other?”

Remus laughed. “Tempting. But let’s start with the common room. Small steps.”

“You’re the practical one in this relationship, clearly.”

“Someone has to be.”

The portrait swung open, and the warmth of the common room spilled over them. A few students lingered by the fire, but the moment felt strangely intimate all the same.

Sirius dropped into the armchair he'd been sulking in earlier, and this time, Remus sat beside him, their knees touching.

James looked up from where he was playing wizard chess with Peter. His gaze flicked between them, and his eyes narrowed.

“You’re smiling,” he said, pointing at Sirius suspiciously. “You never smile like that unless you’ve hexed someone or snuck firewhisky into the dorm.”

Sirius shrugged, leaning back, smirking. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”

James stared at him for a long second. “Wait—did you talk to Remus?”

Remus coughed and looked away, trying to hide his own grin. “Maybe.”

James looked between them, then groaned. “Oh no. Oh no. You’re both terrible at being subtle. I knew it. I knew it.”

Sirius chuckled. “You’re not as clever as you think, Potter.”

“Oi! I practically orchestrated this—”

“You did not!” Remus interrupted, looking mortified.

James threw his arms up. “I definitely deserve credit. Peter, back me up.”

Peter blinked slowly. “I’m just glad you’re not both moping anymore."

Sirius glanced at Remus again, and the smile that tugged at his lips was uncontainable now.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

And as the fire crackled in the hearth and the chatter of his friends surrounded him, Sirius finally felt like everything—finally—was falling into place.

#marauders #the marauders #marauders fandom #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #james potter #peter pettigrew #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius and james #remus and sirius #remus x sirius #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fanfiction #my fic #my fic writing #my writing

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bluejaysandblackbats · 3 days ago

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Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Thomas survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 83/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Eighty-Three: Fern

Martha met with one of the boys from her fine arts program while Thomas helped her with some of the figures for their next round of scholarships. “Hi, Marcus. I am so glad you were able to meet with me. So, I just wanted to sit here and listen to you describe your experience with the program… And how you’ve fared after graduating. You just have to state your first and last name, your chosen art form, and what you do for a living,” Martha explained. “This is my husband, Thomas. He’s just here to annotate, and he’s a little curious about how everything works. And this is the camerawoman, Dani.”

“Oh, okay… I’m Marcus Downing. My chosen art form is modern dance, and I’m a dance instructor, but I’ve since returned to school to become a dance therapist. I’ve been dancing since I was five years old,” Marcus whispered before going into depth about his dreams for his career and his inspiration for wanting to work with children in a therapy setting.

Thomas lit up and shook Marcus’s hand on the way out after his quick interview. “That was fantastic. How many more do we have today?” Thomas questioned.

“Brenda, Oliver, Dajia, Trent, Ken, Gloria, and Ann,” Martha answered.

“Majors?” Thomas asked in reply.

“In order: animation, orchestra, fashion, cinematography, ballet, opera, and theater,” Martha replied.

“An opera singer?” Thomas nearly shouted out of excitement.

Martha pinched his cheek. “I thought you’d enjoy that,” Martha smiled.

Cassandra poked her head in one of the studio classrooms and quietly watched one of the older girls that she’d seen around. She carried herself with perfect poise, but Cassandra noticed that the older girl was mostly solitary. Something startled Cassandra about her, and it made her almost afraid. She’d never felt fear like this before. It was both magnetic and repelling, but she couldn’t understand any of the feelings that swirled around in her head when they crossed paths. It was distracting. So distracting that Cassandra didn’t notice the girl staring at her in the mirror. The older ballerina waved before beckoning Cassandra to come in. Cassandra approached with caution, unsure of what to say. The girl sat down, took a little keyboard out of her bag, and started typing. “My name is Fern. I know you. You’re Cassandra Wayne. The future prima,” Fern’s little machine spoke as she typed it.

“You can’t speak?” Cassandra asked. Fern shook her head. “I couldn’t at first, too… That’s pretty cool, though. Does it say everything you type?”

“Yes, it does. Would you like to try?” Fern asked in reply. Cassandra shook her head.

“I came to watch you dance. You’re going to do Swan Lake. Aren’t you?” Cassandra replied.

“You came to see me do the thirty-two fouettes… Is that correct?” Fern questioned. Cassandra nodded with warm enthusiasm. “Only if you do them with me.” Cassandra felt her heart jump into her throat, and she stared as if struck with a sudden speechlessness. “It’s all in fun. Please?”

Cassandra nodded as Fern started the music, and they took their position. It seemed to happen so quickly. Fern laughed heartily as she lifted Cassandra up and spun her around. Cassandra quickly wrapped her arms around Fern, feeling a fondness wash over her, covering over the fear without replacing it. Fern was warm and smelled dark and sweet like cherries. Fern cradled the back of Cassandra’s head like a small child, and it was as if they understood something no one else did. Fern broke the embrace and set Cassandra down before typing something out.

“Thank you for being my friend today. I think people are afraid to speak to me. Thank you for dropping by. I hope you continue to visit me,” Fern requested. Fern’s perfect posture melted away, and Cassandra smiled at the childlike awkwardness that took its place. Fern folded in on herself and struggled to find a purpose for her idle hands, so she held her fingers up toward her chest.

“I have to go soon, but I’d love to be your friend all the time. Maybe we can eat lunch next time I see you,” Cassandra offered. It was something she’d heard Bette do with her friends. “I’m not supposed to ask how old you are… Are you a grownup?”

“No. I’m fifteen. My mom’s coming to pick me up,” Fern typed.

“My mommy’s coming to pick me up, too,” Cassandra replied.

“Maybe we can wait outside together,” Fern smiled as she waited for Cassandra’s reply.

Martha watched Cassandra sit on the floor in her office, kicking her feet and smiling. “Your friend seemed nice,” Martha smiled.

“Yeah. Fern’s really nice. Can I have lunch with her next Saturday?” Cassandra questioned.

“Do you know where you want to eat with her?” Martha asked.

Cassandra nodded. “There’s a place where all the girls go out to eat after class,” Cassandra answered.

“You’ve never asked to go eat after class,” Martha whispered.

“No one ever invited me before. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked Fern either,” Cassandra noted. Martha frowned. “It’ll be fun. What do you do when you go to lunch with your friends? What do you talk about?”

“Everything. Your week. What you like to do at school. Things you like. Your favorite color or movie. What you like to watch on TV. And maybe I’ll have lunch with her mom. We exchanged numbers in the parking lot,” Martha answered as she sat on the floor across from Cassandra.

“She asked me to dance with her today… I thought Fern wouldn’t like me, but she’s so nice. My heart was beating so fast when she waved at me, I thought she’d be mad—.”

“You were nervous?” Martha questioned. Cassandra nodded. “It’s nice that you’ve found a new friend.” Cassandra grinned from ear to ear as Martha started to take the bobby pins out of her hair.

Bruce walked quickly down the street beside Dick, reaching over in the prolonged silence to touch the back of Dick’s head. “What’s on your mind?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing,” Dick replied.

“I can make you tell me,” Bruce suggested with a mischievous smile.

“You can’t beat me up in public,” Dick scoffed before noticing the lack of reaction. “Jesus… Fine. Fine. I might feel a little off-balance after today… I was clumsy and awkward, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed.

“It’s normal to want to impress your male friends… It wasn’t like there were a lot of boys my age in Haly’s—.”

“Dick, I just agreed with you,” Bruce interrupted.

“Wait… You did? You don’t think I was weird?” Dick questioned.

Bruce shrugged. “I didn’t say that. I just think it’s normal to make a fool of yourself in front of someone you really want to be close to… And I think that you’re tiptoeing around a minefield… If you aren’t ready to discuss it, I’m not gonna make you. I just thought you were embarrassed that you almost kissed him this morning,” Bruce replied.

“Bruce—.”

“But that’s obviously not what we’re talking about. That’s a much deeper conversation that you don’t seem like you’re ready to have,” Bruce replied. Dick’s eyes widened as he picked up his pace. “Did I strike a nerve?”

Dick shook his head. “Because we don’t have to talk about it if it bothers you,” Bruce replied.

“It doesn’t bother me. Why would it bother me? I was half-asleep. It was an accident,” Dick replied.

“Okay,” Bruce calmly replied.

“It was,” Dick insisted.

“I know. I heard you the first time,” Bruce answered.

“Why are you saying it like that?” Dick asked.

“Because it’s not a problem. Do you think it’s a problem?” Bruce questioned.

And then Dick stopped in his tracks and a smile spread across his face. “Who is Rebecca Stanfield, and why did she ask me to mention loterìa three years ago?” Dick mentioned.

“Let’s both be quiet for a while,” Bruce replied.

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misfxtteam · 2 days ago

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“I get that, I mean you can’t force people to change their minds or how they view things and I don’t expect you to try to it’s just…I don’t know, I still can’t believe people have responded that way. I know Steve must have had some kind of reaction about your dad, and I’m guessing it wasn’t the best kind. I barely met the guy so I have no previous bias about him, but the way Steve worked with him especially after the Serum…it doesn’t take a genius to know what Steve’s perspective on the guy was,” he reasons.

He nods, to everything Tony says after that, “I never thought of it that way but yeah, therapy really is just non-judge mental talking about stuff. I’m not sure if you feel this way though but the idea that a therapist who hasn’t actually gone through even a quarter of the mess I’ve dealt with being the one to be able to help seems…crazy. Sure they might be able to listen and understand how I feel about things but I genuinely don’t understand how they’ll be able to figure out how I should best cope with it all”

He looks down for a moment when Tony’s thumb brushes his skin, he doesn’t know why but he was actually able to take comfort from little gestures like that when it came from Tony. The only other person who came close to be able to ease his anxieties or traumas had been Steve and it had still never felt like his. Steve was empathetic sure and he cared deeply for him, obviously, but with Tony it felt like more than that, more like Tony genuinely understood exactly what he was dealing with when it came to stuff like that.

He squeezes Tony’s hand lightly, “Yeah..yeah you’re right. I don’t know the first thing about trying to track anyone down from before, I think Steve did it to track down the Howling Commandos when he woke up. But I guess I should start by trying to figure out which boarding school she was sent to and go from there? I don’t want to have any more regrets, especially not from just taking too long,” he mumbles, his own thumb tracing absently against Tony’s skin.

"That's bullshit, I'm sorry honestly but the fact that people would dismiss any of this because you have money is ridiculous," Bucky says dryly, shaking his head because he honestly didn't understand it. But he knows that Steve was probably one of those people that had one impression of Howard and didn't understand what Tony's experience with him must have been like.

He smiles weakly when Tony mentions that he knows what it feels like to feel isolated in dealing with things like this. "You're right about that, honestly I don't think I've ever spoken to anyone about it as much as I've talked about it with you. Aside from the people in Wakanda who helped break my conditioning and that wasn't so much talking about it than being..experimented on? They weren't really sure what would work on me so trying all the different things, I was glad when that was over because even if it was to help, it was...difficult not to be reminded of other things.." he admits with a grimace.

He is a little startled at the comfort but welcomes it, squeezing Tony's hand gently, "I was glad she didn't have to live at Camp Lehigh like I did but it did hurt to lose her. And..I know, she might not be.." he falls quiet and has to take a slow breath, "I know there's a chance there's nothing to find but I would want to know either way, is that crazy?"

#pick your battles #ironwinter rp #james buchanan barnes #tony and bucky #mr tony stark

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kissboybyler · 17 days ago

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i’m still here btw

#WHY #WHY THE POSTER #WHY THE FUCK MAKE THAT POSTER IF THEY ARE NOT GONNA BE CANON #also #what the fuck is mike wearing in that photo #i’ve been trying to figure it out but i can’t?#it’s yellow sure but it doesn’t look like the cali-airport shirt #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler nation #byler endgame #miwi #byler is canon #antimileven #byler brainrot

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noodles-and-tea · 1 year ago

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Podcast John Watson, the man that you are

#this new episode was just peak man #like every episode tops the last one and #everytime I think it can’t be topped and then it is again #I’ve been trying to figure out how to draw podcast John #I think might be it #I’ve been trying not to just do the bbc designs again #my art #sherlock holmes #johnlock #john watson #sherlock #sherlock & co #sherlock and co.

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st-hedge · 1 year ago

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It wasn’t on my 2024 bingo card that I’d draw V again. Anyway I’ll go ahead ramble in the tags

#devil may cry 5 #dmc5 #dmc v #so I’ve replayed dmc5 a stupid amount of times since March #but to be fair it’s a very short game #but I’ve developed a hobby of trying to connect dots between v and Vergil #cuz the detail is actually so good #for instance even how he holds the cane is similar to how he handles Yamato #his expressions are so alike but it’s not obvious #but then I thought #why is vergil’s humanity some dweeb who is like 20 something #he is like closest age wise to his dmc3 version #(this has probably been answered but I wanted to figure it out myself)#then I remembered the line from v about how his humanity has finally returned #so has it been subdued and dormant ever since he got imprisoned by mundus #and is that why his humanity resembles his younger self #cuz the human vulnerable side of him has been dead #this is the only edition of Vergil I won’t drop kick on sight #human v is a dork ass goth who has a soft squishy heart #and he can’t even kill his brother who he hates so much when given the chance #UUUGGHHHHHHHHHH #don’t even get me started about the ordeal with Nero #v tried so hard to just see him as a tool but he knows that wasn’t the case

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daeyumi · 6 months ago

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Cycle of the Stars

Prologue I:

Protosphere

***

THUD.

A wave of sensation washes over them, vague and fleeting, like light filtering down through deep water.

Colors.

Thoughts.

The impression of someone calling out to them from far away, obscured through the blurry images that whisper across their eyes.

THUD.

Silence. Oppressive and heavy.

It feels familiar somehow, this weight. A long forgotten dream. They feel that they’ve known it before.

They think they feel a sense of self. An identity against the current of infinitum, one blot on a blank sheet of paper. A tangible presence. It dissipates the next moment, rolled away on the tide.

‘Before?’

Not understanding the comparison, they sit alone with the word and it’s implications. More colors spring forth to their eyes, unbidden. A lone figure on a hill, his back to a ruined land. Red and grey and black. The gold-tinted-orange of a dying sun, bleeding out over the empty horizon.

A vast expanse of dying grass, crowned with innumerable gravestones. Grey earth, grey sky, grey stone. An aftermath, a finale. A beginning. A single swatch of green, kneeling before a headstone. Life among death.

A hole in a gnarled tree, leading down, down, into the recesses of the world, swallowing life and soul and self.

A call.

A name.

A word.

Link.

The connection, the void.

Everything and nothing.

The colors swirl before their eyes in an infinite flash of space and time.

THUD.

Memories? Visions? They try to close their eyes against the current of impressions and find them to be already closed.

THUD.

Mind racing, as if fighting through the muddy currents of a storm-bloated river. They can’t understand. Thoughts begin to feel impossible. Even the whirling forms within their mind’s eye start to close in on them, oppressive and threatening. Moving so quickly that the sound deafens their ears, crushing the blunt silence with an overwhelming pressure.

They crack open their eyes and find no relief in the cold darkness that envelops them, somehow moving even faster than the nauseating colors that threatened their closed eyes moments previously.

THUD.

Thud.

Thoughts begin to slow, finally finding relief in the void beyond cognition. The intangible shapes and patterns flow languidly now, a comforting caress to replace the constant barrage on the senses. Blue. Like the shallows of a river that stretches to the horizon, through which can be seen the blue sky above, falling off into infinity. Above and below. An all encompassing finality to contain the world. Blue and green and the serenity of the day’s end.

Gradually, they become aware of a clenched fist repeatedly making contact with a thick pane of glass in front of them.

Thud.

A hand. An owner. Belonging. An emptiness to once again overtake the soul, blotting out the essence of the previous inhabitant to make way for new images to stamp their impressions on its walls.

Confinement.

A separation in the everything.

The e v e r y t h i n g

thud.

n e v. e r e n d. i. n g

thud.

thud

The quieting pulses are forced to one final crescendo as the hand, unbidden, makes a last desparate strike against the unmoving surface, shattering the barrier of the world.

Heavy glass bursts outward from the threshold along with a surge of viscous liquid, pouring out toward the ground; the draining substance revealing a limp, convulsing pile of limbs and torso, frantically coughing up fluids from their burning lungs. The sound of draining pressure coincides with the roaring in their ears and the desperate cacophony of retching and wheezing before falling uncomfortably silent; the only sound the steady ooze of solution falling to the ground far below in steady droplets. Drip. Drip. The solitary rhythm of measured time.

A heartbeat passes and they stir, blue eyes opening slowly as if wading through still water. Weakly, they try to raise their head to the glow of intense light radiating from above; their muscles strain tensely before falling limp again, exhausted.

Trapped.

The walls seem to close in again, threatening their inhabitant once more with darkness and manic imagery that still flashes before them when they close their eyes to blink. Forcing limbs to move, straining for something, anything but the paralyzing numbness that binds them. One motion at a time; but their muscles won’t obey, their mind won’t respond. Pain. Stagnation.

A hand passes through the right side of the eyes’ range of vision. Slender, pale fingers to match the hand from earlier.

Their own hand.

Panic sets in amid a tangle of flailing limbs.

Coughing, gasping for air, the pallid figure claws against the side of the cramped enclosure, hands scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth interior. Shaky fingers finally make contact with the shattered remnants of a glass wall in the side of the tank and grip weakly to the edge of the hole in the room, still dripping a slow current of colorless liquid onto the empty stone floor far below. In between ragged breaths, they start to pull themself desperately toward the edge of the enclosure. Muscles quivering from disuse, chest heaving from exertion. With a final effort, their body clears the opening and slides down to the floor below, landing with a quiet splash that shatters the silence in the cavernous chamber beyond the broken tank.

He lay unmoving for a moment, save for another round of violent coughing.

It takes everything they have to lift their shoulders off the floor, still-bowed head following suit. Hunched over, their weight barely supported by quivering arms. They try to lift their gaze and immediately retch again, a repulsive mix of bile and clear fluid spilling over the exposed skin of their legs and onto the panels of the already wet floor beneath them.

Bony fingers clutch at an emaciated throat.

Can’t—

The room spins and they fall the short distance to the floor.

Unconscious.

Unmoving.

Sodden, pale hair clinging to a thin frame. Skin, and bone, and earth. A birth or a battlefield.

The last gasps of echoing sound die alone in the vast recesses of that empty room, smothered by the endless labyrinth of tubes across the vast ceiling.

***

He woke.

A thick darkness suffuses the room, broken only by the cold blue light flickering through the thick haze that obscures the edges of their vision. The trembling figure pushes himself up on weak arms, bleary eyes surveying the landscape before them. Fallen pillars on the ground, crumbled beyond recognition until they snaked across the cold stone terrain and beyond to the edges of the horizon, starlight glinting off them in irregular patches. Beyond, small shapes protrude from the ground, obscured by fog and distance. Shrines? Homes? Some even show a faint glow of light that cuts through the mist.

Their head spins.

Blue eyes hazily follow the swirling patterns from the base of a row of short pillars up to the top where they meet the sky, seamlessly melding into the azure heavens.

An endless expanse of sky and clouds, above and below. All encompassing. Lightning without rain.

With effort, he directs his gaze to the pinnacle of the sky.

Six identical moons above, surrounded by a myriad of stars, trailing constellations back down towards the earth. Blue. The blue of the night sky, whose weakly blinking stars, too, are never strong enough to illuminate the land below. The blue of the deep ocean, where forgotten kingdoms sleep in disrepair, the same as the dilapidated landscape they see before them. Remnants of a broken empire. An unnatural blue, made worldly only by age and disuse.

Ages of….

A heavy weight overwhelms them, as centuries of water carving deep fissures through mountains; and they collapse to the ground, exhaustion reclaiming its hold on the figure once more. Cold. The void of the cracked tile below shoves daggers into their skin, leeching what little strength they had and reducing them to a crumpled heap on the frigid stone floor; the repetition of choppy, shallow breaths the only sign of life.

Another wasteland, empty as before, piercing white. Scattered glass upon a vast field. The cracks between lead down, down into the black oblivion of eternity, where all things are null, as time itself, as life, as identity, as color; and above, the frozen world. Colorless, unbroken.

Silent.

Melancholy; the soul of the interloper. Convergence. Concurrence.

Passed beyond knowing.

A lone tree in a grassy field.

Faces obscured behind titles and grand deeds.

Stories.

Legends.

“The face in the glass… is that the real you?”

They felt they should know… something. A past, a future. An identity. Surely they’d had one before?

…Before?

It’s empty; like walking a corridor lined with doors made of possibility that turn to dust at the moment of approach. A glass room bounded by mirrors and crystal vases filled with water. Tangible but hollow. Repeating in on itself with every refraction until the thin lines of light and shadow mean nothing to the perception of an observer.

Connections.

Thoughts.

Disorientation as one thought reflects back above the others.

Resonance.

The impression of a name. Link.

They felt sick again, and then they felt nothing.

***

The stars still shine above when they wake, crowned by those too-consistent moons. Not moons and stars, Link realizes as their vision steadily begins to clear. Too perfect to be….

Gingerly, they try to uncurl themself from their position on the floor and find that their body does work, though made none the easier by their atrophied muscles. He stretches out a trembling hand, placing it against the smooth floor and pushing himself upright. The air smells stale and slightly damp as Link looks around, cataloguing the shapes that their eyes hadn’t been able to make out before.

Strange figures in the fog solidify themselves into derelict machinery.

The walls are lined with rounded devices that give way to wide panels above, decorated with carved patterns of lines and circles evoking myriad constellations in a night sky; the points of the stars glowing faintly with ethereal blue light. Most of the light in the room, however, comes from the six identical skylights crowning the apex of the chamber. The “moons” Link had noticed previously. The large round lights form a circular pattern around the top of a singular central pillar in the room. A pillar which was not, in fact, a pillar; but the shaft of the massive incubation tank that, Link realizes with growing horror, they themself had occupied until just recently.

With difficulty, he shifts his position from where he sat on the floor, gradually turning around until he sits fully facing the massive apparatus. It is made of a hard material, more akin to stone than metal, and cool to the touch; an ominous column that bows out as it reaches the floor to make room for the cavernous space inside like a gaping maw. Link shivers as they reach out their hand to place it on the raised pattern of the tank, rough and almost porous in contrast with the sleek underlayer. It reminds him of a stomach, he thinks, or perhaps a tangled mass of intestines, with its maze of uneven lines twisting and curling in on themselves. They feel vaguely sick again but curiosity forces them to keep looking anyway, noting that the center of each circle in the pattern houses a window of varying sizes, some seeming to lead to other tanks, adjacent to the main belly but many times smaller in size. Empty.

Empty, too, is the largest chamber of the incubation tank, looming above their thin frame like a drooling mouth, with shards of shattered glass forming the teeth at the edges of the main window. Link hasn’t the strength to stand and look inside. He doesn’t think he could stomach the sight anyways; flashbacks to the manic fervor of trying to escape already rising to the surface of his memory.

Their eyes drift instead to the base of the structure, where thick tubes as wide as Link’s own torso run out towards the edges of the walls, joining with other machines and even to the wall itself. The tubes glow faintly where patches of the outer material has peeled away to display the translucent membrane beneath. It’s apparent that they would have been used to transport the clear liquid into, or out of, the massive cistern. There’s no current running in either direction, but Link wonders if they house the vile solution even now. They force themself to look away, swallowing hard.

From his vantage point in roughly the center of the stone floor, Link can make out precious little else about the darkened room. More tubes cross the ceiling, traveling again the distance between the walls and the central pillar and meeting it, Link presumes, at the top; though they aren’t going to risk passing out again to crane their head to see. More strange shaped rubble gathered around the corners of the room. Link can’t even begin to guess its source, as none of the constructs nearby seem to be crumbling or missing pieces.

Their wandering gaze solidifies on an incongruous shape sitting amongst the wreckage. Curious, and without any other course of action, they begin to crawl towards it.

The object in question reveals itself to be a small ring about the size of the palm of their hand. It appears to have once been a perfect circle, adorned in symmetry with the same constellation pattern as the walls of the cavernous room; now sharing in its fate. Broken and discarded, dust and other refuse clogging the fine grooves in its surface. A crack runs across the rounded surface, culminating in a sizeable chip missing from one side.

Link picks up the ring with a trembling hand, fumbling it once before gaining a steadier grip. It’s made of a similar material to the tank in the center of the room, but judging by its size must have once been a piece of something larger.

The image sticks in their mind as they continue to scan the room for anomalies among the mess of machines and wires running the perimeter of the vast space. A forgotten tool lying alone in the wreckage of a desolate land, buried with the past.

The parallels to his own situation seem significant somehow.

He finds his fingers curling around the ring instinctively, though his eyes now look past it, focusing on a dark gap in between some of the panels on the wall to his left.

The exit.

Or so he hopes. A brief flash of fear crosses Link’s mind, imagining a passageway closed off with more of the rubble before him. Trapped. Apprehension washes over him, imagining the suffocating embrace of the water inside the tenebrous vessel. Why was he even here? Alone? The rest of the room is empty, the machines deteriorating and, as far as Link can tell, inactive. Is there more to this place? The sheer number of control units along the walls suggest there should have been a sizable number of people to operate the facility. His mind balks at the implications of his solitary confinement to this place. The sole inhabitant of the tank, the sole inhabitant of the room. How long..? Memories of the interior of the tank are replaced by thoughts of a sealed chamber, no doors to be found on the smooth interior; or a narrow exit blocked by collapsed rubble. His breath quickens and new images flash before his mind. Bloody fingernails capping raw fingers, scrabbling at the walls, bruised and bloodied knuckles; and still the harsh, unmoving stone of the enclosure, one person unable to do what only time can accomplish, unable to tear down the boundaries, to free themself. An agonizing death by starvation. He doesn’t want to think about the alternative.

It’s too much.

He tries to fight through the rising alarm, shoving it down to the pit of his stomach along with his nausea. Deep breaths. Clenching his fist further, driving nails and the imprint of a stone circle into the palm of their hand. Forcing themself to lift their gaze once more to their destination.

Link shakes their head to clear it and immediately regrets it, the throbbing in his head only intensifying with the movement. I need to leave this place.

***

The hallways beyond the central tank chamber are more of the same in appearance. The now-familiar constellation pattern decorates the upper part of the walls, while the lower portion is tessellated with the twisting pattern of curved lines in chunky relief, boundaried by a single line of the same raised, rough material running unbroken down the length of the hallway. It is this conformation that Link clings to as they make their way down the dim corridor, leaning their weight on the wall as they half stumble, half pull themselves along the wall with shaky arms; making up the difference for their protesting legs. It’s the fourth hallway like this they’ve encountered, though there had been only one exit from the incubation chamber. The path had split often, at first, and he had needed to retread the same paths multiple times in places as he met with many dead ends in the labyrinthine halls. They had passed other compartments on their quest to find the exit; small rooms bare except for a couple sparse beds with thin shelves jutting from the walls beside them. An impossibly tall chamber with a vaulted roof that seemed meant for storage, but held nothing but dilapidated shelves and crumbled debris. A locked door at the end of an agonizingly long hallway for which Link did not have the key, nor the strength to try to open. They fervently hoped it didn’t lead to the exit. The door had felt cool to the touch, but Link had been forced to abandon it to continue his search down the previous passageways.

This whole place is abandoned.

Though he knew it already to be true; the deafening silence betrayed no signs of life. Link’s own shuffling footsteps, quiet though they are, are the lone sound in the eerie gloom.

He feels more lucid, now, though his head still pounds and his vision still swims even from this slow movement down the corridor. They try to recall anything about themself, but find nothing to betray their past in their memories. Link. He feels that he ought to know something about the owner of that name. About himself. But any attempts to recollect further are met with failure and the feeling of trying to lift water through a sieve. Meaningless, obviously, but they are far too exhausted to feel frustration. And they can feel that their body will need to eat soon, even through the lightheadedness and nausea that still blanket them like thick fog.

A blue aura ahead signals the room at the end of the hallway; too far to make out, but steadily coming into view. Narrow panels hang along the walls, framing the doorway as Link draws near. Smooth and blank, but placed as though a sign to indicate the path. It would have seemed significant if not for the fact that every door prior had also been marked in a similar manner. Link’s fingers catch on the edge of a panel and they stumble, crumpling to the ground as they enter the room at last.

Not the exit.

But this room was different to the others they had encountered previously. Link swallows bile as he raises his head from the floor, dizziness returning in full force while they reposition their legs beneath them and reach for the edge of a low shelf to pull themself to their feet. Rows of glass tanks line the walls at the edges of the room, more uniform by far than the singular pillar shaped tank in the chamber Link had awoken in, with its divots and knobby carvings surrounding uneven windows. These seem almost sterile by comparison, though each window was still rimmed by twisting patterns of stone. They had no apparent function, as they lacked the tubes that had connected the larger tank to the machinery and walls of the huge cavern. There also didn’t seem to be anything inside. It was hard to make out whether the clear liquid contained within differentiated from tank to tank, and even that would have been to difficult to see if some of the tanks had not been cracked and partially drained. A high table spanned the length of most of the chamber, rising up from the ground like a solid plinth.

Having regained his footing, Link starts once more down the rectangular room, supporting his balance on the intermittent tables or walls. They are struck once again by the sheer hollowness of the place; the tables, the shelves, the jars embedded in the walls- even the room itself, he realizes, lacks the network of tubes crossing the ceiling that had so defined other rooms in the labyrinth. It isn’t so much that the room is empty so much as… devoid of habitation? A strange… desolation that they hadn’t registered until now, even despite the layers of dust that coat every surface. He passes a small, round alcove in the side of the wall, housing yet another barren container, this one free standing but otherwise matching the others in the room; the only thing setting it apart being the myriad “arms” that protrude from all sides, each containing a channel that points toward the central chamber.

Trying to combine something? It looks like it was built to fit this space. Or the other way around…. Link shudders again, contemplating the purpose of his presence in this place.

It’s a short enough distance to the other end of the vault, but it takes them several more agonizing minutes to cross the expanse. Step by step, feeling the omniscient gaze of the empty tanks on his back. his legs refuse to increase pace, however; continuing his uneven gait towards the far door, and at last steps into the small antechamber beyond.

Carvings in twisted stone relief completely cover the interior of the round room, only serving to highlight the closed door opposite him. He’s reminded once more of the bowels of a giant beast, the writhing pattern enclosing him, constricted; waiting to be digested. It’s cramped and oppressive compared to the previous rooms, and Link feels the walls start to close in around them. Reliving. Clenching his fist on the circular charm he had picked up from the floor earlier, he focuses on the sole thing keeping him in the room. Fresh air. It creeps in from the edges of the door, fighting a losing battle with the dank, musty scents of the broken down facility. Giving its life to promise freedom to another.

The door doesn’t budge when Link turns the handle so they throw their weight against it clumsily, falling upon the access with a dull thud. They are forced to repeat the action again and again before the door relinquishes its hold and creaks open, heavy stone scraping aside as Link slides to his knees. He is moving forward again almost instantly despite his exhaustion, spurred on by the faint breeze he feels across his skin.

It’s the longest hallway he’s encountered so far. Not even a pinprick of light can be seen ahead; the corners of the wall all converging to a single point in the darkness. The tunnel ascends at a gentle slope that wears on his legs after just a few minutes of walking, though Link already uses the wall to support their weight. they long to sink to the floor and rest, to give in to the deep exhaustion that has plagued them since they awoke. His throbbing head is at odds with the gnawing pangs of his stomach. He feels as though he has been wandering the deserted passages for hours, days. Sense of time degraded and fractured beyond recognition. If he could see what his state of mind looked like, he imagines it would be like the stone lines on the wall. Twisting, sinuous, ever moving forwards but slowly, painfully. Doubling back or circling around before continuing on. None of them connected. Fragmented. His breathing is getting heavy, and they can tell they’re moving slower than before, their movements less coordinated. If he stops walking now, the floor will swallow him whole. Returned to the void.

He walks on.

The dragging of footsteps is joined at last in its lone refrain, accompanied at last by the soft sound of a wayward breeze.

Blue eyes raise once more toward the outlet of the passage, confusion registering with the recognition of an inky chasm past the walls. Startled, their mind summons once more an image of cramped rooms and overbearing machinery waiting beyond, wandering forever; before the solution snaps them back to sentience.

Oh.

It’s nighttime.

Footsteps quicken and they stumble the last few steps toward the exit, relinquishing his grip on the wall as he rushes down the corridor. Frantic. Wind whipping through the tangle of long hair at their back and rushing through their ears, deafening. The slapping of feet on stone is replaced at once with the dry rustling of grass, and he falls to his knees as the world opens up before him at last; vast forest rising up around him as he emerges from the cavernous hole in the ground, long overgrown with flowering vines that herald the changing of an era.

Link feels as though they kneel before the precipice of a dreamscape.

Thick forest, the vast swath of trees forming columns under a vaulted ceiling of branches, starlight pooling off the leaves and filling the cool night air with energy. An infinite expanse of world surrounding. The ethereal made manifest amid the verdant sanctum of possibility.

Freedom.

And survival.

#zelda #legend of zelda #zelda au #loz au #LoZ #writing #loz fic #cycle of the stars #cycle of the stars au #link #cycle of the stars link #original legends #loz: original legends #dae writes #okay i actually.. wrote something lol #so i guess there’s news for anyone who’s been asking whether i’ll write for my cycle of the stars au #tho i can’t promise quality #this is literally baby’s first writing attempt so please be kind to me lol #but i’ve been saying i want to use my au as a place to experiment with new things so.. i figured i’d try it out

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