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fangel · 9 hours ago

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always, attic angel — jake [ 심재윤 ]

synopsis : jake’s hidden secret isn’t so secret anymore, but he’ll go to great lengths to keep it. he reaches his breaking point when faced with betrayal. he relinquishes any remaining sense of sanctity, surrendering to everything he's spent his life trying to suppress. ⇀ read part 1 here ⸝⸝ updated playlist

pairing : jake sim x fem. reader featuring : heeseung genre : psychological thriller, smut, yandere word count : 7.7k content advisory : dark content ⚠︎ sexually explicit content, obsessive!jake, possessive!jake, jake in general, corrupt!reader, choking, dubcon, somnophilia, spanking, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome, religious themes and concepts, violence, blood, mentions of homicide/death, open ending - mostly proofread

“can you keep a secret?”

jake wasn’t only asking heeseung the literal question, but he was questioning himself. how long could he realistically hide you away? were you, his sacred secret, something that he could actually keep? he’s thought about it a lot. often losing hours in a day just going over the agonizing idea of not.

heeseung at a loss for words, just watches jake’s body language. jake is like nothing he’s ever seen before. jay and sunghoon have brought up jake’s odd behavior with concern, but he always brushed it off. now heeseung is here to witness it himself, stunned with his brows furrowed and a mouth opening and closing, looking for words he can’t find. he looks back up to the top of staircase, the room that he knows is occupied with someone. hundreds of questions flood his mind but he doesn’t know where to begin.

“jake,” he says quietly, eyes darting from the door up the stairs and to the boys huddled in the living room. “what did you do? who is here?” even if jake did have a girlfriend, or just someone he’s been seeing, why would he need to act this way? with the way the air feels around them, heeseung is sure that there’s much more going on. and whatever it could be, was far from good.

jake still can’t look at heeseung. he just stares to the floor with a death grip on heeseung. his breathing picks up in slow, deep heaves. he holds onto his hyung like a lifeline. heeseung feels genuine dread. the chill he feels run through his body makes every hair stand up. he wants to pull away from jake, to go investigate before the others get nosy or cause a scene. but he can’t. his instincts are telling him that if he moves too quickly that jake will break.

“jake… if i go up there—” he begins to say slowly, quietly. and that’s when jake looks up at heeseung. his eyes look wild, almost like they’re threatening him. heeseung swallows hard, sensing that maybe he is silently threatening him.

heeseung tries to step back but jake only digs his nails into the flesh of heeseung’s arm. he hisses at the sting and attempts to tug his arm away from the hold. jake’s strength is something heeseung never knew he had; he thinks that jake might just fucking break his arm at the elbow right here and now.

through clenched teeth, jake seethes under his breath, “i’ll explain, but get them all out of my house first. and i swear to god if you tell another soul you’ll be buried out back too.”

what the fuck, is all heeseung can think. his eyes wide from the venomous threat. he complies with jake out of fear. these were treacherous waters and he wasn’t going to test it out by diving in. especially with the tension growing too thick and too fast for heeseung to waste any time.

jake follows heeseung to the living, standing behind him, watching and listening. he doesn’t say a word as his older friend handles the situation. he just shifts on his feet while staring into the back of heeseung’s head.

heeseung stumbles over his words, nervously attempting a lie to get the rest of the boys to leave. the words catching in his throat that he masks with a cough whenever one of them makes a questioning expression.

although disoriented and perturbed, they all listen to heeseung. heeseung being obviously troubled with something serious made them gather their things with haste. they were rushing out to the car in minutes with no questions asked. there were many to be had, but they assumed they would find out eventually.

jake and heeseung watch as they drive away, from the front door. neither of them say a word even when the vehicle is out of sight. the taillights fading into the snowscape treeline of gravel road is all to be heard and seen.

there’s a pregnant pause before jake closes the door and locks it, all 5 different locks. heeseung raises a brow, stepping back slowly. his eyes watching as jake stuffs the ring of keys into his front hoodie pocket. he makes note of it.

jake, still yet to utter a word, just walks into the living room area to clean up the leftover mess. heeseung, unsure of what to do, just helps in stillness. the tv remains a static screen displaying no signal: (1) check the cable connections and settings of your source device. the kitchen oven light flickers every so often. and the darkness of the night bleeds into the house. it’s eerily quiet between them.

after some time, there’s a slow creak of a door to be heard. both of the boys heads shoot upward and down the hallway. layla trots away from them and sits at the end of staircase. her head tilted, ears raised, and mouth open in what would be interpreted as a smile.

slow footsteps make their way down. the space between each creaking step of the wooden floorboards shows how apprehensive and timorous you are. once halfway down, there’s a pause. you’re standing there, waiting for a noise or response from jake. you saw the group of his friends leave, but there was still another car parked outside. and after waiting for so long, listening to silence, you had to see why jake hadn’t come up to see you, to tell you it’s safe to come out.

jake stands from his crouched position, dropping the wet wipe he was just using to clean the low coffee table. he throws off his jacket to the edge of the couch. there’s a clink of the cluttered keys, but only heeseung hears it. jake’s already in tunnel vision. he gives heeseung a daring glare before walking away to meet you halfway. heeseung sits down on the couch, his hands folded over his lap while his leg picks up an anxious bounce. he looks at the pocket of the abandoned material. a glimmer of metals peak through the opening.

jake walks up the stairs that you stand in the middle of, layla hot on his trail. he gives you a small smile as he places his hands on your shoulders to turn your body back around. “i didn’t tell you when to come out, did i?” he whispers with small anger, trying to keep his tone light but what’s deeper surfaces regardless.

you very rarely made jake angry. a feeling of disappointment envelops you like instinct. as if you had to feel bad for going against him.

“i’m sorry i made a noise,” you mumble, “i got excited when i heard them mention me.” it’s an honest admission. you turn your head back to jake and your guilt drops to something empty. the color fades from your face when you see him. he looks disgusted. “i-i’m sorry, i-” your mouth open and mind trying to find the right thing so say.

he grabs the back of your neck and begins to walk forward, forcing your body back up to the bedroom. you stumble over your feet, nearly falling. his footsteps stomp against the wooden stairs. his hold on you is squeezing with fingers pressing into the sides of your throat. you want to cough away the feeling but decide on struggling to remain quiet instead. someone is still here. i promised to behave.

when back in the room, he shoves you forward with the release of his grip. the door slams behind him. you lose balance but catch your own feet, your ankle shooting in a great affliction that you’ve become accustomed to ignore. your hands reach for your throat to massage the ache. you whimper at the touch.

“it was a perilous decision, making you my attic angel.” his heavy footsteps march forward. he picks you up from under your arms and tosses you onto the bed. you bounce slightly before gathering yourself. you push yourself back into the corner of the bed, hugging your knees to tuck into your body, like you’re protecting yourself. you watch as he places his knee onto the bed, his hands too, leaning towards you. “i am trying so hard, so why isn’t it enough?” his head shakes in disbelief. “i’m just not enough for you? you want everyone to see you, to know you. why? as if they would need or love you as much as i do.” the last sentence is a scoff, spat with hate. he just stares at you with a tilt to his head. you feel that he’s mocking you in some way with his ridiculous words.

tears brim your eyes, your hands forming small fists that tremble in a rage you’ve always felt within you. “i never asked you to.” your words are firm, a tight lip frown wears your face. you want to argue that this isn’t love and he’s just a sick man, but you don’t want to spill more tears over him. you’ve been drained enough.

jake’s face flashes with an array of emotions. his fingers curl into the blankets so tight his knuckles turn white. he looks irated and dejected, but mostly broken.

“you didn’t have to.” his face is a scowl, glaring at you for the first time. how could his attitude change so quickly? “you wanted me, and now you have me. let it be enough.” he pushes himself off the bed and picks up the metal cuff chain from the floor with one hand. you instantly try to scramble up off the bed but he’s faster; he takes your bruised, weakened ankle in his free hand to drag you into him. you yelp with agony, trying to kick your leg around in a struggle that would hopefully prevent the entrapment. but he secures it onto you with a low growl, warning you that your actions have been enough.

with a burning gaze, he pushes you back down onto the bed before making strides to the door. he’s never been so blatantly mean towards you. it hurts far more than you could’ve ever expected. you slide yourself off the bed with urgency, tripping up behind him. you want to cry so badly, but you also want to show you’re stronger than he allows you to be. your hands reach for him to grab at the back of his shirt, a try of pulling him back from the door. “take it off! take it off now!” you stomp your metal clad foot, the chain rattles against the floor.

layla begins to bark loudly from the other side of the door. her paws scratch at the closed white wood.

jake spins around with your raised voice and slaps his hand over your mouth, “shut the fuck up!” he whispers with heated aggression. his other hand grabbing the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair and craning your neck back to look at him. crazed eyes stare into yours like they want to rip you apart. you can no longer help it now, tears escape and wash down to meet his hand. your entire body is now shaking in fear. “angel, i thought i taught you better than this… haven’t you made yourself known enough tonight?” he softens in tone, but his expression and hands don’t match. they’re strong, keeping you still.

you shake your head frantically under his hold. his large hand taking up half your face, making it hard to breathe. your mouth and nose only taking in larger breaths of air that just isn’t sufficient. fat tears run down your face as you continue to shout muffled pleas into his palm.

“take it off!”

“let me go!”

“stop, stop!”

“help me!” it’s a deadened attempt of a shrill scream.

it’s all lost against his skin. you try to slap his hand and arms off of you but it’s to no avail. you’re simply too feeble to put up the fight you want to. you’ll always be overpowered by man.

his hold doesn’t let up. he just watches you struggle in blazing silence. your lungs losing oxygen make you see bright white stars scatter your vision. the burning tears only make it all the more hazy. your body feels weak, like it’s about to collapse in on itself. is this what it’s like to lose consciousness? weird, it feels kind of good. you use all your strength to keep your eyes open, but they blink slowly to a close.

“please.” is the final beg to be said against his palm.

“i love you.” is the final words he promises before it all goes black.

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　when jake finally comes downstairs, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

heeseung—who was in the kitchen—heard jake’s descent with the settling creaks of the house’s floors, returns to the couch. he nervously watches jake, who was yet to look over at him, as he stuffs something back into the hoodie that jake left behind before going up to that room.

jake just stands at the bottom of the staircase with a dead stare, eyes unblinking and unfocused. he looks pale, stuck in a state that heeseung is not ready to approach or question. heeseung heard nearly everything from upstairs. it was jarring, and enough evidence to understand that the house is dangerous for everyone in it.

to think that he’s been here before without a clue of what was happening behind closed doors makes his skin crawl. he never could have imagined that his own friend, or himself, would get wrapped up in a scenario like this. was it all merely a matter of time?

heeseung slowly stands up. due to the silence, even the slight sound of movement has jake’s heard turn in a split second to his friend's direction.

unknowing of what to do, heeseung just stays still like a deer in headlights. frightful in nature as if he was the one to be caught in the wrong place. he’s frozen under the cold, black eyes that bore into him.

jake stalks over to heeseung slowly. the unbreaking eye contact and lack of words sends chills through the older male. the kitchen oven light hums in the background, and it’s all to be heard. jake places himself on the other couch in the living room. the light flickers off and on again when heeseung follows jake’s actions, sitting once more.

“i’ve never hurt her before,” his tone hostile, as if to defend himself from whatever he was imagining that heeseung was thinking, “not physically at least, i don’t think.”

heeseung feels a cold sweat take over. his palms sweaty, squeezing his own thighs for a sense of stability. this can’t be real. he couldn’t process any of this. how could this be what jake is? he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaws with anxiety. eyes trained on the intense presence before him.

jake speaks up again, his voice breaking like he’s about to cry, “she looked at me so.. she looked terrified of me, seung. and i made her cry again.” jake has his elbows resting on his knees, his head hung low with hands fisted in his hair. he pulls on his dark locks in distress.

heeseung glances from jake to the front door. then back to jake. and then the staircase. and then the front door again before going back to jake. he feels like his lungs are going to burst, his breathing something he now has to force himself to manually maintain.

“but fuck, man!” jake hits himself in the head once, twice, three times. his smack echoing through the room, sending shivers of panic through heeseung each time. “i-i can’t think! what the hell am i supposed to do!?” there’s a pause. “i want to be good for her. she’s supposed to help me but i’m getting worse everyday.” his hands drag down over his face, covering it.

“jake, i don’t know—”, heeseung’s voice didn’t reach.

“i went to church. i prayed. i couldn’t confess though. i was too cowardly to say what ill thoughts consumed me.” jake looks up to heeseung with tears in his eyes, “too cowardly to admit to what i’ve done. i want to be clean, man. but i am full of greed, lust, and wrath. i can wash my hands over and over, but i still remember the feeling. a damned confession wouldn’t take the weight of that away.” he laughs lowly, shaking his head. a hand lazily wiping his tears from his face. “and i see it every night. the stains that painted me, that should’ve made me feel dirty. it didn’t.”

heeseung needs to get the fuck of here now. he can’t keep up with jake’s insane behavior or confession. this has gone far beyond his expectations; his flight or fight instincts are screaming that this is unsafe territory.

“but when i have her, it’s not so bad. i can’t--i can’t have you getting in the way, or anything, anyone else, for that matter.” jake is hanging on by a thread, it’s clear. he was going to snap soon. “do you understand that?”

heeseung nods his head but can’t bring himself to say a word.

“well say it, damn it! say ‘jake, i won’t get in the way.’” his voice loud, demanding.

“jake,” he stands on shaking legs, “i won’t get in your way. i w-won’t say a thing. this has nothing to do with me, man.” his hands up in a defending position as he makes brave steps that lead to the front of the house. “you can trust me…”

“i hope so, or you’ll end up like her parents… somewhere in the back of those woods to feed the maggots.”

heeseung nods again then darts for the door and out to his car. he wastes no time in getting far away from that nightmare. as he starts the car, he looks up to the window at the highest point of the house. the light is off and there is no face peaking through with hope. heeseung exhales deeply. he recalls the smile jake wore with his leaving statement. closing his eyes, he knows that he is no hero, and certainly won’t be made a victim.

but, he also isn’t someone to do nothing. so, he’ll leave for now.

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　jake’s mind is in a whirlwind. he needs to release the weight of everything that’s suffocating him from the inside. he feels as if all his organs have corroded and are crawling up his esophagus, like hundreds of little centipede feet, only to get stuck in his throat.

he doesn’t even recognize how he got back to the bedroom since heeseung’s escape; unable to realize that some has passed.

he stands in the middle of room, blinking his eyes back to a state of awareness. he was watching you sleep in the bed he placed you in. or perhaps he was just looking through you. he made you pass out in and from his own hands. he despised himself for it, and how it gave him a sense of god-like power.

jake moves towards the bed and creeps in next to you. his hands find a place on your hips to pull you on top of him. the subtle movement of your chest and small breaths assure him of your liveness. he hugs you close like that for a minute.

his fingers trail up and down your body, squeezing and caressing his favorite parts of you. they stop at your ass, full in his hands he begins to move your body back and forth. his growing cock pressing up into your pussy, grinding with the maneuver. the back of his throat releases a soft, guttural sound.

his large hands slip up your night dress and pull your underwear to the side. he runs a finger along your folds, feeling every detail of your womanhood. the callosed tips rub over your core until a layer of wetness leaks through.

you shift on top of him, not awake, but subconsciously sensing an uncomfortable intrusion. a small noise leaves your lips, something of a whine.

“i know you’re not all there. you’re too compliant with all i’ve done. you listen too well.” he’s whispering against the side of your face. his free hand working to take off his pants and boxer briefs. “you’re like me.” he licks a strip up your face, wet saliva leaving a trail. you stir again, face scrunching before rubbing onto jake’s shirt.

he grins at you, thinking you’re cute all out of it and on top of him. his eyes find the teeth marks on your shoulder. the thin spaghetti strap of your dress falling from it, revealing full sight to the scarring mark of his possession. “i can sink my teeth into you and you will do nothing but watch me lick it clean. and you would still let me hold you. kiss you. and,” he’s rubbing his leaking cock against your pussy, humping up into you so the head dips in and out. “fuckkk.” he moans, feeling himself being teased with the enveloping of your creamy, warm hole.

you make another tired, bothered sound with eyes squeezed shut.

“possibly i have let you think of me as tender, but i will prove to you i am everything but.” he thrusts his hips upwards, his cock pushing into your tight core. he moans at the feeling of you wrapped around him, hugging him with wet heat. “i’ve always had these tainted thoughts with me. i could never admit to anyone, or myself, what i longed for.” his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close. his legs propped up, knees bent and feet pressed down to the bed, as he begins a brutal pace to pound himself in and out of you.

your eyes open along with your mouth, a sound in between a moan and gasp leaves your lips. you look up to the man who is fucking you, confused and disoriented. you feel a deep pain between your legs and in the bottom of your stomach. you try to pull yourself back, to sit up, but jake grounds you to his chest.

“i prayed for all the disturbed thinking to come to an end. my mind became more grotesque, morbid.” he looks at you and all you see is misery. his eyes are so empty yet he forces a smile. “i am haunted like a sick man.” i know, you think. your head rests tucked by his chin and neck. you just watch him, letting your body make little moans and chases to his touch like it’s trained to. “i always wanted more. i didn’t want to just think it, i wanted to do it all.”

“mhmm.” your eyes blink slowly, watching the faces of pleasure he makes through your eyelashes. maybe this is all a dream, you imagine wishfully.

“i stopped praying a long time ago, yet kept stepping into god’s house. i knew something, someone, would come for me.” he grunts, squeezing the skin on your back to bruises. his trusts become messy as squelching sounds of your pussy. skin slaps and fragmented noises come from the both of you. “in the bible; tell me, angel, who did god send to fulfill all his obligations?” he nibbles on your ear. sometimes licking and leaving his spit coating it.

him pistoning his cock at his assaulting speed and force, elicits a loud mewl from you. you wish he would fuck you even harder. violent enough that it rattles your brain and body senseless. you don’t want to think at all, just want to see those stars again.

jake is pissed when you ignore his question. one of his hands slides up your back while the other moves down to slap your ass. you whine at the sting. he grabs the back of your neck like he did earlier and you can’t help but grin a little. he yanks your head back and your body sits up on top of him. he feels so deep inside of you. you hum at the feeling, not even realizing your hand drops down to rub over your lower stomach.

you still wear the faint grin on your lips as you look down at him. “hm?”

“who carried out his judgements, served punishments, and set examples?” he fucks into you slower, focusing on your body. noticing how your hips move in small swivels and bounces on his cock. how your nipples peek through in needy points of the thin material.

he gives your ass another slap and your head tips back with a moan, “ngh, the angels.”

he squeezes your neck from behind at your response. your eyes rolls back as you continue to fuck yourself down onto him in severity. a slutty sound leaving you with every kiss of his dick to your cervix.

“yes,” he pulls you back down to his face. his hand is still tight around your neck, borderline suffocating in pressure. “and he sent one to me too.” he feels your pussy pulse around him, signaling you’re close to cumming. “he sent you to me. but instead of learning a lesson i became obsessed just as my thoughts.” jake always had a dangerous personality, hiding inside of him. his obsessions becoming an illness was nothing he should be shocked by. or maybe it’s the other way around and he was always sick so he became it. “i so badly wanted you to be my savior… to tell me lies of purity and goodness.” he feels his cock throb, aching to release. he chases the feeling of pure want, pounding relentlessly into you.

“open your mouth,” he demands with a low growl. you listen without a second thought and he spits into it. his saliva meeting your tongue only to be swallowed down.

he pressed a kiss to your lips while you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure as you cum. your body collapses on top of his like an act of defeat. your breathing so ragged and lungs suffering; jake releases his hold on your neck only to use both hands on your hips to bounce your body on him.

while your body makes small quivers in overstimulation, jake groans loudly as he cums inside of you. as you feel the deep warmth coat your insides, a sense of drowsiness takes over you.

“i feel like a besotted rot has taken over me, and it’s been growing evermore since i met you.” he whispers, relaxing his body flat against the bed. with you still on top of him and his cock still buried in you with his seed, he hugs you. “it’s killing me from the inside out. you’re going to kill me. i can feel it.”

the quiet and gentle honesty of his fearful ending confession lulls you to sleep.

he continues to fuck you until he’s too tired to not.

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　when you wake up the next morning, you feel your entire body is in pain. there’s a throbbing pain in your head, a dull strain in your neck, and a heavy ache in between your legs.

you sigh as you sit your body up, hands place slightly behind you at your sides. you make slow circles of your head to stretch your neck muscles. there’s a pang of sharp pain for a split second but you relax once reversing the movements around.

with lazy eyes, you scan the surroundings of the bedroom. the sun shines bright through the thin lace, white curtains. the clock reads that it is half past 10 in the morning. on the white, wooden night stand beside the bed is a note, a cup of water, and a plate of cut up fruit that has probably been out longer than intended. the door is slightly cracked open and the cold, heavy weight is missing from around your ankle.

you stretch your arms and back before leaning over to chug down the glass of water. you think of eating the fruit presented for you, but decide on not. it's hard to have an appetite these days.

you move yourself to sit at the end of the bed, legs and feet dangling off the mattress. you realize how quiet the house is. normally, jake is always with you when he’s home. if he’s working from home then he is next to you, or at least at the desk with his work laptop. but it’s saturday, so why would he be working?

“jake!” you call out his name, but there is no response. your voice doesn’t sound like normal, it’s rough. you call for him again and still there is nothing. only layla comes up the stairs to push past the door. she too looks confused.

you look outside the large window next to the bed and realize that his car isn’t there either.

you look back to the nightstand, remembering there was a note left for you. you pick it up and read: had to run out. i will be back soon. rest and eat well, angel.

with the note in your hand, you squeeze your hand into a fist, crushing and crinkling the paper in your palm. you stare at the destroyed paper, enclasped in your hand, before releasing your fist and letting it fall to the floor.

the sound of a car driving makes you turn around. you don’t know if it’s annoyance or ease that washes over you. but once your eyes see the car, you know that it’s neither. because it’s not jake’s car that you see outside. you can recognize it’s one from the other night though.

you’re quick to stand up and make your way over to the side of the clear glass. you peek over the side of the window, suddenly not comfortable to be seen. is it because you know jake isn’t here? your heart rate picks up rather quick, along with a feeling of anxiety. who is here? why?

a tall man with dark, brownish.. no reddish hair, steps out of the now parked vehicle. he glances around before jogging over to the side of the house. you furrow your brows in confusion, wondering what he could be doing. you bite at your lip, trying to look around the house as much as the window allows.

then you walk over to the bedroom door and close it quietly, leaving you and layla inside. you lean your back to the door and slide down to the floor. your ear presses against the wood, listening to anything that you can. there isn’t much to be heard for a minute or so. and then there is. there’s a landing thud from somewhere downstairs. a clashing of objects hit the floor with it. something like a glass bowl or cup, if you had to assume. you can tell it’s coming from the kitchen based on the direction alone.

your heart beats harder now and you don’t even realize how your hands hold a small tremble. you’re frozen in place; you don’t know what to do. jake always tells you what to do. he tells how to handle situations, how to react, how to respond.

the footsteps of the intruder are rushed. quick feet move through the house and up to the stairs, only to stop right outside the door that you’re in front of. you feel a dangerous panic coarse through you, and unknown to you, you’re holding your breath as if it could give you away.

seconds feel like minutes followed by a knock at the door. it’s slow and just as scared as you are.

you place your hands over your mouth, silencing yourself from uttering a sound or a word. meanwhile layla lets out a guarded growl. you shake your head as you look at her, as if she could understand the notion.

“i know you’re in there. i’m here… i’m here to help you.” the voice is sweet, familiar. it’s a friend of jake that’s been here before. he must have been the one who stayed longer than he should’ve last night.

for some reason, you still remain silent. why would he come back?

“i don’t know what exactly is going on between you two, but i know when something isn’t right. and jake isn’t…” his voice goes soft. he’s worried and nervous.

“he isn’t what?” heeseung hears your melodic voice, weak yet defensive.

“can you open the door? i don’t know how much time we have.” the door knob turns but doesn’t push open. it’s not locked. you both know it, but neither of you bring yourself to break the barrier.

you stand from the door, your legs uneasy as if a baby fawn learning to walk. you grab the door handle with a timid hand. you turn it slowly and pull back the door just a crack. you look up with wide eyes. you’re face to face with someone other than jake for the first time in what feels like forever. someone is finally seeing you, talking to you, acknowledging your existence. why isn’t it as exciting as you anticipated?

heeseung gapes at your disheveled appearance. his eyes quick to find the many bruises that litter your body, from your neck to your arms and legs. then to the scarred bite mark that’s discolored and horrid along your shoulder. and lastly over your face: dry, bitten lips and dark circles around your sad eyes. “i’m sorry.” is all heeseung can say. you think his voice sounds disappointed.

“why? it’s not like you did anything.” you pull the door open a little more, unintentionally though. it furthered the exposure of the room when your hand pulled back to wrap around yourself. your eyes scan over his face, taking in the up close new appearance. you think he’s very cute for a second before a dread of guilt becomes you. you wrap your arms tighter around your midriff, as if to conceal what you’ve begged to be seen. you avert your eyes from his, suddenly embarrassed.

heeseung steps into the room, and you step back. your eyes watch his feet. it feels like you weren’t given the permission to look at him; like you’ve already overstepped jake’s boundaries and broken his rules by seeing and speaking what you already have. yet your heart races with adrenaline.

“that’s the problem. i didn’t do anything the minute i knew something was wrong.”

it’s nice to hear something rational for once.

“i tried to come up with some sort of plan as soon as i could. he left and i found his keys,” you immediately look up at heeseung when he mentions the object you fantasize about. keys. unlocked cage. freedom. “i figured the kitchen window would be the less susceptible.” he attempts a laugh but it’s clearly full of nerves. his eyes dart from you to the outside window. it reminds you of yourself. that feeling of waiting for jake, always mixed with too many emotions to really decipher.

“but for real, you need to get a jacket and shoes on. we have to leave right now.” heeseung deadpans. his eyes watching yours that refuse to look back. you just stand still in the room, shaking like a leaf in the wind. your focus trained to the floor, spacing out from the scenario.

“is this real?” your voice is quiet, unsure. “did jake put you up to this to test me? i don’t want to cause more trouble with him. i don’t like when he’s…”

heeseung begins to frantically search the room. he goes to the closet and shifts through the hanging clothes for the thickest jacket he can find. he grabs a big one with faux fur lining and heavy material, “put this on. where are your socks?” he hands it to you but you just hold it low in your hands, letting it hit the floor. he opens drawers of the dresser nearby, finding a pair of socks.

still spacing out, feeling dreamlike, you sit down at the edge of the bed. the large winter coat still hands in your fingers, half over your lap and exposed legs.

heeseung crouches down in front of you with socks in hand and a pair of boots by his side. he looks up at you with despairing eyes, but you just watch the floor below him. i should sweep the floors. there’s dog hair and dust everywhere.

trepidatious, large and unknown hands pick up your foot. the cold fingers brush over your abused ankle. a sick feeling of flutters fills your stomach, you jerk your leg back from his touch. this isn’t right. something like a stray cat who doesn’t let strangers touch.

“what happened to this?” he lightly taps the bone, “you need to see a doctor.” he tries again but faster this time. gentle hands pulling the sock over your foot and then the other. next he reaches for the boots to put your feet into. “come on, get the jacket on.” he says as he stands, a hand reaching out to you. you stand from the bed and ignore the offered gesture.

you take a few steps forward and stop. heeseung takes notice of the slight limp in your walk. his eyes follow the floor from your feet and that's when he sees it. the long silver chain that’s attached to the bedpost, mounted to the floorboards.

“jesus fucking christ…” he exhales, taking the coat from your hands to put it on you himself.

“i used to try and break that whenever i had the chance, but i ended up hurting myself in the process.” you laugh a little. he sees your blank stare and lost smile. “he would ice my ankle for me though. and he wrapped it up, changing the bandages everyday when it was worse.”

“i’m gonna get you somewhere safe.” heeseung promises, taking your hand in his own to lead you to the door. “you won’t have to live like this anymore, okay? do you have more family somewhere, someone we could call?” heeseung is doing his best to remain calm, but inside he senses immense uneasiness. you can feel how his palms are sweaty and holding too tight of you. you don’t like it.

“my parents…” it’s a whisper. he helps you down the stairs and to the kitchen. your heart feels like it's a ticking time bomb set to explode. each beat a warning that screams louder and louder.

“well, how about anyone else.” there’s consternation.

you stop in your tracks, heeseung tries to pull you forward. his eyes begging to leave through the window he left open for you two. “why anyone else?” you question. you feel heavy again, a boil builds in your body, your heart racing faster than you know it was capable. your breathing becomes quick and panicked. heaves and wheezes now leaving your body. “what? w-what do you m-mean?!”

“they… jake, he…” heeseung stammers, his head moving side to side in a slow display of sorrow. he reaches out to you, to pull you into a hug of comfort.

but you just stand there, unbelieving of what the man is trying to imply to you. “no, no… he wouldn’t—” your bottom lip quivers and eyes sting.

from the corner of your eyes, you see a dark shadow approaching heeseung from behind. a large object hangs high in the air with the shadow. you let out a blood curdling scream, eyes looking past heeseung. the tall man turns his head around before the held object comes crashing down into the back of his head. heeseung drops to the floor in an instant, his hand slipping out of yours.

it all happened so fast.

you’re in a fit of panicked sobs now. your eyes can’t look away from the man who tried to help you; the man you didn’t try to believe in. there’s an open gash in his head, bleeding and matting into the hair. you feel sick.

your attention is removed from the man when a familiar hard grip pulls on your hair. “where the hell did you think you were going!?” jake’s voice is terribly sad, loud and croaking. he’s dragging you back down the hall and up the stairs to your room.

“i wasn’t going anywhere!” you squirm around trying to look back at him, “i was never going to leave! i swear!”

jake sits you down at the chair by the desk, his hands place on your shoulders. he looks down at you with disquiet heartache, “you promise?” he’s fixing to cry. you hate when jake cries.

you nod your head quickly, still having a panic attack, still frightful and overwhelmed.

jake swallows hard, staring into your eyes. he’s trying to trust your word, and ultimately he just does. he places a long kiss to your forehead. you feel a drop of wetness land against your skin. and you just sit there, watching him leave the room with hands of shaking fists.

you hear a lot happening downstairs while you’re glued to the chair. there’s loud commotion and aggressive words being passed between the two. heeseung is still alive. they’re fighting.

unknowing of what to do, you squeeze your eyes shut. you curl your body inwards and cover your ears, gently rocking yourself back and forth to ease your mind of the chaos. this isn’t real. it’s all a bad dream. it’s another bad story you conjured up.

and then someone yells. a painful, agonizing noise that you can’t disassociate from. it sends shivers through you. you can’t open your eyes, you can’t leave the room. if you don’t see it then it’s not happening, right?

the clashing of aggression comes to a halt. and the usual eerily silence of the house stands still.

a few minutes go by.

you lift your head and open your eyes when you sense the door being weakly pushed open.

you gasp and stand up, quickly moving over to jake to help him stand up straight instead of leaning on the door.

“j-jake…” you’re crying, “hey, wha-what happened?” you’re trying to support his weight but it’s too much. you both somehow manage to make it to the bed. did he do it? did he kill heeseung?

jake is covered in blood and he’s crying too. he simply shakes his head and presses wet kisses your cheek, pulling you down to lay next to him. he can’t say anything.

confused and scared, you ask him again, but he doesn’t speak yet. he just holds onto you as tight as his body allows. the blood begins to stain your clothes, the bed sheets and blankets.

he breathes a ragged sigh, looking at you with wet, thick lashes, “i thought god hated me. ya know, for making me the way i am and expecting me to follow him.” he coughs, turning his head away from you, hiding. “but why would he hate me and still give you to me?” he laughs with a small cough, he feels his mouth tinge with metallic iron.

you watch from the side of his face, crying quietly. then you feel it. the warm, seeping of thick liquid spilling onto you. your eyes track down your body and his, landing on the gash of his shirt. an open wound punctured in his side. a wrecked sound slips past your lips with your cries.

“even if it was a punishment, you’ll always just be an angel to me.” his head turns back to face you, his mouth painted red with slips of blood passing the corners of his smile.

you push yourself from his hug, crazed to find some material to wrap around jake and stop the bleeding. but he pulls you back to him, his eyes closing. “h-hey, hey. stop, it’s okay. just hold me close a little longer.” and you do. through all your whimpers, hiccups, and tears. you wrap your entire body into him, legs entangled and arms wrapped never this tight around him before.

eve was made from adam’s rib. so is it really your fault for wanting to crawl inside the man you’re closest to?

jake’s breathing is starting to become dangerously slow, along with the pulse of his heartbeat.

heeseung, who managed to crawl his way up the stairs, waits outside the door. blood is dripping down his face and neck from his head. he coughs, grabbing your attention.

you sit up just enough to not let go of jake, swollen eyes watching heeseung sit at the edge of the stairs. his body is struggling to stay upward, he wobbles and sways. his eyes not able to stay open. he asks you if you could drive them to the hospital, in hopes that there is still time to save them.

you don’t take the risk of losing the only family you have left, so you do what he asks.

　time passes by in a blur. you end up back at house a day later to take care of layla. jake and heeseung are still in the hospital. you don’t know who will recover or die first.

when you return to the house, you do all the things that jake would normally do. you take layla outside for a walk around the house. you make sure she has food and water. you make yourself a meal that will be left untouched.

and then you trudge up to your room and you crawl into the blood stained bed. you attach the metal cuff to your ankle, and lay there in silence. you think of praying but end up crying yourself to sleep instead.

the first man you knew to really sin, not just true nor venially but mortally sin, you can’t help but want to wait for the return of. to be damned with him may be his punishment and your fate, but whatever happens is in gods hands now. maybe it doesn’t really matter anyways because you’ll be his attic angel, always.

꒰ tags & those who asked for part 2 ⸝⸝ if you want removed lmk ꔛ @nshmrarki @enhalxvr @jaengwon @taeminsboogers @beomsdoll @immelissaaa @pshfan0812 @supershy3 @hauntsoul @jenniferecand @randomanothercreature @numnomn @en-heedeungie @hwasangel @thatonedaragirltho @hooneverse @maliakealoha @kon-ss @laybensu @whateveridontcaresheesh @strawberrynull ꒱

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croissantsandblackcoffee · 3 days ago

Text

luigi mangione ⊹ rumination

— he was literally glowing !!!!!! i’m so happy for him. also, i hope they dress him up in winter clothing more often. every single pic of him before he got caught is wearing sleeveless shirts, shorts and flip flops, and the occasional suit. link to the masterlist ;)

riker’s island. thursday, 5:00 PM

you’re feeling really nervous as you walk through the security checks, heading inside the facility to wait. you’ve tried your best to hide the symptoms, but you’ve been feeling a bit of nausea off and on, as well as a bit bloated. nothing too noticeable as of yet.

you take a seat at one of the empty seats, waiting for the guards to bring luigi out. your fingers play with the cord of the telephone, a habit out of nervousness.

as you sit there, waiting, you can’t help but get lost in your thoughts. all sorts of possible conversation starters are going through your head, but none of them seem good enough. how do you even tell someone you’re carrying their child?

eventually, you’re broken out of your thoughts by footsteps, and you look up to see luigi. he seems happy to see you right now, his gaze sweeping over you in that usual fashion he does; a mixture of curiosity and… something else.

“hey, sweetheart,“ he starts as he takes a seat opposite you, putting the phone to his ear. he doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re fidgeting in your seat, or the way you seem a bit more stressed than usual. “how’ve you been?”

“i’ve been alright,” you say, nodding. you try to control your expression, but you’re sure some of your stress is showing. despite everything though, seeing luigi again feels… nice. “how about you?”

he lets out a huff, and he sounds a little annoyed as he speaks.

“bored out of my mind. i mean, seriously — how do these guys expect people to stay sane when there’s nothing to do all day? it’s torture. i swear the only thing keeping me going is these visits with you.”

“oh, yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at that, managing to break past your worries for a moment and feel a bit smug. “so you look forward to my visits? that much?”

“what? of course i do,” he answers immediately, sounding a little incredulous that you’d even ask that. “i mean, sure, the guards are rude and the food sucks, but i… i look forward to seeing you, sweetheart. you’re the best part of my day.”

a small part of you wants to feel smug about it — that luigi finds so much enjoyment from seeing you, that it’s the highlight of his day. but the rest of you just feels guilty. because right now, you know there’s something you need to confess to him. but how the hell do you even bring it up?

eventually, after a small moment of silence, you take a deep breath and decide to hell with subtlety. this is luigi. he’s a mature adult who can handle tough conversations.

“luigi, i… i need to tell you something.”

he notices the change in your tone right away, hearing the more serious edge to your voice. a line appears in his brow, but it’s not a scowl. he looks more confused than anything.

“alright… what is it?” he tilts his head slightly. “you can tell me whatever’s on your mind, baby, you know that.”

“yeah, i know,” you nod, letting out a small sigh and shaking your head. “i just… it’s…”

you stop, taking another deep breath and preparing yourself for what you’re about to say. how the hell do you even bring this conversation up?

“just… don’t interrupt, okay? just let me talk for a minute.”

he looks more confused now, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, but he nods.

“alright,” he says. “i’m listening. go ahead.”

it takes a few more moments before you finally gather up the nerve to start talking. you take a deep breath, trying to arrange your thoughts properly.

“okay,” you begin, looking at him. “do you… do you remember that last time we were together? the conjugal visit a few weeks ago?”

he nods, his eyebrows pulled together. he seems to have an idea of where this conversation is going.

“of course i do. what about it?”

“right. right.” you nod, running a hand through your hair nervously. “well… i… i think something might have… happened, during that time. something that i only discovered a few days ago. and it’s kinda…”

you trail off, taking another deep breath. God, how the hell do you say this?

“it’s kinda what, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, his gaze fixed on you. he looks a little bit worried now, sensing that this is something big.

“well…” you struggle for another few moments, your hand basically gripping the telephone cord. you take another deep breath, steeling yourself as best as you can. “i… i think I’m pregnant.”

there. you said it.

there’s a few seconds of silence between the two of you, and it’s so thick you swear it could be cut with a knife. luigi has just been dropped a massive bomb, and he’s taking a few moments to process it.

right now, you can’t even tell what he’s thinking. his face is completely impossible to read.

eventually, he sighs.

“christ…” he mutters under his breath, before looking back up at you. there’s a mix of emotions in his expression — disbelief, shock, more disbelief, etc. “are… are you sure?” he asks. “like, 100% certain?”

“i’m sure. i took two tests, and both of them came up positive. and i’ve… i’ve had some other symptoms as well. so… yeah. i’m positive. i’m pregnant, luigi.”

his eyes are fixated on you, his mind racing as he processes this big ball of information that’s just been thrown at him. he looks a little less shocked, and now he seems to be moving towards acceptance.

“jesus… well, shit,” he mutters under his breath. he runs a hand over his face, thinking. “and, uh… it’s… it’s definitely mine, right? no doubts about that?”

you nod, your fingers still fiddling with the cord as you speak.

“yeah. yeah, it’s yours. i’ve had no one else but you, luigi. and we didn’t exactly consider using any protection during our visit, so…”

he lets out a huff at that, shaking his head. he doesn’t seem mad, just… worried.

“yeah, i suppose we didn’t… damn.” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “so… what are you gonna do? about the pregnancy, i mean.”

you shrug, chewing on your lip a bit. you’re not completely certain yourself, right now.

“i… i don’t know yet,” you admit. “i mean, it all just happened pretty damn recently, so i haven’t had time to really think about it yet. but… I guess i just wanted to know… what you thought about it. it is your kid too, after all.”

he nods, biting his own lip as his gaze drifts down to the tabletop.

“right… i mean, of course it has something to do with me as well… right, so…” he sighs, and glances back up at you. “are you sure you want to keep the baby, sweetheart? i mean, a baby is a pretty huge deal. it changes a lot of things.”

he pauses before continuing, “listen, it’s a big deal. and it’s gonna affect you way more than it’ll affect me. i mean, i’m the one who was able to just walk away after our little… visit. you’re the one who’s been left with the after-effects. i just… i just don’t want you to feel like you have to keep the kid just because it’s mine. it’s your body at the end of the day, so if you don’t want to carry, then you don’t have to.”

you bite your lip, knowing that that probably the reasonable conclusion to come to. but honestly, you don’t have the first clue what you actually want to do right now. this whole situation has got your head all over the place, and you’re not entirely sure how you feel about it.

“i don’t know, luigi, i…” you pause, taking a deep breath. “i don’t know if i want to keep it or not. i have no idea what i want to do right now. i just… i don’t know.”

luigi watches you, and his expression visibly softens as his shoulders relax a bit. he can tell that you’re overwhelmed, and honestly, he doesn’t entirely blame you for being so.

“hey," he starts, his voice quiet. "it’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright. you don’t have to decide anything right now, alright? just… just take some time, think it over. no rush.”

he pressed his hand against the glass, as if taking your hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly. if only he would able to do so.

“i just want you to know that… whatever you end up choosing to do, i’m gonna support it. whether you want to keep or not, i’m gonna be there for you. you’re not by yourself in this. i’m not gonna let you deal with this all on your own, you hear me?”

it’s a comforting thought, knowing that luigi is going to support you no matter your decision. you’ve worried that perhaps he’d feel upset that this has happened, or that he’d somehow blame you for this happening. but no, he seems focused on making sure you’re supported through this.

you let out a breath, and nod, managing a weak smile. you press your own hand against the glass, wishing that you could feel his touch on your skin.

he mirrors you with a weak smile of his own. he watches the hand that’s pressed against the glass, as if imagining that he’s holding your own. despite the thick glass and the guards, luigi wishes that he could just take your face in his hands, and press a soft kiss to your forehead.

instead, he just has to settle for watching you.

you feel almost lonely just sitting there. it’s such a simple thing, but seeing luigi sitting on the other side of that thick glass, not even able to hold your hand, it makes your heart ache a little bit.

you’re not usually needy, you don’t usually desperately crave another person’s touch like this, but right now, you wish more than anything that you could just be in luigi’s arms.

he wishes more than anything in the world that he’d be able to just have you in his lap right now, to hold you close and have his arms wrapped securely around you.

he doesn’t even want anything more from you. no, right now his mind isn’t focused on anything sexual. he just wants to comfort you, hold you, and reassure you.

he wants to show you how much he cares about you. he wants to be able to hold you in his lap, and bury his face against your hair while he whispers soothing words into your ear. he wants to be able to run his fingers through your hair, and press kisses to your lips until that worried expression is gone.

right now, he wants to be able to be your comfort, the way that you’ve been his.

unfortunately, the glass that separates you prevents him from doing any of that. but he can’t not do something. no, he can’t just sit by, and simply watch you.

despite not being able to hold you in his lap, he does the next best thing, and starts talking with a soothing voice.

“hey,” he says quietly, his voice low. “it’s okay, sweetheart. everything’s gonna be alright, you hear me?”

his tone is gentle, and soft. the complete opposite to how he sounds when he’s teasing you. no, his teasing voice is cocky and smug.

this voice is just soothing, a quiet whisper that’s designed to comfort you.

“i mean it, alright? you’re not alone in this. i’m not leave just abandon you, or something. if you keep it, i’ll be there. if you don’t, i’ll still be there. i’m gonna be right by your side. you got it?”

he watches you, his eyes flickering over your face as he waits for your reaction to his words. he’s hoping that what he has said will have some sort of soothing effect on you, that at the very least it’ll help a little bit.

“i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he says again, his voice still quiet. “you’re stuck with me. no matter what you choose.”

in spite of the difficult situation, a warm feeling starts to spread inside you. luigi’s soothing words are working — they’re helping to comfort you. the fact that he remains so unwaveringly supportive, and has even promised to be there for you, regardless of what choice you make, has a calming effect on you. not a massive effect, but enough to take some of the stress away.

luigi can tell that it’s working. it’s subtle, but in the slight change of your face, your body language, he can see the effect that his soothing words are having.

he can see that you’re a little bit more relaxed than you were at the beginning of the conversation — and that makes him slightly more relaxed.

“you know,” he starts gently, “you’re surprisingly calm for someone who just told their boyfriend that they’re pregnant.”

he says it jokingly, his tone still just as soft and gentle. however now there’s a slight hint of amusement in his expression. the fact that you’re relatively calm about the whole situation is a bit surprising to him.

the words have an effect though, as you give a small shrug, and let out a soft snort.

“do you want me to start panicking or something?” you ask, one eyebrow raised.

luigi lets out a huff, shaking his head.

“well, no, of course not. it’s just that, well… i mean, not that i think it’s bad, but i expected you to be at least a bit more stressed than you are right now.”

he tilts his head slightly, a hint of curiosity in his expression.

“i don’t know, sweetheart, you’re handling this surprisingly well.”

you shrug again, not really having an answer for that. honestly, you can’t even really explain it yourself.

“i mean, it’s not like panicking is going to help anything,” you say, letting out a soft huff. “and like i said, i’m not exactly sure what i even want to do yet, so why freak out over nothing?”

he stares at you for a moment, a slight smile on his face as he takes in your words. he’s actually a little bit impressed with your calmness right now. despite not having any idea what you actually want to do, you’re not losing your head completely.

there’s a hint of appreciation in his expression.

“you’re amazing, you know that?”

he says it more to himself than to you, shaking his head slightly and running a hand through his hair.

“i mean, seriously, you tell me that you’re pregnant, and what do you do? you stay perfectly calm and level-headed. and, i mean, it’s not like i was expecting you to freak out or anything, but i have a feeling that most women would not be as composed as you are right now.”

you give a small huff at that, a light smile appearing on your face. despite everything, that praise from him makes you feel a bit warm inside.

“i don’t know about ‘amazing��,” you say quietly, fiddling with the phone cord. “more like ‘not completely insane’.”

“hey, it’s amazing to me.”

he leans forward slightly, his expression softening. he watches you fiddle with the cord of the phone, wishing more than anything that he could be there with you right now.

“trust me, sweetheart, right now i think you’re amazing. the way you’re taking all this so calmly? it’s pretty damn impressive, if you ask me.”

you give a small scoff, rolling your eyes a bit, but you can feel a hint of colour rising to your cheeks. despite your best efforts, his compliments get you flustered.

“alright, stop it… you’re gonna make me embarrass myself,” you mutter, shifting a bit in your seat.

that subtle hint of colour in your cheeks isn’t subtle to him. luigi notices it immediately, and a smug grin appears on his face. you always get so adorably flustered when he compliments you.

“oh, is that so?” he murmurs, enjoying the way you’ve shifted awkwardly in your seat. he can see how flustered you’ve become just by a couple of innocent compliments.

seeing you like this, blushing and shy, makes him want to just take your face in his hands and kiss you senseless.

however, of course, that’s not possible at the moment. because there is a thick sheet of glass in the way, and he’s a threat to the public, apparently. it’s frustrating as hell, to be so close to you, and yet still be unable to actually reach you. unable to grab you, hold you, touch you.

instead, he simply lets out a huff, and continues to watch the way you look. he can see how your hands are fiddling with the phone cord, how your cheeks are flushed a little bit. how you’re shifting a bit in your seat, as if uncomfortable by how flustered he’s making you.

“would it be… selfish for me to keep it?” you ask, almost out the blue.

you asked the question to the air, seemingly more to yourself than anything. but luigi responds anyway.

“no. definitely not selfish.”

he shakes his head, his expression firm. he doesn’t want you to have any doubts, not even for a second.

“what makes you think it would be selfish?”

you give a soft exhale. luigi’s reassurance helps, a little bit at least. however, the fact that your mind immediately went from ‘should i keep it?’ to ‘is it selfish to keep it?’ is a worrying sign.

“i mean, what if they never let out you? i’d want to have something of yours, as weird as that sounds.”

you pause, biting your lip.

“but then i’d make you feel obligated to be a dad.”

it takes a moment for the full weight of your words to settle in, and when they do, luigi visibly stiffens in his seat.

that thought hadn’t occurred to him at all. but you’re right, it is definitely something that needs to be taken into consideration.

the possibility of him being released, and getting out, is next to none. and he might never get to be a dad, not properly anyway. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

but he swallows it nonetheless, his shoulders tensing slightly. he knows that you’re just saying that you want something of his; but the idea that you might keep the baby just for that reason alone hurts.

he can’t give you a proper life. he can’t give you the family that you deserve. he can’t give you or the child that you might possibly have the life that you want. even if he was released someday, he’d be labeled as a threat, and it would always hang over his head.

he swallows again, watching you through the glass. he can see the way your eyes won’t quite meet his, the way that your fingers are still fiddling with the phone cord. You look almost embarrassed, in the way that your cheeks are slightly flushed.

“sweetheart,” he starts quietly, his voice low. “please look at me. can you give me that much, at least?”

you hesitate for a brief second, before meeting his gaze through the glass. it’s surprisingly intimidating, having him looking at you like that. the expression in his eyes is a mixture of softness and firmness — and you’re suddenly reminded just how intense his gaze can be, when it’s focused on you.

although it isn’t at all intentional, there’s a hint of authority in it. a reminder of the fact that he is dominant; and right now, he wants to talk with you, and he’s not about to let you shy away from him.

you feel your face getting a little bit hotter when you finally return his gaze, and you can feel your heart rate picking up just a little bit. there’s something about the way that luigi is looking at you that’s almost a little bit intimidating.

the softness in his gaze, paired with the firmness. the slight command to it, as if telling you to look at him. it makes you feel almost a little bit flustered, a shiver running down your spine.

for some reason, you feel like he’s dominating you right now, even from behind the glass.

“don’t keep it just for that reason.”

he practically demands it. he can see that you’re getting flustered just by him looking at you like this, but he doesn’t care.

the thought of you having the baby for that reason alone makes his heart hurt. it’s a reminder that there’s a very decent possibility that he’ll never get to be an actual father. he’ll never get to hold his child in his arms, take his child to school, watch as they grow and go through life.

it sucks. knowing that if you keep the baby, you’ll probably be a single mother.

luigi knows that he’ll never get to see his child. he can barely even see you — and chances are high that any visits you’d make to him while you’re pregnant would stop as soon as the baby is born.

he won’t ever get to see them growing up, get to watch their milestones — their first steps, their first words, their first day of school. he won’t be there for any of it.

“please.”

he repeats himself, the firmness in his gaze hardening just a little. he needs you to understand.

“don’t keep it just for that reason, okay?”

the thought has lodged itself in his mind now, and there’s almost a pleading tone in his voice. he’s practically begging you not to make your decision just to have something of his.

to have something of his. he knows that you didn’t mean it badly, that the intention behind the words wasn’t negative. but the words still hurt.

like a knife, going straight into his heart. the thought that you might keep the baby just to have part of him — not because you want to have a baby, that you want to be a mother.

the fact that you’re willing to make that sacrifice for him, makes him feel both touched and sick at the same time.

he hates it. he hates that the thought even crossed your mind. that you would possibly keep it just to have a part of him.

it’s touching that you care enough that you would do that, but it’s also not the reason why a child should be born. if you were to keep it, he wants it to be for the same reason anyone else has children.

because you want to be a mother. not because you feel like you need to for him.

he takes a breath, his hands clenching his thighs slightly under the table. the thought that keeps spinning and spinning around his head is that he won’t be able to be there.

he won’t be able to hold your hand while you give birth. he won’t be able to be there for any check-ups. he won’t be able to see you with a baby bump, your body changing to accommodate the child growing inside you.

he won’t get to hold you when the pregnancy gets uncomfortable, won’t be there to rub your swollen feet. he won’t get to feel the baby kicking in your belly and the joy of that first movement.

he won’t get to be there for any of it. no doctor’s appointments, no late nights, no first words, no first steps.

he hates it. he hates it so much.

he won’t get to experience any of the good aspects of parenthood. he won’t get to hold you when you’re stressed, won’t get to rub your back when you feel sick. he won’t get to take care of you during your pregnancy, comfort you when you’re in pain.

his arms won’t be the ones that you curl against when you’re feeling exhausted, when the pregnancy becomes exhausting.

he won’t get to walk with you through the store, picking out cute little clothes or toys for the baby. he won’t be the one to buy the first cute little onesie, the one to assemble the cot, or the changing table. he won’t be able to help you buy all the necessary baby supplies, won’t be there to shop for a stroller or a baby carrier.

he won’t pick out your hospital bag and fill it with all the necessary items when the time comes close. he won’t get to hold your hand as the labour pains start to hit, won’t get to comfort you when the pain gets too intense.

he won’t get to watch you as you bring a tiny, screaming, beautiful little human being into the world.

if you choose to keep it — and he hopes that you’ll make that decision because you want to, not because it would give you a tiny piece of him — he won’t be the one to cut the cord.

he won’t be the first one to hold the baby after the nurses weigh it and clean it up. he won’t even be allowed near the baby, because he’s a prisoner.

it’s the worst of both worlds. being a father and not being able to be a father at the same time. being a parent, but with none of the joy. none of the happy moments, none of the milestones. he’d be a father on paper only, but in reality it would all mean nothing.

no memories, no moments, no happiness. just emptiness on his side, and the exhaustion and stress on yours.

the worst part of it all is that he can’t even be mad. if you say yes, if you choose to keep it, how the hell would he be able to be mad at that? how could he be angry at you when you’re willing to give up so much just to have a part of him?

his mind keeps going back to the first thing you said, when the conversation started.

“would it be… selfish for me to keep it?”

and he’d been willing to say yes, because it was what you wanted. because this was about you, not him.

if you want to keep it, he isn’t going to stop you. but please, please, please don’t keep it just to have a part of him.

he can’t handle that. he won’t handle that.

as he watches you through the glass, his expression is carefully stoic and neutral. he’s trying to stay controlled, trying not to let the emotions show through on his face. he’s trying to keep his tone steady as he speaks.

“please, sweetheart,” he starts again, his tone a little bit more quiet. “please, don’t use that as an excuse to keep it. don’t make your choice based on that thought.”

he holds your gaze intently, silently begging you to understand.

it’s obvious that you’re struggling to stay emotionally composed, and it’s hard for him to watch. the way that your fingers are fiddling with the phone cord, the way that you’re shifting awkwardly in your seat. it’s all evidence that you’re having a hard time handling this.

he’d give anything to be able to hold you, comfort you. but the damn glass is in the way.

he wonders, idly, if you’ve been holding it together just fine in the past few days. If you’ve been strong and brave, putting on a facade of composure.

or if, when you were alone. when there was nobody around. when you were behind an closed door.

if you’ve collapsed to the floor. if you’ve cried into your hands, let out all the stress and confusion and anxiety.

he wonders if you’ve slept at all, at night. if you’ve been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, overthinking every possible scenario until you’re exhausted. if you’ve tossed and turned, unable to turn your brain off.

wondering. questioning. overthinking. freaking out and stressing and worrying.

he wonders if you’ve even been eating properly. if you’re taking proper care of yourself.

he wonders how much the whole thing has been stressing you out, if the uncertainty is taking a toll on your mental health.

the look in your eyes now tells him that you’ve definitely been holding it together. but he doubts it’s been easy.

he knows that you’ve been going back and forth with your thoughts, second guessing yourself constantly. overthinking everything, every possible scenario. trying to figure stuff out, trying to process everything.

it’s clear to him just how much of toll this is taking on you, even if you’ve been struggling to keep it under control so far. even if you’ve been putting on a strong and mature front in front of him.

he can see the stress in your eyes now, just how much the whole situation is messing with your head.

the way that you’re sitting now. the phone cord in between your fingers, fidgeting nervously with it. the way that you’re shifting your weight from side to side, your feet tapping anxiously against the floor. the subtle nervous expression on your face, how your cheeks are flushed a little bit. your slightly heavier breathing.

it’s all proof that you’re struggling to keep it together. struggling to keep yourself composed.

he feels a wave of helplessness rush over him, as he’s forced to sit there, separated by the glass from you. he wants to comfort you so desperately. hold you in his arms, rub your back, kiss your forehead.

but he can’t. he can only sit there, watching, as you struggle to keep your composure.

are we keeping it or what? 👀

— TAG LIST —

@ga33y3 @icedchailattebabyy @betty-boop-lips-05 @harrysbestiee @badaspice @tsukishimawhore

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader

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papysanzonew · 3 days ago

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It can't be Christmas without Merlin content, am I right????

Read it an AO3 My general idea of this story is this:

Gwen and Merlin are together at the beginning of it all, they are a happy, smiling, warm couple and everything Arthur would ever have wanted in life. Arthur knew Gwen by sight and had a crush on her but in the end between his father pestering him and his various work commitments and Morgana teasing him he never did anything to hit on her, then Gwen changed companies and the two never saw each other again, at least until many years later when Morgana invited Gwen to a Christmas party and Gwen showed up with Merlin, her boyfriend.

Arthur was even more defeated.

But at the party, relations were re-established, even though it was not his intention, Arthur got on well with Merlin and his small talk, and the three of them started to see each other from time to time outside work. One thing led to another, and at one point it was Gwen and Merlin who asked Arthur to become an item.

Arthur wouldn't let them say it twice.

It was not easy with Uther spouting venomous comments passing them off as (almost) compliments but everyone knew what Uther was like and, for Arthur's sake, left the subject alone.

In the meantime Morgana got involved with Gwaine and there Uther couldn't shut his mouth and tell her how unsuitable Gwaine is for her, that he's a loser, that he's a scoundrel who doesn't even know what he wants to do with his life, and Morgana, in response, left without ever looking back, leaving the company and the house she was living in to go and stay in Gwaine's mini-apartment and talk about their future.

Uther didn't take it well and started to lash out even more at Arthur.

Until Gwen became pregnant.

All three were at the height of joy at the idea of having a child and Arthur thought that nothing could spoil such a beautiful moment.

Obviously he was wrong.

Uther started railing and telling him that everything was perfect until it became serious, until Arthur still had the chance to leave that depraved couple and finally find himself a decent girl and get married and have a family with this hypothetical girl.

Then the racist and homophobic invectives began and for the first time Uther openly said what he thought of Gwen and Merlin.

As a result, Arthur was at his wits' end and for the first time in his life raised his hands against his father.

Fortunately Gwen and Merlin were there for him when he returned home.

The two did not speak to each other for years.

In the end it was Uther himself who came crawling back to both his children and asked for forgiveness. After spending birthdays and Christmases alone, without receiving a single call and being left in a huge house completely alone, he realised what the really important things in life are.

That wasn't easy either.

It wasn't easy to accept an apology from such a man because there was always this anxiety that Uther had ulterior motives or, God forbid, wanted to put strange ideas into his grandchildren's heads.

Grandchildren he was not allowed to see even when he apologised and Morgana and Arthur made an effort to talk to him again.

However, when he was allowed to see the grandchildren, both Morgana and Arthur were amazed because Uther literally cried tears of joy (even though he tried to hide them), he had no preference for one or the other and showered them with love (Morgana and Arthur still find it hard to accept this because "UGH who is this man who is good with children?") and after many years they are all happy and celebrate all holidays together.

Uther gets along very well with Hunith (and Merlin is very worried about this) and the house is always full of people coming and going.

Uther no longer lives in a house that is too big and too quiet.

Anyway, Merry Xmas/Happy Holiday everyone ❤️❤️❤️

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oblivious-aro · 2 days ago

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This was pretty much my exact same thought process a week before I made this post. I do get where you're coming from, but here's a question: when does the episode explicitly condemn Danny for cheating? Does TUE actually say “cheaters deserve to watch their family die”?

Furthermore, consider this line from the end of the episode:

Remembering this line was my turning point. Clockwork is a very wise character (he was literally just established to be omniscient right before saying this), and he’s the one teaching Danny the lesson TUE wants him to learn. If the lesson is supposed to be ‘cheating is bad’, wouldn't that be completely undone by having Clockwork immediately turn around and, by his own admission, and in those exact words, “cheat”? It’s a very prominent line with a lot of attention called to it, too.

“Cheating is bad” is the kind of moral you’d expect this kind of kids cartoon to make, so I think a lot of us preemptively filled in that blank without truly listening to what the episode was actually saying. I get it, I watched my sister struggle through the public education system while getting practically no help or sympathy from it, and I'm sure a lot of viewers were in the same boat as her. Academic pressure can be a sensitive subject, especially if it looks like a character is being chastised for struggling, but that's not what’s happening here. We jumped the gun. The text doesn’t look down on Danny for wanting to cheat. He’s in a difficult position, and being forced further and further into a corner is a feature of the story, not a bug. Danny's situation feels unfair so that the audience understands why he wants to cheat:

"OK! I get it! You're brilliant, I'm stupid, and I'll never be able to get as high a score as you."

"Guys, come on. I'd love to have spent the last month studying, but I was fighting ghosts! Besides, if you two think this test is so meaningless, why do you even care if I cheat? Why shouldn't I open this up and study the answers, huh?"

TUE’s stance isn’t that “cheating is evil”, it’s “cheating isn’t worth the risk”. Despite what Danny’s been led to (erroneously) believe, he’ll have other chances and opportunities if he does badly on a test, even one this big. There are people in his corner looking out for him (Mr. Lancer gives him to come forward even when he knows Danny stole the answers, and literally offers him a make-up test. Clockwork messes with the timeline just to tell Danny that he’s a good kid who deserves more than one chance), but getting caught cheating really could screw up his future. You could still say that’s an anti-cheating message, but the writers do show more sympathy for Danny than people give them credit for.

I don't think the concepts are that abstract. Everything that happens in the present is presented directly, and the main idea you need to get out of the future stuff (bad stuff happened because Danny got caught cheating) is pretty simple and clear. Everyone I've heard talk about the episode seems to get the basic idea.

As for all these events caused by Clockwork… yeah that's 100% true. But given that Clockwork is all-knowing, the master of time, and clearly sympathetic to Danny, it can only be assumed he’s doing what he can to help Danny. Omniscient/psychic characters are kind of weird like that. They make the stories they’re in a bit messy, and you can't really judge their actions by typical standards (ie. Garnet from Steven Universe). Same with time travel, but I won't go into much into detail, because this post is long enough and discussing rules around time travel can get overly technical, but the gist of it is Clockwork is on Danny’s side, but he’s working under some very specific restraints, either from The Observants or from the natural laws of the timestream.

Danny isn’t being taught that cheating makes him bad, he’s being taught not to place such unhealthy (and unrealistic) importance on his academic performance. Sure, this lesson isn’t explicitly stated in exact words, much like the themes in Teacher of the Year, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that the writers were just trying to condemn Danny in either intent or execution.

And as was the original point of this post, the episode really speaks for itself:

"Maybe that's all anybody needs…a second chance."

"I guess the future isn't as set in stone as you think it is."

"And here we are with you, a fourteen-year-old child, risking everything to save the people you care about. You've given everyone else a second chance. Why not you?"

Me for years: I can't believe The Ultimate Enemy is telling kids they deserve something as horrible as watching your entire family die for cheating on a test!

the Ultimate Enemy:

#and I mean if we're talking about past episodes #dp has been quite critical of the education system in other instances #the most prominent example being the cramTastic machine's in Fanning the Flames #If you happen to have that essay on hand it would be real swell if you could share the link #I have some thoughts about how this fandom (and tumblr at large) uses christianity as a critical talking point #but that's for another post becasue this one is already super long and I'd rather keep it about one main subject #danny phantom #the ultimate enemy

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sleepystargaze · 3 days ago

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Why You May Not Relate to Vi's Choices in Season 2

Vi is an adult who was parentified as a child, and her actions are largely influenced by the lasting psychological effects.

If you aren't familiar, parentification is when children become caregivers in their families and take on responsibilities that are inappropriate for their age. These responsibilities are often beyond their capacity, either because they lack the knowledge or the emotional maturity to perform these adult roles.

In Vi's case, she was largely left to care for the well-being of her siblings in the place of a consistent parental figure. And likely even before they lost their parents, Vi was left to care for Powder when her parents could not. The show literally starts with Powder in the care of Vi. Which can also explain why Vi was very deeply affected by the loss of their parents, while Powder was not, since Vi would likely have been her primary caretaker.

In adults, this generally can results in:

difficulty functioning independently

a greater risk of anxiety, depression, and substance abuse

difficulty setting boundaries: generally neglecting oneself to satisfy the needs of others

trouble relinquishing control

feeling a need to be a peacekeeper

tending to be a "fixer"

There are other things, but the ones above are the ones relevant to this discussion and they constitute a significant majority of the signs in adults. So, with this context in mind, let's take a trip down memory lane.

Inmate 516

Humans don't exist in a vacuum, but Vi lived in the closest mental equivalent of it with her time in Stillwater. I don't think it's a stretch to assume the Vi that Caitlyn meets is much more emotionally grown than the young teenager who was dragged off by Marcus.

The one thing I've gleaned from the show about Vi's time here is that she has this Schrodinger's Powder thing going. She tells conflicting stories to Caitlyn and Jinx, but neither seem like a lie. She believed, or "knew", her sister was dead but persisted with the thought that she'll get out and return to Powder some day.

So, to survive her years at Stillwater, the only thing keeping her going is this idea. Her own self-preservation is reliant on this feeling that she could return to not only Powder, but also the way things were. She still wants to take care of her sister. And honestly, it's only further reinforced by Vander's last words, "Take care of Powder."

Enter Caitlyn from stage right, detective extraordinaire, bearing the sole evidence that Powder is, in fact, alive. Vi's daydream becomes a reality and she wastes no time shooting any shot she can to get out of Stillwater.

A Little Walkabout with a Piltie: Part 1

Gather round ladies and gentleman, here we have our top hits under the "trouble relinquishing control" category, featuring:

"Too risky": a tale of avoiding bathyspheres.

"Don't you wanna blend in?": There are easier ways to get people out of their clothes, but I guess forcefully throwing clothes you just stole off a stranger 5 minutes ago works, too.

"We're here because I'm hungry.": Not the best first date, but at least the food was good.

And a fan favorite, "You're hot, Cupcake."

Jokes aside, all of these actions are meant to maintain control over Caitlyn. This is Caitlyn's investigation, Caitlyn released her, and Caitlyn is an enforcer. All things that should give her control, but Vi is not having any of that knowing Powder is out there. Thing is, though, the result would likely be the same if she did let Caitlyn have more agency. Afterall, they looking for the same person. The only thing she is gaining by doing these things is the control itself.

A Little Walkabout with a Piltie: Part 2

Well, our favorite redhead runs off to get stabbed and has to be nursed back to health by Caitlyn. Here, we have a significant dynamic shift. Caitlyn tells Vi she has a "good heart." Right before Vi passes out, she hears Vander telling her the same echoing in her head. When she wakes she sees:

Vander and her mom, Felicia, were Vi's major caretakers growing up. When Vi becomes conscious to her surroundings, she's met with Caitlyn caressing her face. Suddenly, Vi is associating these people's care for her with Caitlyn. It is exactly at this time that Vi begins opening up and allows Caitlyn to act as a caretaker.

Flash Forward to Tragedy

Well, we all know what happens, but the major takeaways here are Caitlyn has suddenly lost a parent and Vi has realized she can no longer help Jinx, she cannot "fix" her.

Caitlyn is no longer in a position to care for Vi in the way Vi needs, and Vi needs someone to care for. The roles in their relationship have suddenly been reserved. When Caitlyn opens up about the void her mother left, she says, "It's all coming apart."

Vi tells her "We won't let it."

If Caitlyn needs to keep things together and needs to feel control in her life again, then that is now also what Vi needs.

The Grim Truth of the Matter

Honestly, the most harmful thing for people who were parentified as a child is the fact that it becomes extremely difficult for the person to prioritize themselves over others, especially the ones they love regardless of if those loved ones treat the parentified adult fairly or not. You would be amazed the degree to which a parentified individual will let themselves turn a blind eye and forgive and sacrifice themselves.

I think a lot of people found Vi's story arc dissatisfying in season 2, because a lot of it relied on other people and her making seemingly uncharacteristic choices. Like her purpose in the show was solely to help other storylines. The sad truth is, parentification creates a severe lack of sense of self, and I think this is the biggest hidden battle for Vi throughout season 2. Who is she when she isn't acting in the interest of others? What needs to happen for her to let all of that go? How do you show that?

It doesn't feel great, because at the end she's only at the beginning of her healing journey. And if you have trouble relating to her struggles, you probably weren't a parentified child, yourself. It's hard to understand the effort required to let go, and by the end, Vi has. I think my favorite representation of this change is how she has less bindings as the story progresses until, by the end, she has none. She has finally unburdened herself and is learning to prioritize her own needs, and now she can finally begin to properly heal.

No, it's not the most satisfying ending for a character arc, but not all major wins end in thunderous applause and fanfare.

#vi arcane #lol arcane #arcane analysis #listen i blinked and now it's 4am forgive me if there's any errors

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frogaroundandfindout · 1 day ago

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I used to give the 'lazarus pit madness' trope for jason so much shit unless it was a REALLY good fic that did something interesting with the idea. But the more I read of pre52 red hood the more I'm just like "yeah no I have absolutely no idea how I'd reconcile all this heinous shit he's done without finding a way to make it not his fault actually"

I hate the 'jason was always a monster and bruce couldn't save him' nonsense so much, he was literally just a homeless little boy. MY BUDDY LITERALLY WILLINGLY WENT BACK TO BEING HOMELESS BECAUSE HE DIDN'T WANT TO HURT PEOPLE FOR MA GUNN EVEN THOUGH IT MEANT GIVING UP FOOD AND SHELTER AND DECENT TREATMENT

jason sweetheart I'm so sorry dc butchered you like this my god

When the characterization is so inconsistent the fandom has to resort to literal magic to explain it.

But seriously, I haven’t read a whole lot of Jason as Robin but from what I did read he was so tiny and just wanted to do good. It’s a disservice to every character involved for Bruce to adopt him because he thought he’d be a criminal otherwise. It implies Bruce thinks of every kid living in poverty as a shoe in for crime and not as some of the most vulnerable individuals in low SE areas. Which is just…so bad considering he’s 1) a rich white man stereotyping a large group of people and 2) someone that fights crime because of an act of violence commited in front of him as a little boy. A Batman that doesn’t believe in the goodness of a child (especially one like Jason who, like you said, gave up basic necessities for the sake of his morals) and protecting it in a way he wasn’t protected is a very very weird Batman to me. So it turns Bruce into a white knight and redhood into confirmation of Bruce’s stereotyping and paranoia.

If it was just Jason thinking that’s why Bruce took him in it would be a completely different animal. I might have even enjoyed reading about how Jason rationalized their changed relationship after he came back swinging (literally) and thinking that it’s some innate characteristic about him that drove the wedge between him and Bruce before he even realized it was there. But it’s very much not just Jason. EVERYONE. FUCKING. SAYS. IT. And tbh that kinda ruins everyone just a bit in my eyes. If not agreement and support for Bruce’s bs, they’re at least silently complicit in perpetuating it.

But beyond that, it also makes me think of Devin Grayson’s run where she kept talking about how dick was “meant for crime” or would have obviously been a criminal if it wasn’t for Bruce. This was built on frankly awful stereotypes regarding Romani people. I bring this one up because the combination of the two does not make Bruce look as good as the writers seemed to think.

But if we ignore the bs involved and take the reason for Jason’s adoption at face value, I think it offers an interesting comparison between him and Damian. Jason is presented a child destined for a life of crime who eventually became one of The Villains despite Batman’s efforts. Damian was an heir destined for crime who eventually became one of The Heroes because of Batman’s efforts. Idk it’s just interesting to me.

#I’ve thought about this too much #dc #ask #it’s not rly Jason becoming a villian that bothers me #a good kid can become a villain #that’s the whole tragedy of Jason Todd #and everyone has a choice #but rather its classist framing

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heavyhitterheaux · 12 hours ago

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Santa Tell Me

See Me Through You Series

Synopsis: It's your first time celebrating Christmas with Joe as a couple as your first semester at LSU comes to an end. The two of you celebrate in your own little way seeing as Joe is going back home while you are headed to New Orleans. However, you confide in your best friend about your hesitations about getting into another relationship so quickly and hoping that what feels like a fairy tale isn't too good to be true

Pairing: Boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The timer went off once again letting you know that all of the cookies were now officially done baking. As you were taking them out of the oven and placing them on the cooling rack, Erin attempted to grab one to eat it when you quickly slapped her hand away resulting in her letting out a yelp followed by her glaring at you.

“Ow!”

“Those are specifically for Joey so we can decorate them once he gets here. I literally just made you an entire cheesecake.”

“But I want a cookie, too!” Erin exclaimed, but you weren't budging.

“No and he should be here soon.”

As you sat at the table in your small kitchen, Erin sat across from you and had begun eating her cheesecake when you suddenly asked her a question which caught her off guard.

“Erin, what if me and Joe break up? And that cheesecake was not meant for it to be eaten in one sitting.” You casually asked as you unlocked your phone to play one of the many games that you had installed.

“Huh? What in the world are you even talking about? And I'll just ask for another one.” She asked as she put her fork down to look at you.

“What if we break up and we don't work out? I literally just hopped from one relationship to another and…”

“Stop. Just stop. I have on my Christmas sweater and I am eating my Christmas treats you made me and we are listening to Justin Bieber's Under the Mistletoe and you are fucking the vibe up.”

“But…”

“No, we are not doing this. You two haven't been together very long, but Joe literally worships the ground you walk on. The way he even looks at you is insane. That boy is IN LOVE.” Erin said as she now opened the freezer to take out the ice cream you thought you were discreetly hiding from her, but it looks as though you efforts had failed.

“But what if it's too good to be true? Sometimes It doesn't even feel real.”

“You literally have no idea of what happiness looks like even if it hits you in the face. He has been after you basically the entire semester and now that he finally has you and you have him, you think that the two of you are going to end up breaking up? Make it make sense, babe.”

“Everything started out too good to be true with Trevor and look what happened with that.”

“Uh no, boo. Trevor had been an asshole from the beginning, it just took you forever and a day to notice. Everyone else saw it but you. You’ve been treated like shit for so long that your ass is literally blinded to how good you actually have it. I mean Joe hit me up a few weeks ago to help him pick out your Christmas gift or gifts I should say.”

“Wait, he did what?”

“Oops. I wasn’t supposed to say anything so let’s just pretend I didn’t. But they're really pretty and I know that you’re going to like it.”

“I just… he’s really important to me and I just want this to work out between us.”

“And it will. I literally started planning the wedding the day you two met because I saw the way you lit up when you talked about him. It’s going to work out and I will be the first person to say ‘I told you so’ when you are walking down the aisle.”

“I’m holding you to that seeing as it’s still pretty early to be singing about wedding bells.”

“But for now, it’s December, we almost made it through our first semester as college students, you have a very cute boyfriend who wants to spend every waking moment of the day with you so you need to make the most of it.”

“You’re right, I do need to make the most of it seeing as it’ll be a few weeks where we won’t see each other since he’s going back home.”

“And his birthday is coming up too. So, my vote is to have Christmas early with the two of you. Hopefully by doing this you won’t miss him so much on the actual day since the two of you kind of already celebrated in your own way.”

“I mean, I did get us matching Christmas pajamas to decorate our cookies, drink hot chocolate, and watch cheesy Hallmark movies.”

“See? Perfect. And I know that he is going to love every minute of it. But for now, I am going to go study for one of my many finals and hope and pray that the words on the pages in the textbooks somehow transfer themselves to my brain. Let me know how everything goes.” Erin told you as she wrapped up her cheesecake and placed it in a plastic bag hoping none of the filling would get on the seats in her car.

“Me saying ‘I told you so’ is going to hit so hard in a few years. But….” She was cut off mid-sentence as there was a knock on the door.

“And look at that, there he is. Let's go see your future husband.”

You couldn't help but to laugh and shake your head at Erin as she was gathering all of her things, while you went to go and answer the door. Once you did, you were met with your boyfriend carrying a shitload of different bags and him leaning down to kiss you.

“Okay, you two! Spare my eyes, I'm leaving so Joe can turn you every way but loose without me having to see it.”

“Bye, Erin.” Was all you said as she continued to smile at the both of you.

“Hi Joe, Bye Joe.” She told him as he fully walked into your apartment as she was headed out the door.

“Bye Erin.”

Once the two of you were by yourselves, you immediately started questioning Joe about the many bags he brought.

“Uh, babe? Are you moving in and didn't tell me yet?” You asked and he let out a laugh before starting to open some of them and pull out their contents.

“I just bought a bunch of different things we could do. It's almost finals week and I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. And you have literally been playing this album since the day after Halloween.”

“Aww, I love it. Okay so tell me what you bought. And what about it!?” You asked as he had set everything down and motioned for you to sit down on the couch so he could show you.

“So my chess set. Ever since I taught you how to play, you said that you were going to try and beat me before the semester was over and never mind that I even said anything. Low key convinced that you're going to break up with me and get with Justin.”

“Very true but athletes are my thing, not singers.”

“My telescope since you love learning about space as much as I do. And I guess that means I'm safe?”

“I am loving this so far and yes, babe. You're safe.” You told him as you placed the chess set on the table.

“Madden. Since I know if you were able to be on the field with us, you would be. But I mean I can't sing all that well, but if you want me to serenade you just say the word.”

“Good point and seriously?” You replied while laughing.

“And I think that's it for now. I could only carry so much. But you'll be the one hitting high notes with how good I'm making you feel.” He told you as he shrugged while you gave him a small smile while also shaking your head at him.

“It's absolutely perfect and I have something for you too. I'm ignoring that last part.”

“What is it? Before the night is over, I'm making it happen.” Joe said as you ran into your bedroom to find the bag that they were in before coming back out into the living room.

“Matching Christmas pajamas.”

“Oh, so we're that type of couple now?” Joe teased as you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, and this is literally going to happen starting from this year until forever.” You replied as Joe moved closer towards you and put his finger underneath your chin in order for you to be able to look up at him.

“Forever? I like the sound of that.” He quietly said while leaning down to kiss you.

“But for now, we also have cookies to decorate that I baked and hot chocolate to drink.”

“Let’s do it.”

The two of you got comfortable in your pajamas before starting to decorate the cookies and you were multitasking with making the hot chocolate at the same time.

Joe was concentrating hard when you decided to peek over and take a look at what he was doing.

“Joey, I thought you were making a Santa cookie?” You asked while a little bit confused on what you were actually looking at.

“I am! This looks like Santa! I just need to do his beard.”

“And his hat.” You added noticing that was missing also.

“Not everyone can be an amazing baker in their spare time like you.”

“Hmm, you're right, but it doesn't look bad. If I opened my own bakery, I might hire you. I do happen to be a woman of many talents. So, someone mentioned to me that you got my Christmas gift already?”

Joe stopped decorating his cookie to look at you with a blank stare.

“No. I'm not telling you what it is and I am never telling Erin anything else ever again.”

“But babe!”

“No. Final answer.” Joe replied as you rolled your eyes at him which then led to him pinching your cheek.

“Fix your face. I want it to be a surprise and I don't plan on spoiling it for you.”

“Well I got you a gift for your birthday as well as Christmas. It didn't feel right combining both of them together.”

“And unlike my girlfriend, I'm going to be patient and wait.”

“You mean to tell me that you aren't the least bit curious about what I got you?” You asked him and you could tell he was thinking about his answer before he said it.

“Nope.”

“Liar. I know that you definitely want to know. But I'll just say I know that both of them are something that you're really going to love.” You told him as you reached up to kiss him.

“As much as I love you?”

“No, but knowing you it might come close.” You told him as you were now putting the final touches on the hot chocolate you made for the two of you and handed him his mug.

“And like I said, I'll be patient unlike some other people.”

“I'm ignoring you. Anyway, break out the telescope since it's clear tonight and we'll be able to see something.”

Once Joe had gotten the telescope set up by the window, you were just finishing your hot chocolate and went to place your mug in the dishwasher before going back into the living room and seeing Joe with a bashful smile across his face.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” You asked while wrapping your arms around him and Joe leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead before responding to you.

“I'm about to show you. Stand in front of me and look through it. Don't adjust anything.” He said as he slowly turned you around so that you would be facing it.

You did as you were told and noticed that it was focused on one single star.

“I see it, babe. What's so special about it?” You asked as you turned back to look at him and he simply handed you an envelope.

“It's the star that I got named after us.”

Your eyes went wide and a smile broke out on your face as you took out the contents of the envelope and it simply said Y/N and Joey's Star at the top.

Underneath was a map detailing where you would be able to find it.

“So no matter where we are, whether together or apart. We can be able to look at it at the same time. This isn't a part of your Christmas gifts by the way, I just wanted to do it since I figured you would like it.” He shyly told you as the smile became wider on your face. You didn't say anything, but simply wrapped your arms around him once again.

“This was… no… this is definitely the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for me. I honestly wouldn't have even been upset if this did end up being my Christmas gift. I love it and I love you which you already knew, but I figured that I would tell you anyway.” You quietly told him as he leaned down to place several kisses on your lips.

“And I love you. Remember earlier how you mentioned that matching pajamas are going to be a thing for us forever?” Joe asked and you gave him a swift nod.

“Mm hmm, what about it?”

“This is also going to be something that we have forever. Any time we get in a disagreement or we're not seeing eye to eye with each other, we need to remember that we're in this together for the long run. And looking up at the star can remind us of that. I know we haven't been together for very long, but I want this with you and I've been saying from day one how I'm going to treat you how you deserve to be treated.” Joe confessed and the smile on your face couldn't help but to get bigger.

“I'm going to hold you to that Burrow.”

“How about you hold me to this too? Look up for me?”

As you looked up, you saw that Joe was holding a mistletoe above the both of you.

“Any excuse to get more kisses from me, huh?” You playfully asked him and was met with a smirk.

“I mean, I've been getting kisses from the moment I got here, but this is just a plus.” He told you as he leaned down and you reached up to meet him halfway.

“And there will be many more where that came from.”

“Santa definitely did his big one this year.”

“How so?”

“I get to spend it with someone who I know cares about me just as much as I care about them. That's literally all I asked for.”

#Spotify #joe burrow #joe burrow lsu #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe shiesty #joey burrow

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eleu22 · 1 day ago

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Sweaty Palms - Chapter One “The Skeptic”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

tags: brief description of injury

masterlist

——————

“What? I think we could do with’a bit of a feminine touch, ay LT?” Soap smirks, turning to nudge the lieutenant with his elbow.

Ghost doesn’t reply, but the unimpressed look he fixes Soap with says enough. The briefing room is quiet, besides the scot’s incessant chatter, a few quips from Gaz and the rhythmic hum of the projector. The cool winter air slips through the poorly insulated window, but to Ghost the room couldn’t feel warmer.

There is undeniably an air of… excitement? Maybe that’s not the right word, it’s anticipatory, like the bit before a roller coaster drops, or the moment before a bomb detonates. Either way, Ghost isn’t thrilled.

The masked man tunes out the sargeants as he stares at the door, as if he could telepathically explode the next person who dared to enter with his glare alone.

When Price broke the news to them, they could all practically feel the blood clot forming in the lieutenant’s forehead.

The first thought to the man’s mind was simply, why? We are doing just fine without anyone else’s help, I’ve stitched myself more times than I can bloody count.

Secondly, how? Ghost would trust Price’s judgement with his life, he has, literally, but this? How could he allow this? Price knows better than anyone: one wrong element could throw everything off. A stranger in their ranks is a liability waiting to happen. What if she’s an enemy undercover? What if worse she’s incompetent? What would they-

Ghost’s thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the click of the door handle. Any lingering conversation is brought to an abrupt stop as the team’s eyes snap to the front of the room.

In walks Price, followed closely behind by Honey. The sound of their boots echoed sharply in the quiet briefing room. Honey walked in with a steady confident stride- not cocky, but assured. Her millitary-issued white compression shirt clung to her frame, the camo pants snug around her hips, emphasising her- okay enough. Ghost’s jaw tightens as he forces his gaze upward. She was shorter than the rest of them, shorter than him by a good head, Ghost feels his boots shift in irritation, how is she going to keep up?

They both stand at the front of the room, their figures cast in the faint blue glow of the projector. Price didn’t waste time, his voice cuts through the silence like the crack of a whip, listing off information Ghost already knew.

The lieutenant had all but demanded to read her file, Price (albiet hesitantly seeing the man’s less than cheerful disposition) handed over her file. Ghost had read it more times than he’d care to admit, trying to pick apart every line and word for some sign of… well he’s not sure what, but something. He could recite the information like a parishioner knew the words of the liturgy.

Sargeant Honey, Jesus what kind of name is that?

Green Beret, American.

Combat Medic, Useless.

grew up in Lynchburg, Virginia, oh, really, American.

SERE training, Tactical Emergency Medical Support, cross training in close quarters combat and weapons proficiency…

Even Ghost had to admit, at some level she was impressive, especially for a woman. Regardless, none of this brought the man any comfort, if anything, this was going to make her harder to shake.

As Price continued to speak, a light tap on his thigh yet again interrupted his inner hate-monologuing. Ghost doesn’t move, but he can already imagine the expression on the scot’s face. Soap was really the only one who didn’t have any reservations about Honey coming along, in fact he seemed a little too pleased at the idea of her addition.

Fuckin’ hell, Ghost internally sighs, the man acts like women are some rare commodity. Ghost looks at Soap out of the corner of his eye, who, as expected, has a toothy grin sat on his face. Well no wonder, Ghost muses the mohawk must definitely not be doing him any favours in the dating scene. The man is a fucking dog, one look at him and you’d be able to see it. This makes him a good soldier and (though you couldn’t waterboard this information out of Ghost) a good friend. But this makes Honey’s inclusion all the more a liability.

Ghost turns his attention back onto Honey. Price has finally finished and turned to her. In contrast to her entrance she gives the team a sheepish smile, her arm rubs up and down the length of the other behind her back.

Honey’s soft lips part, as she turns her eyes to the rest of the room.

“It’s a pleasure to able to work with you all… I’ve heard great things.”

Her voice drips down the back of his throat, warm freshly stirred honey. There’s something slightly awkward about the way she speaks too, like that sharp little aftertaste left behind, but warm, it's undeniably warm.

Huh, I guess her callsign makes sense.

There is something so sickly sweet about the woman, something you don’t come across in the army.

Trying to imagine her in active duty, bullets cutting through her saccharine voice, blood dripping down her soft fingertips, as she shoves the innards of some poor fuck recruit back inside of them. It’s unnerving.

Ghost suddenly feels his balaclava all too tight around his neck, his sleeves rub up against his wrists as he shifts them uncomfortably. The man simply stares ahead, ignoring the flirty wave Soap returns to her. Under the table he begins to pick at his fingernails through his gloves, as if he needed something to stop him from shoving her up against the wall and demanding her to spill, to hear her voice break, to look directly into her eyes and to disembowel every tightlipped secret she’s ever held.

Ghost bristles at the thought, weirdly, he hopes he gets the opportunity.

——————

okokok this is the first chapter!!!!!! lmk what yall thinkkkkk

the next one is gonna be another expositiony one shes gonna be really ethel cain core so be excited xxxxxxx

taglist: @creepingeva @identity2212 @brokenghostgirl1 @honestlymassivetrash @ang3lc

#call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader

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watarfallar · 3 days ago

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Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! *holds out this post*

Grian, grinning: I have a knife! Scar: Put it down, Grian. Grian: Make me! sprints away

Grian: What's the most illegal thing you can do with one dollar? Scar: Exchange it for a hundred pennies, put them all in a sock, and then beat someone to death with it.

Scar: Can you be serious for five minutes? Grian: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

Scar: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreshing. Grian: Are you a software update? because not right now.

Grian: Hey, can you do me a favor? Scar: Sorry, I have to go do literally anything other than this. Grian: You don’t even have a legitimate reason? Scar: Oh, no, I do. Grian: Well, what is it? Scar: You see, I simply don’t give a fuck.

Grian, holding a box of Lunchables: Ah, I loved these when I was your age… fine dining. Scar: Fix yourself.

Scar: Okay, help me, please! Grian: Got two words for you. Scar: I bet they won't be helpful. Grian: Your problem. Scar: I was right.

Grian: Can I borrow five dollars? Scar: If you’re only borrowing it, does that mean you’ll pay me back? Grian: Of course. Grian: Not directly, but with my love and affection. Scar: So that’s a no.

Grian: Wow, did you hear that voice crack? Scar: That wasn't a voice crack, that was a whole voice meth.

Scar: …My man Grian just killed a goldfish. Grian: licking their lips Yup. Delicious.

Scar: I just got the best idea I've ever had in my entire life! Later Grian, to Scar: That was the worst idea you’ve ever had in your entire life.

Scar: Grian, you need to calm down. Grian, slamming their fists on the table: BUT HOW CAN IT BE "BIRTHDAY CAKE" FLAVOR IF A BIRTHDAY CAKE CAN BE ANY FLAVOR?!

Scar: I’m proud to say I’ve come over my fear of ghosts! Grian: Eyy, that’s the spirit! Scar: gasps whErE???!!!??

Scar: So you're looking for information on this thing, huh? Well, I feel like it must be from far away. Grian: What makes you say that? Scar: If it's something even I don't know about, then I'm sure nobody else must have a clue. So it's gotta be from some faraway place. Impeccable reasoning, isn't it? Grian: Scar… You don't have a clue about this thing, do you? Scar: screams in anger

Grian: Scar, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong? Scar: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before? Grian: I’m never asking you anything ever again.

Grian, looking at their reflection: Now, that's rubbish. Who's that supposed to be? Scar: Well, that's you. Grian: Me?! Is that what I look like? Scar: You don't know? Grian: Busy day.

Grian: Good morning! Scar: Is it? Is it really?

Grian: Urrrgh…I’ve never felt so sick in my entire life… Scar: Ouch. Shit sucks, man. Grian: I feel like I’m dying… Whyyyy… Scar, under their breath: Because I want to go back to some peace and quiet in this house. Grian:,/b> …DID YOU FUCKING POISON ME-

Scar: Pick a card, any card. Grian: Fine. Scar: Wait, that's my credit card! Grian: You said any card.

Scar: I’m going to get so much done today. Grian: I’ll hold you to that. 8 hours later Grian: So how much did you get done? Scar: One thing. Grian: Well, that’s one more than usual.

Scar: I wouldn’t put it in those words exactly. Grian: Why not? Scar: Because I don't know what they mean.

Scar: When did you become a hero? Grian: Um… the moment I saved you from getting killed. Scar: You’re the last person on earth I wanted to rescue me. Grian: Well… sucks to be you, don’t it.

Grian: You’re a horrible person! Scar: Maybe. But I’m rich and I’m pretty, so it doesn’t really matter.

Grian: Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere Scar: Where did you get that? Grian: My pocket. Scar: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Grian: Skills.

Scar with a gun to Grian's head: What happens if I pull this trigger? Heaven? Grian: Bold of you to assume I'll go to Heaven.

Scar: That sounds super! Doesn’t that sound super, Grian? Grian: No. Scar: I think I speak for Grian when I say it sounds really super.

Scar: Are pigeons drones? Grian: What? No, I'm trying to sleep. Scar: Think about it. How come you've never seen a baby pigeon? And why do you never actually see a pigeon nest? Because they're DRONES! Grian: Crying Please let me sleep…

#grian #gtws #incorrect quotes #desert duo #scarian #enjoy💜💜💜

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disastrouscanasta · 3 days ago

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@evidenceof happy christmas yna!!!! i was your secret santa this year, and it was an absolute BLAST! you were the best giftee, very thorough in your answers to my asks, and if i didn't need to maintain anonymity for so long, i would have picked your brain on soooo many of your wonderful thoughts. YOU UNDERSTAND ALL THE PAIRINGS SO WELL, and literally every prompt and idea you gave me was SO amazing, and incredible to explore. thank you for being so lovely <3 for you, i have a fic that i've worked on over the past few weeks, inspired by your prompts!

A Busy Blur | runner/leckie | 2k | post-war, developing relationship, a touch of epistolary & long-distance love

“You’ll write to me, won’t you Cobber?” Runner said, a playful lilt in his voice. Leckie could have sworn he caught a flash of something more vulnerable, more honest, from around the bags under his eyes, under the furrow of Runner’s brow.

“If you learn how to read, sure.” Leckie said.

And Runner laughed, mouth splitting open in a bright smile that drew Leckie’s attention away from the bruises and the sling his friend’s arm was suspended in.

The first letter was simple.

Leckie,

I bet you’re home safe, now. And if you’re not, well, that’s your fault for being the only idiot sonofabitch to get hurt on the train ride from the harbour, instead of being killed by artillery. Somehow, that sounds about right.

Hope the mailing address is right,

Conley.

Leckie smiled wide when he read it, forgetting that he was sitting across from his stone-faced father at the table, half-eaten eggs forgotten in front of him when he had Runner’s letter in his hands.

“Did you get a cheque?” His father asked, speaking up for the first time since he’d come into the dining room and filled the seat at the far side of the table, away from his son.

“No,” Leckie answered simply. If his mother was there, she might have pried, probably asked about a girl, she’d have put just an inch more effort than his dad ever had.

His father made a short grunting sound before turning back to his paper.

(He read the Philadelphia Inquirer. Leckie himself worked for the Philadelphia Record. Figures.)

Leckie kept a notebook on him at all times, but he used it most at sports games, taking notes on the plays and activity of the baseball season. The notepad was filled with shorthand accounts of who was doing best, who was doing the worst, teams and rosters and everything he could come up with.

Some days (most,) he wasn’t granted the privilege of good seats, or even tickets to whatever sport was being played. But he had to write the damn article, anyway. So he sat by the radio, listening to the play-by-play accounts as they happened, with their paper’s roster open on the table in front of him.

His notebook looked something like this:

23/04/‘46

NY Giants vs. P. P.

JUDD, Oscar - pitching.

^ 3 SO

NORTHEY, Ron - batting

^ Home run, flyball to deep RF

SEMINICK, Andy - batting

^ Single, F. MCCORMICK SCORES

Playtime : 2hrs 14mins

PS: tell Runner about the weather

He’d been surprised at how easy it was to slip back into camaraderie with Runner.

But then again it had been easy on the boat, too, when—

Well, that was in the past. And even if there had been a few road bumps, they had never stopped being friends.

The war being over, reassuringly, didn’t stop that.

Runner,

He wrote at the start of his response, and paused.

Runner’s letter sat next to him on his desk, under the warm light of the lamp. It had been dark for hours, and Leckie just couldn’t bring himself to put anything on the page until nearly midnight.

That letter had started with Leckie, and wasn’t that awfully formal? They’d gotten to know each other more intimately than most people would ever manage and— Leckie. It was impersonal. He’d expected something more ridiculous, Peaches, Cobber, something like that.

Leckie was sticking with Runner, for his own purposes.

(It had taken everything in him not to write Dear Vera. Less out of intent, and more out of habit. He’d never sent her any of his letters, and by the time he got him, she was already married. She looked happy, at least.)

Runner,

Got home in one piece. Based on your letter, and the fact that that chicken-scratch is unmistakably yours, I’ll guess that you’re alright stateside.

Since we haven’t got a war to talk about, I’m telling you a bit about work (a bit of complaining, so that you know it’s really me.)

The Philly Phillips won, 5-2. The paper made me sit by the radio box and take notes like some kind of spook, you’d think I work for the Russians, if you saw me hunched over my notebook like that. Last week, they got me a ticket to the actual game. We lost, with three points down. I think I’m cursed, if my presence makes the team lose.

Whatever. It’s still better than scraping out a latrine, with you sorry folks for company.

Leckie.

He posted it in the morning, and tucked Runner's letter away in his drawer.

Hoosier promised to write, so did Chuckler, and that Phillips kid, but ultimately, every time he got handed a personal letter by the postman, it was always, always, from Runner.

It felt ridiculous. He’d gone a whole war with those fellas, and they didn’t say so much as hello? But hey, what was he supposed to do?

(Their mailing addresses were tucked away in the same drawer that he kept any letters he got from Runner. They had his, he had theirs, and maybe his was part of some ongoing game of Chicken that he was playing with Hoosier. Either way, Runner didn’t care.)

Cobber,

The newest letter said, because Runner had quit with the Leckie pretence and cut to the chase with the stupid nicknames. Leckie couldn’t help but feel relief. Too many people had called him by his surname in the Marines. And back home, too many people called him Bob. Runner managed to find that surprising middle ground, by letting Leckie be someone else completely, just for a moment.

I’ve got a reason to write this, for once. Today, is Memorial Day. Which, as far as I’m concerned, is the government telling me to take the day off and get wasted, flashing that little veteran’s tag to get a discount at my local drink house.

Now, you’ll get this on, what? Beginning of June? Take some time for yourself, have a drink. (I’m not paying, though. That’s up to you, and your fancy paper job.)

Runner

If there was one thing that Leckie could be assured about, it’s that Runner’s letters would make him smile. He started reading them in his bedroom, instead of cracking the letter open in the dining room, where his parents had to see.

Everyone seemed to expect him to have left the war overseas. And it might have been over, but he couldn’t help but yearn for something that he’d had then. Not war, but something that had been so closely linked with the brutality of it all, that he didn’t think he’d be able to articulate it to anyone.

Maybe, he pondered, Runner understood him. Runner had understood him better than a lot of people had. On the boat ride home from that Australian hospital—

Runner just got it.

Runner,

He started, a couple weeks later.

You should get this by July 4th, and I wish you a good Independence Day. Go to a barbecue, wear your dress blues, go to a banquet.

I hope it’s better for you than it will be for me. My parents are leaving me all alone to spend time with my brother and his wife, a couple towns over. I’m expecting to spend the night tucked up in my bedroom, shouting bah, humbug! everytime I hear fireworks. I hope the reference doesn’t go over your head— I can explain it in my next letter.

Leckie

The Fourth of July was more miserable than he’d expected. The commotion stirred up more in Leckie’s chest than he wanted to admit. The fireworks were too loud, and July was too hot. He laid on his childhood bed in nothing but his boxers, staring up at the ceiling, working through his third glass of beer.

At some point, he got up, pulled a paper from his desk and started writing.

Runner,

These damn holidays might be more exciting if you got closer.

There’s a good bar near my work, they do swing dancing on Thursday nights: I’m sure it’s your venue. You’re the best dancer I know!

I hope you can hear the sarcasm.

I won’t pick Hoosier over you, this time.

Leckie.

In the morning, after a cup of coffee and an aspirin for his headache, he read it through (as well as a typed page-and-a-half of hazy memories from Mbanika, which he crumpled into a ball and tossed under his bed.) and tucked it carefully into the drawer with Runner’s letters.

He didn’t really want to think too hard about all that.

Peaches,

I got the reference, thanks. I like to think you have those big mutton chops that I remember from those old pictures. You’re called Peaches, but you’re not all that sweet, are you?

That’s not a real question. I know the answer.

Hope your Independence Day was as boring as mine. I forgot how loud those things were.

Runner

Leckie couldn’t stop writing them. Stupid, ridiculous messages that really meant nothing.

He put them in his drawer, tucked away just in case he ever needed it. Leckie didn’t think it was vain, but some of them were well written. He didn’t feel that too often, so he kept them.

I saw a guy with your haircut, made me look twice just to be sure. I should have known it wasn’t you; he was taller.

That one was scribbled in his work notebook, while he was at the game (Phillips vs. Chicago Cubs), and the audience clapped and jeered around him.

You’re a marine, but how well can you swim? I’ve never asked.

Leckie wrote that question on a napkin in a diner. His pen ripped through it at the end.

I miss the boys. I miss you.

He didn’t write that one, but he heard it reverberating in his head when he flicked the lamp off. It was burned into the backs of his eyelids, anyway.

I miss you.

He was surprised that he meant it.

Professor,

That was how Runner opened his next message. It made Leckie smile. (Of course it did. They all did.)

Why DO we celebrate Labour Day? I saw them putting streamers and banners and what-not up in the streets today. New York City is a funny beast— you should come by, watch the parade.

Hope you get a day off work, and some time to yourself. (I’m still not paying for your drinks)

Runner

Leckie stared at that message for longer than he had any right to. By the time he sent his reply, Labour Day had passed, and he could only wonder what Runner had meant by any of it.

Runner,

I’ve got to come up with something more exciting for you. It’s difficult when I can’t see all the ridiculous shit you’re getting yourself into. And you don’t have the inclination to write it to me, I bet.

I’d call you a coward, but you’d call me one right back. Have you ever realised that we bicker like school children?

Leckie

To the man who mocks me,

Yeah, well, it’s hard to come up with nicknames for you too. That one just now was shit.

You want to know what I’ve been up to? Really? Well, I’ve got a job at the steelworks, which is great and all. Except I ran into a piece of machinery the other day, busted my lip wide open. There was a hell of a lot of blood. I think the 16-year-old kid who works next to me fainted. How’s that?

We’re both cowards, so what? We served our damn country.

Buster (I sure buster’ed my lip open. Get it?)

Bruiser,

All I have to say is that: you’re an idiot!

Yours,

The brilliant professor who’s kept himself out of danger

Leckie thought about Runner too much, he realised.

Some part of him was always waiting for the next letter, waiting to write, to come up with something short and stupid to say to the man, just so that he could imagine Runner’s familiar laugh.

Shit. Leckie thought, as he folded up another half-drafted, but unsendable letter.

Professor,

Tell me a story, if you’re so wise.

Your bruised-lipped-friend,

Runner

Runner,

If you really want to know, I’ve been more of an idiot to you.

My mother asked me this morning if I was getting married soon. I told her no.

She said that she thought I had been in contact with “that lovely girl from across the street,” and the woman she meant was the dearest Vera that everyone was so tired of hearing about. I had to break my mother’s heart and tell her that Vera moved away months ago, and that she was already married— to an army man, no less.

The old woman was more distraught about it than I was. Turns out she thought that Vera and you were one in the same. I’m surprised she never sent you an engagement present.

Leckie.

Leckie,

Hell, why didn’t you say so? I would have acted soppier.

In that case, you should come to New York this November and visit your sweetheart, how’s that?

Runner

Leckie blinked at that, then he stared for a long time, hoping to make sense of it all.

Runner,

November’s no good, I’m all booked up. How’s early December?

Leckie

To a difficult guest,

I guess I can fit you into my busy schedule.

I’ll see you in three weeks, then?

Runner.

Leckie booked a train ticket before he could convince himself otherwise.

Then, he stuffed a handful of his little messages into an envelope, scribbled Runner’s address, and mailed it all without a second thought.

Five days letter, he got an envelope back, inside, with no signature, was something simple, etched in Runner’s charming chicken-scratch:

We should have done all this in February. I would have wished you a happy Valentine’s.

#hbowarsanta24 #the pacific #runnerleckie #leckierunner #whatever they’re called lol #ruckie

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 1 day ago

Text

@zepskies

Merry Christmas to you too my wonderful friend!🎄💗

Aww poor Ben. I love how we start with shading in his past Christmases compared to what he's starting to experience now with the reader. We come at it from the same angle of headcanon, that Ben's mom was the only person who truly loved him in his family. So it was such a good detail that after she died, Christmases became just more of the same toxic/apathetic atmosphere with his father, compounded by the impact of his mom's death.

Thank you! I love this headcanon and I really hope that in the prequel series "Vought Rising" that we're able to see a little more of Ben's relationship with his father and hopefully let us learn more about his mother. I know that this headcanon is a little "dean-like" but I think it also kinda plays into the "angel in the house" phenomenon that started in the mid to late 1800s. But the headcanon to me, makes sense. Ben has so many issues with his dad and I honestly don't think that if his mother was around that Ben's father would give him such a hard time or allow Ben to grow up in that kind of enviornment.

I also wanted to give Ben some "happy" memories from his childhood that he could compare what the reader was doing for him to something that was familiar and something that resonated with him😊, something about Christmas that was "familiar."

Lmfao come on, Ben. Let's not take this out on others. 🤣

He is the KING of taking it out on others LOL 😂 He also takes it out on Hughie in this fic and I felt so bad doing that to Hughie, but it is so in character for Ben 😒

Wow, that's so interesting. Taking a trip literally through Memory Lane and walking through his family's mansion. I've never thought about that before, but I imagine it would be one of those things that Ben, for the longest time, couldn't bring himself to sell, but also couldn't visit. Like a mausoleum of his old life.

I use this headcanon in my other series Madness, (same with Ben's mother), but to me it seems to make sense. That Ben would have a family mansion somewhere that is full of terrible memories from his father being a total jerk to him and never wanted to set foot inside. "Like a mausoleum of his old life" EXACTLY! It's just a big drafty old house that Ben can't go into because even though he says he's not afraid of anything, he can still feel his father's disapproval and disappointment, and going "home" to where he grew up would only make it worse.

Ben doesn't know what a home is because of what his father did, and now the reader is slowly showing him what it means. I also low-key wanna write the fic of her and him coming back to his house and him being hesitant and her just wandering around in complete shock. 🤔

You're killin' me, friend!! 😭😭

Girl, I'm so sorry 😭😭😭 I had to 😂 It's really just pouring on the hurt and he just really loved his mom 😭

Lmaooo deeply relatable. I feel like it would be oh so funny to intentionally getting on his nerves (knowing he wouldn't hurt you). 😂

I knoooowwww. 😂 I love that about your BMD reader, that she isn't afraid to tease him and he just absolutely HATES it, but he loves her so he can't do anything about it and she knows it. I'll bet that he thinks the real problem is that she knows it LOL 😂

Oh, it's because he actually cares. 💗

He does, man is a total SIMP 😊

People want to think there aren't any good aspects to "traditional/old-fashioned" men, but for the men who are actually good men, traditional doesn't necessarily mean outdated or toxic, so thank you for including this tidbit.

Thank you! 😊 You're right, I think that there's a disconnect about the idea that a "traditional/old-fashioned" man can't be respectful and is always labeled "sexist" or "toxic." And it's wrong, because you can find a man who is respectful, forward thinking, and who has those "old-fashioned/traditional" values (CHIVALRY! 😂) that really translate into putting their girl first, being respectful of what she wants to say, trying to protect her (not because they don't think she can protect herself, but because they want to), and doing things for her (again not because they think she can't do it herself) but because they genuinely care about her. It's the difference between a man and a boy tbh 💅🏻

Her gift to him was so very sweet!! Of course she made him something heartfelt, and he appreciated it because it was a genuine "first" for him, having someone give him a hand-made gift from the heart. 💚💚💚

I know 💗, I really wanted the reader to make something for him, just so that he could again be reminded how much that she loves him and isn't staying with him just because it's convenient or because he's attractive or because she's settling. Also I like that you picked up on the "first" thing again, because that was exactly what I was trying to do lol 😊. It's hard to find firsts for a guy who's over 100 years old 😂

And his gift to her was absolutely perfect. 🥹 A keepsake from his mother? Him basically saying he wishes she could've met his girl? I'm dying of happiness from the sheer fluff. 😭💗

This one was extremely fluffy, but so fun to write! Ben getting her a gift that meant something so intimate to him that he wouldn't have given to anyone else in the past, really just made me melt when I wrote it 🥺 Because he's never wanted to share those pieces of himself with someone else and now he has the reader and I'm just *crying*😭. AND yes! Him saying that he would have brought her home to meet his mom just destroyed me 😭

This was a beautiful addition to the Take a Chance story, and kind of feels like an epilogue in a way, even though I know you're working on that one too. I loved this, friend!!

Thank you so much my wonderful talented friend! 🥰 It really does read like an epilogue and I did not notice that lol 😅

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV and Reader POV

Summary: All Soldier Boy wants for Christmas is to find the perfect gift for you and all you want is for your boyfriend to have the best Christmas he has in forty years. Reader is a supe with plant powers. (Takes place in my Take A Chance On Me Series- 4 months after they get together, but can be read as stand alone!)

Tropes: Established Relationship, First Christmas, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Illusions to Sex, Fluff, Soft Soldier Boy, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Soldier Boy is Mean to Hughie, Mention of drinking/drugs, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Song Inspiration: Little Things By ABBA

A/N: I know I should be working on the epilogue of "Take a Chance on Me," but @zepskies wrote a lovely Christmas fic called 'Twas the Night for Dean Winchester, and it really just got me in a mood to write some Christmas Fluff! 🥰

Soldier Boy POV

Ben frowned at the delicate necklace laid on the black velvet cloth in front of him, the 10 carat diamonds catching in the brilliant lights that lined the ceiling of the jewelry store. It was the eleventh piece of jewelry that he'd asked the woman behind the counter to remove from the display case, and it still wasn't right.

Ben had waited until the last possible moment to go Christmas shopping. It wasn't because he'd forgotten or because he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to shop or because he'd been called away on a mission, but rather Ben kept putting it off because he didn't want to think about it.

It was his first Christmas back in the U.S, and it was already proving to be one so different than the ones he'd known before.

Christmas for him in his youth when his mother was alive was filled with light and joy. Each room of his family's mansion strung with tinsel, adorned with holly and festive wreaths, and a Christmas tree so large that it put all others to shame and sent the smell of pine wafting thorough the large home. He remembered the lavish parties his mother threw with women in gorgeous gowns and men dressed in suits taking crystal glasses from silver trays, remembered the warmth in the kitchen as his mother baked and rolled fresh pastry, remembered the taste of the hot chocolate on the tip of his tongue that his mother made him before she sent him to bed on Christmas Eve, and remembered her tight embrace and the smell of her floral perfume on Christmas morning when he'd run down the stairs into the living room.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Christmas without her was different, the large mansion where he lived with his father was cold and dark. The hallways desolate and frozen in the winter months that lead into spring, the kitchen no longer heated by the warmth of the oven or infused with the smell of gingerbread, the parlor no longer tinkling with the sounds of glasses and the laughter of guests, the living room no longer housed a Christmas tree so tall that it made the Eiffel tower look like a trinket, and there were no longer Christmas parties where people danced into the wee hours of the morning and poured themselves into bed smelling of champagne and eggnog.

All that was left was the drunken stupor of his father, the harsh words that echoed down the long hallways, and the urge for Ben to find the nearest bottle and drown himself in it.

Ben spent most of his years as a supe trying to forget the years that followed his mother's death and also his Christmases as a supe washing away the memory of the ones that seemed to be infused with the magic of Christmas in his youth.

Ben spent them at Legend's Christmas party with his woman of the hour clinging to his arm, making painful small talk and waiting until the party turned into a hedonistic thrall of sweat and skin as so many others had. And the next morning when he woke up from the fog, he turned back to the little white line that promised to make him forget and the amber bottle that did little to ease the reality that started to sink in.

But this year was different, because he had you.

You who loved Christmas more than anyone he'd ever met, you who was slowly reminding him how much he used to love Christmas as a child, you who'd dragged him to go Christmas tree shopping before Thanksgiving, you who had encouraged him to help decorate the small apartment the two of you shared with so many Christmas lights it was blinding, and you who had planned something Christmas themed every week for the past month whether it be baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate on the couch. And in each moment, you'd found some way to include him in it.

Ben wasn't used to that.

He wasn't used to someone wanting him there with them and someone like you going out of your way to include him in everything you did.

If a person had tried to tell him in the past that he'd ended up with someone like you, someone who smiled easily, someone who always put other people first, someone who actually gave a shit about him, someone who was always so damn warm and welcoming, someone who included in him everything you did in a way that didn't make Ben feel like an old grump, and someone who tried their best to make sure that Ben remembered every day that you wanted him around, he would have laughed in that person's face.

And yet there you were.

Truth be told Ben knew that the old version of him probably wouldn't have let someone like you close to him, let alone fall in love with them.

Ben hadn't met anyone else like you in the numerous years he'd been alive and he really didn't want to fuck it up. He'd fucked up so many other things in his life and he hadn't cared, but if it involved you, he wouldn't dare.

Hence, the current dilemma of him standing in the crowded Tiffany store at 8 pm two days before Christmas with you waiting at home for him to exchange gifts. Ben wanted to pick the perfect gift for you, but nothing felt right.

He'd never given much thought to what to buy someone for Christmas. In the past usually an expensive piece of jewelry, a handbag, a dress, or a car would have made any of Ben's many escapades swoon, but not you. Ben had tried to give you jewelry before, expensive jewelry that would have made any of those other women drop to their knees, but you were different.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

The one time that he'd tried to give you a gift outright, a beautiful diamond and emerald drop pendant with earrings to match, you hadn't been impressed. Sure, you'd thought that it was beautiful, but you'd told him that you liked gifts that "meant something."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And he knew for a fact that the 10 carat diamond necklace on the velvet pillow in front of him would mean nothing to you.

"Fuck." Ben murmured under his breath, and the saleswoman stiffened.

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-"

"It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

He was running late. He knew that you were waiting at home for him to bring back dinner and to give him his present, the one that he was sure would be thoughtful and perfect for him because you were always so damn caring.

The other shoppers were pushing and shoving their way to the counters where other salespeople stood in identical navy blazers and white button down shirts, the tension and buzz of two days to Christmas electrifying the air, while Christmas music that Ben couldn't recognize played in the background.

His supe hearing made it worse. Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming and as much as Ben pretended that he didn't have PTSD, he did. Being surrounded by this many people was not helping. It was in moments like this when you were there, would hold entwine your fingertips with his and brush your thumb gently over the back of his hand to ground him as if you could sense his discomfort.

Ben hadn't ever had someone care enough to notice things like that. Another reason why he wanted to find you the perfect gift, because you put up with all his shit and didn't ask for anything in return.

"Ben?" He hears a familiar voice ask, hesitant, and he turns to see Annie standing a few feet inside the open doorway. S

he's wearing a black puffer jacket and her hair is hidden under a red stocking cap, while Hughie holds the door for her. Hughie's arms were laden down with bags while Annie's remained bare. The winter wind blew in through the space, flecking bits of snow onto the rugs that had been laid out to avoid the customers sliding through the sludge.

"Hey." Ben grunts, not quite smiling.

He wasn't good at talking to your best friend or her boyfriend. Personally he thought that Hughie was a fucking pussy and that he didn't have the balls to tell Annie no, but the one time Ben had told you that, you'd only rolled your eyes and told him that Hughie "loved Annie."

Ben loved you and he did have the balls to tell you no, but Ben thought that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut and do what you asked. Not to mention Ben hated saying no to you when it was something that could make you happy. Ben liked making you as happy as you made him.

He flinched at the thought. The self-deprecating monologue was beginning to seep in, the one that told him you were turning him into a "pussy" and that he should cut and run. The same monologue that made him make a mistake and run back to Vought a few months ago when he should have run to you.

Ben shakes it off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to leave this morning for Illinois?" Annie asks in surprise used to Ben's grouchy demeanor.

Your grandmother turned Christmas into a two day extravaganza, complete with a Christmas Eve and a Christmas Day party. And although Ben and you were supposed to begin the 14 hour drive to Illinois this morning, your grandmother had insisted the two of you catch a flight first thing tomorrow.

"Decided to catch a flight tomorrow." Ben replies.

Ben was secretly happy, because flying meant that he wasn't going to have to drive 14 hours in the snow. The two of you had driven to Illinois once before, and Ben hadn't minded it. You’d been more upset with him for not letting you drive, but Ben liked driving. Driving meant that he was in control and in an emergency situation he wouldn't have to reach over the console and yank the wheel to save the two of you and driving meant that you could relax in the passenger seat and work on whatever it was you were crocheting.

"Like us!" Hughie flashes Ben a wide smile that Ben doesn't feel the need to return. “You should have told us. We could have all traveled together!”

Ben's frown deepens at the thought at being stuck in a metal tube for hours with Hughie and he knew that if you were here you would probably elbow him in the side and tell him to "be nice." If anyone had ever tried to do that to him in the past, he would have ripped their arm off, but not you.

"Last minute shopping?" Hughie asks trying again.

Ben dragged his eyes over the numerous bags hanging from Hughie's arms. "Yeah. You too?"

"Mhmm. We just finished." Annie replies. Her gaze drops to the diamond necklace on top of the display case that the saleswoman is fiddling with. "Is that for-"

"No. Of course not!" Ben says sharper than he means to, shoulders tensing. But him standing in this store when he knew that you were waiting at home for him to celebrate Christmas made him feel like Annie and Hughie had caught him red-handed. "She doesn't like jewelry." He adds referring to you as he takes a step back from the counter and the sales associate who looks confused.

“But sir-“ The woman begins to say, but Ben waves a hand to shut her up.

"Why do you think that?" Annie asks interrupting the woman.

"Because she yelled at me when I bought her that diamond and emerald necklace!" He shouts so loud that some of the other customers turn to stare at him. "This was a fucking mistake, I have to go-" Ben starts to stomp out the door and past Annie not sure where he's going, but she shifts to stand in his way. His eyes narrow in annoyance, thinking about all the ways that he could move her.

He only put up with Annie because she was your best friend and he knew that if he did anything to her then it would upset you, and Ben didn't like upsetting you.

Well, he did think that it was cute when you got angry with him. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your cheeks turned a cute shade of pink, and your eyes seemed to glow with the force of your anger. There were few people who had the courage to tell him off, but the more you did it, the more he started to like it.

But this was different, and now thinking about you only reminded him of his current dilemma.

"Ben, wait a minute." Annie says.

"What?" He snaps

He could practically feel the seconds ticking away until he had to go back to the apartment. It was the first time that he'd ever dreaded going home and seeing you and fuck he hated every single moment of it.

"She does like jewelry." Annie's mouth drops into a sympathetic smile.

Ben tried not to get more angry when he saw the pitying look in her eye. He didn't need her pity, didn't need anyone's pity! He was still Soldier Boy damnit!

"Then why the fuck did she-"

"She doesn't like this kind of jewelry." Annie clarifies. "She like vintage stuff, simple, refined. Hell, I have to practically drag her away from the display cases at Atomic Archives."

"Atomic Archives?" Ben asks hesitantly. He had no idea what Annie was talking about. You'd never mentioned that place before.

"Yeah, it's our favorite antique store. It’s about two blocks over from where the plant shop used to be.”

"Can you show me where it is?" Ben says it before he can stop himself, his heart surging with hope at the possibility of finding the perfect gift for you.

"I mean I-" Annie begins to say, but Hughie interrupts.

"Babe, didn’t you say that the owner was closed this week because she went out of town?" Hughie asks her, throwing a sympathetic look in Ben's direction that made him bristle.

"Oh, right." Annie sighs.

Ben felt the hope inside pop and deflate like a pricked balloon, but the longer he stood there in the crowded shop, with the ostentatious jewelry twinkling under the lights, the buzz of the chatter of other shoppers, and the ridiculous new-age Christmas music that grated on his ears, he began to have an idea.

"Come on." Ben might have said it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t open for debate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Annie and unfortunately that meant that Hughie was going to tag along.

"What?" Annie sputtered.

"Come the fuck on. I don’t have time for this." Ben snaps back and stomps out the doorway past Annie and Hughie into the snow.

"But what about-" Hughie begins to say and Ben whirls around to glare at him, eyes narrowing. "Okay you got it. Lead the way buddy." Hughie nods his head in agreement.

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Soldier Boy POV

"This place is really murdery." Ben hears Hughie whisper to Annie from somewhere behind him. "Do you think Ben is going to try to kill us? Should I call Butc-"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" Ben snaps, pulling out his keys, the jingle of the metal echoing down the long hallway. "And I guess you really can't make a decision without that British fuck can you?”

The storage unit warehouse was desolate, but that was to be expected, it was after all two days to Christmas and most were more focused on buying things to put in their storage units than moving things out. The lights along the roof of the steel gray hallway flicker and throw long shadows over the navy blue doors of the units doing little to alleviate the creepy aura.

In hindsight Ben did agree that this particular storage space was "murdery," but it was the only one that he could get close to the apartment last minute. The same apartment that Ben has been trying to convince you to move out of.

It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and Ben hated the thought that you'd lived there as long as you had, walking home at night alone before he moved in. Now it wasn't a problem because Ben never let you walk by yourself. And as hard as you'd fought him not to live in a "big fancy apartment" all Ben wanted was to live somewhere where he could imagine staying permanently. Not in a small one bedroom apartment where he had to stoop in the shower, the bed barely fit in the bedroom, and seemed too small for one person let alone two.

He knew that he was wearing you down, but he still had a long way to go.

"Why are we here then?" Hughie asks.

"You're here because your girlfriend wouldn’t come without you.” Ben rolls his eyes as he fits the key into the thick padlock.

He was getting tired of listening to Hughie’s whining. He heard enough of that when he was stuck on missions with him, but he was tolerating him, for the moment at least. He had to, because if he didn't then he was never going to be able to find the perfect gift for you.

The interior of the storage unit isn't anything special. Ben didn't have much that he wanted to keep from his old life, as a supe or from his childhood. The things inside this storage unit were the only things that Ben had left that didn't cause him to be reminded of how his father chastised him or the drafty home that Ben returned to each time he got kicked out of another boarding school.

The mansion that had been in his family for decades had sat abandoned and locked up, hidden from the main roads so it was undisturbed after Ben's father died. Ben had gone to Philadelphia a few months ago to get things in order with the bank and prepare it for sale, but had been surprised when you told him you wanted to come.

He didn't think that you'd want to be involved in something so tedious, but it was almost as if you could sense how hard it was going to be for him, and you'd insisted.

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background.

And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Ben located the old steamer trunk with ease. It was a faded gray now, but Ben remembered the day his father bought it for his mother. When the grayed sides were a soft supple black, the metal lock and edging were a polished gold, and the rose patterned fabric that lined the inside was soft and covered in bright pink flowers.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

He didn't like thinking about her or talking about her, but sometimes he would think of her when he was with you. Whenever you did something caring without being asked or whenever you took the time to check in to see how he was doing. Not that you were motherly, just that Ben hadn't had anyone in a long time care about little things like that.

The only other "relationship" he'd tried to have was with Crimson Countess and she didn't do any of the things for him that you did. There wasn't any comparison between the two of you as far as Ben was concerned.

He shakes off the memory the way he always does and moves some of his mother's clothes for the cherry wood carved box that he knows is in the bottom.

He opens it slowly, extracting a small velvet box from within, one of many inside that Ben probably should have taken to the bank ages ago for safe keeping. Ben's father had a tendency to buy things for his mother whenever he "messed up" and the small velvet boxes inside were proof of that.

Ben turns back to where Annie and Hughie are watching with curiosity at the door of the storage unit. "Here."

"Here?" Annie says hesitantly looking at the velvet box in Ben's hand.

"You brought us out here for a box?" Hughie huffs.

Ben narrows his eyes. "No. And if you tell anyone about this I'll turn you inside out, ass-wipe."

"Why do you always have to be so-" Hughie begins to say, but Annie nudges him in the side.

Ben wondered briefly if Annie and Hughie also tried to tolerate him the same way that he tolerated them for you.

"Wow." Annie says, her voice hushed and reverent when she opens the box with strands of her blonde hair falling out around the hat.

"You think she'll like it?" Ben clears his throat, trying not to wince at the question.

He hated that he was relying on Annie for this or relying on anyone in general. Ben would have rather taken a long walk off a short pier than anyone for help, but he was just so desperate to make sure that the first Christmas the two of you spent together was perfect.

You deserved that and Ben wanted to give it to you.

"She will."

"Good." Ben takes the box back, but decides to bring the wooden box with him back to the apartment just in case. His eyes narrow as he looks over at Hughie. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll shove your head up Butcher's ass. Then again, you two would probably enjoy something like that."

"You're welcome." Annie raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever." Ben mutters.

Reader POV

Ben was late and you were starting to worry.

Not that Ben was always punctual. The man was about as punctual as the White Rabbit, but rather Ben was sure to let you know when he was running late. Not to mention Ben was rarely late to things that he knew were important to you.

And tonight was special or at least you wanted it to be.

You look at your phone again to check the time, noting that it was nearing nine and Ben had told you he was going to be back at eight. You were trying not to think too much about it, busying yourself with other little things, like packing for your trip to your grandmother's home in Illinois. Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben.

But you liked annoying him.

Ben's nostrils would flare, his jaw would flex, and the green of his eyes would darken in a way that sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, but tonight you were too anxiety ridden at how late he was to care about making him annoyed.

Ben and you were supposed to leave this morning to drive the 14 hours to your hometown in Illinois, but you'd called your grandmother a few days ago and asked her if Ben and you could fly in instead.

You wanted the two of you have a Christmas alone before you dragged him back home and made him sit through the two holiday parties your grandmother threw. So you'd planned a quiet Christmas at home where the two of you could drink eggnog, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts before Ben was subjected to every single person you'd known since you were six.

But Ben didn’t seem to mind any of that.

Regardless, you were going all out this Christmas. It was Ben's first since he'd come back to the States and you wanted it to be perfect and it was the first Christmas the two of you were spending together as a couple.

The anxious energy that thrummed through your veins reached out into the numerous plants in your apartment, that shifted and stirred as your powers coaxed them forward. The vines that crept along the walls shook with an unnatural breeze, the Christmas tree grew an inch taller, the mistletoe hanging above the front door grew another few shimmering berries, the blackberry and raspberry vines that hung over your refrigerator fidgeted and wove together into a curtain while the tomato plant in the garden box above your sink dropped bright red fruit onto the counter, and the orange/lemon tree that sat behind your kitchen table blocking the view of the alley beyond shook it's branches for a moment. You could feel everything alive in your apartment leaning towards you as if waiting for your silent command.

Rex, the creature you'd created from broken vines and trampled leaves four months ago, flicks his eyes over to you sensing the same disturbance the rest of the plants inside could.

You bite the inside of your cheek fighting your urge to check your phone even though you know that less than a minute has passed since you'd last checked. Instead you fiddle with the ribbon on the lumpy wrapped gift that is perched on your lap.

Shopping for Ben had been difficult to say the least.

You weren't sure what to get your 104 boyfriend who'd lived as a hedonistic playboy for most of his life and you didn't like giving gift cards (you didn't think Ben would understand the concept) or giving people meaningless trinkets that they used once and then threw away (the Grinch was right about some things). You liked giving gifts that you put time and effort into that you were sure the recipient was going to love.

And you were sure that the package on your lap contained the perfect gift and you were excited to see the look on Ben's face when he unwrapped it.

Your cat Bean purrs where he sits beside you on the couch and Rex your, for lack of a better word, Dragon was watching the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink on and off.

It was bigger for your apartment than it should be, but Ben had insisted on getting it and you couldn't complain. Not when he genuinely seemed to be happy to stand there in the snow picking out a tree with you.

And after when no Uber driver agreed to pick the two of you up because of the tree, Ben had carried it on his shoulder fifteen blocks while you begged him to let you help. When you'd tried to take some of the tree, Ben had shifted it to his other shoulder and taken your hand instead, which wasn't what you meant when you reached out towards him, but you didn't let go, not when it was cold and Ben's hand was warm.

The one jammed into the corner of your small living room didn't have a leaf out of place or any signs of decay. You'd fixed that with a flick of a finger.

You'd gone all out with decorations.

Every plant in your apartment had lights of their own and ornaments that swung just out of reach from your pets. Christmas lights were strung down the hallway and there was a wreath on your bedroom door. Strands of mistletoe hung over every doorway in your apartment and there was one taped to the wall above your bed. That one was Ben's doing, but you couldn't complain, not when it felt so damn good to kiss him.

Ben hadn't spoken about the Christmases he spent in the past, but he'd listened to you talk about your Christmases growing up when the two of you decorated the tree with ornaments you'd collected over the years.

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

You sighed, a happy smile on your face. You didn't think that you could feel this way about anyone, let alone someone you hated for so long, but you did. Ben was changing the belief you had about what relationships should look like, and you were sure that you were doing the same for him.

You hear the jingle of keys and the fumble of the doorknob as Ben slowly opens the front door and you leap from the couch.

"You're home!" You exclaim as your body hits his full speed, but he doesn't move. It was difficult for you to produce enough force to move him, difficult for anyone really.

Ben chuckles "Miss me Petals?"

He moves the plastic bag of Chinese food to his left hand so he can hug you back, his right hand fitting comfortably over the small of your back to hold you tighter against him.

You could remember the first time you hugged him, when all he did was stand there with his hands at his sides awkwardly while you held on to him as tight as you could. This was better. Ben's embrace is warm and strong, unyielding, but full of the love that he’d had such a hard time admitting.

"Yes." You squeeze him hard, smiling into his jacket that's flecked with melting snow, cold against your skin, but the warmth of his body soaks through the chill and into you. You sigh, nuzzling further into him. "I was worried-"

"Why?" Ben's voice rumbles through his chest, against your cheek.

"Because you weren't home yet." You pull back to stare up at him. His brilliant green eyes catch in the multicolored strands of Christmas lights, strung through your apartment. There's snow caught in his dark hair, turning to water and dripping down into his face in the warmth of the apartment.

Ben frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now." You smile arching up to kiss him. Ben groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss, pressing the hand on the small of your back just a little more to secure you against his chest.

You sigh softly, content in living in this moment with him for another few precious seconds. The heat of his body transferring into you the longer you stand pressed against him, soaking through your sweatpants and chunky sweater in the best way.

You'd never felt this way about anyone in the past. There hadn't been another boyfriend who'd treated you the way Ben did, no other boyfriend who'd cared about the little things, and no other boyfriend who you were so in love with. Even your first love so long ago faded into the background, the one you thought you'd never get over, and all that was left was Ben.

You're too excited about giving Ben his gift to eat. You sit cross-legged on the plush gray couch so close to him that your knees are touching the outside of his thigh as Ben places the boxes of food onto your coffee table. The anxious energy tingling in the pit of your stomach and buzzing in your chest so much that it's difficult to sit still.

And before Ben can give you your chopsticks, you thrust the lumpy wrapped package onto his lap with a wide smile.

"You first!" You say.

Ben shakes his head. "It should be ladies first."

“I’m not a lady Ben. We both know that-“

“Sorry sweetheart that’s the way it goes.”

“Don't be so old fashioned Gramps. It's 2024.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing at the cute frown that pulls at his lips when you use the nickname. Ben never liked it, but when you'd first met, Ben hadn't told you his real name, and you'd assigned him the nickname and it had stuck when you realized how much it annoyed him.

That was when he did everything in his power to annoy you as well, so it seemed like a good fit.

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

"And I really want you to open yours first." You plead as you lean towards him. "Oh, and this goes with it."

You reach down behind the couch to grab the small golden barrel cactus, avoiding the sharp yellow spines, and place it on the minimal space left on the coffee table. You'd crocheted a dark green sleeve to go around the terra cotta pot.

"You got me a cactus?" Ben snorts.

"I mean, I have so many plants in here and I thought that you'd want one that was yours. Plus, you'll never have to water it." You gesture with one hand to the numerous plants around the room, the ones bathed in the multicolored lights from the Christmas Tree, the ones with bright green leaves that unfurled towards the light, the others with hanging vines that trailed to the ground so thick that you couldn't remember the color of the wall, the apple tree with ripe red fruit, and the numerous herbs in the garden box that hung over your kitchen sink. "And I gave it a sweater."

"Why did you give it a sweater?"

"It’s used to a warm climate and because I had some yarn left over."

"From?"

"You're just going to have to open your gift and find out." You shrug, but can barely contain your excitement.

Ben shakes his head at you, but a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. You knew that your boyfriend loved you because you were different than anyone he'd ever met, and you reveled in that. You liked that even though Ben was older than you, that no matter how many other experiences he'd had in his life, you were a first for him just as Ben was a first for you.

He rips through the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin what was inside, the sound of crinkling and tearing blocking out the Christmas playlist for a moment that you'd put on before Ben had come home, but you can hear the ABBA song clear as day.

For a moment he stares down at the gift not quite comprehending what the lumpy mass in his lap is, but then he picks it up.

It had taken a month for you to pick out the perfect dark green yarn that was soft but not too soft, green but not too green, and another two months for you to finish it when Ben wasn't home, but you were proud of the sweater that you'd made your boyfriend.

He stares at it for another few beats, holding it up to the light, and it makes you worry that maybe you should have bought him something at the mall instead.

"You made me a sweater?" He asks, there's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place, some traces of emotion that you're not able to identify.

"Yeah. I wanted to make you something." You clear your throat, worried. "I mean- you don't have any and I know that you keep saying you run a little warm, but I figured we're going to Illinois for Christmas and it might be cold."

Ben doesn't say anything and you start to feel the self-doubt come roaring in.

Why did I make him a sweater? I should have bought him some cologne or something.

"And you complained when Butcher sent you on that mission to Alaska last month and I just thought that-“ You press your lips into a tight line, shoulders drooping. “If you don't like it I can keep it for me-" You fumble, but before you can finish, Ben yanks you into his lap.

His hands cup your cheeks as he kisses you so fiercely that it wipes any doubts from your mind. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, but sink into the kiss. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Ben mutters against your lips.

Your blush burns against your face. “You like it?”

He nods. “ No one’s ever made me anything before.” His voice comes out a little bit gruff, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it, but it makes you smile.

“I figured and I wanted to change that.” Your fingertips dance over his forehead, brushing away the hair that’s fallen forward before your hand drops to cup his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of your hand. “But you’re sure you like it?”

Ben kisses you again, his large hands settling on your hips with an encouraging squeeze. “I do.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to hug him for a minute, sinking into his embrace with a happy smile.

"Merry Christmas doll." Ben murmurs into your hair, affection lacing his words.

Again, you send a mental thank you to your grandmother for understanding that Ben and you needed a day to be together and celebrate the way you wanted to before coming to stay. Not that you didn't like the Christmas Eve party or the Christmas day party, but you wanted to give Ben this. You noticed that Ben still had a hard time being in places with a lot of people when the PTSD came roaring back, and you wanted to show him what Christmas meant to you and hopefully show what Christmas would look like between the two of you as long as you were together.

“Sweetheart you gotta open yours now.” Ben’s voice rumbles, the warmth of his breath on your ear. It makes a pleasurable shiver thrill skate down your spine when you think of all the other times the two of you have been this close.

“It’s okay I can wait.” You hum into his throat, content, but Ben won't give in.

He pushes you back gently from his chest shaking his head. “Too bad. It's your turn."

"Fine." You start to move back to the space beside him, but Ben's hands catch on your hips to stop you.

"I didn't say I wanted you to move did I?" His smile turns more smirk.

"I-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I like having you on top of me?" Ben purrs, kissing under your jaw, his beard scratching in a way that makes your throat tight.

"Keep doing that and the only thing I'm going to unwrap is you." You sigh in a half-moan, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck.

"After." Ben leans back to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box that fits in the palm of your hand.

You hesitate to open it.

It wasn't that you didn't want jewelry for Christmas, it was that Ben and you had done this song and dance before after he tried to make you wear a diamond and emerald necklace with jewels bigger than your index, middle, and third finger put together. The whole time you wore it the only thing you could think about is how many groceries you could have bought with the necklace, how much you were afraid that it was going to break, and how much you feared that you were going to lose it or someone was going to try and steal it.

Maybe that was ridiculous, but extravagant gifts never appealed to you. You liked gifts that meant something, gifts that were heartfelt and thoughtful, gifts like the bookshelf Ben had gotten you months ago before you were dating because he noticed you needed one. Not to mention you loved just spending time with Ben. If he hadn't gotten you anything you would have been content with just sitting with him on the couch and watching a Christmas movie.

But you smile, because you don't want to hurt his feelings and because it's his first Christmas in forty years and you wanted it to be special.

It's Christmas and I will be thankful and happy with whatever he got me, because Ben was thinking of me when he bought it.

You think to yourself as you open the box.

The first thing you notice is that the box isn't as new as you thought, the inside of the lid is printed in ancient script that's a little faded, worn against the aged white silk that lines it. Your eyes drift to the piece of jewelry nestled on the pillow. It's a silver locket, hexagon shaped, and about the size of your thumb. The face is printed with weaving ivy leaves and roses that reach to a simple plain border.

Simple, stately, and completely you.

Ben is uncharacteristically quiet, but he breaks the silence first. "Do you-" He clears his throat, "Do you like it?"

He asks it hesitantly, as if he's afraid to hear your answer. It was unusual for Ben to look so nervous.

You can only nod, any words you had stuck in the back of your throat. Your fingernail finds the seam between the two pieces of metal and you gently unlatch the locket to see the picture inside. There's a piece of glass protecting a yellowed photo of a little boy who looks no more than five standing in a small black suit. You didn't think that they made suits for kids that small. He's smiling and one of his teeth are missing, but he looks oddly familiar.

"Who is this?" You ask. The more you look at the photo the more you think that you've seen him before.

"It's me." He says it quiet, almost a whisper.

"You? But-"

"It was my mother's." He clarifies and you inhale sharply in surprise.

"Really?"

He nods once, looking uncomfortable. By now you knew that moments like this usually made your boyfriend uncomfortable no matter how many times that you'd told him that he didn't have to be uncomfortable about being vulnerable. He was getting a little better, slowly, very slowly.

"Oh Ben I don't know if I should-" You shake your head, afraid to touch something so old.

Ben didn't often speak about his mother, but when he did, it was always reverent and respectful. You could see in his eyes how much he had loved her and how much he had cared about her. His father, Ben also didn't like talking about, but Ben never spoke of his father with the kindness that he'd spoke about his mother.

And you didn't want to take something like this away from him, something that meant so much to him, because of how much he loved his mother.

"No. I-" He clears his throat and Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "I want you to have it."

"But-" You stutter.

"What else am I going to do with it Petals? Can't exactly wear it myself." Ben chuckles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s and I-“ You trail off still looking at the photo of Ben as a little boy. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you loved, the same unruly dark hair, but there was something different about him. He looked happier. It was the same look that Ben had when it was just the two of you together, the happiness that you wanted Ben to feel the rest of his life when he understood what it was like to be loved and cherished.

And it made you understand that the last time Ben must have felt loved and cherished was when his mother was still alive. It broke your heart to know that Ben had lived all these years without her and missed that in his life.

The locket was beautiful and the fact that Ben remembered what you said about liking gifts that “meant something” made your heart flutter.

Because this meant something. Ben taking the time to go through his mother’s jewelry and pick something out just for you that was special to him that he wanted to share with you, meant more than the emerald and diamond necklace he had tried to give you months ago.

There were tears burning behind your eyes the more you look at the photo of the little boy.

Ben is watching you. “Well-“ He shrugs. “I'm an only child. Which means I don't have any siblings who have wives to fight over this stuff so, I figured that if anyone was going to get it, it should be you. If you don't take it, it'll sit in that fucking storage unit. Seems like a shame."

You don't answer.

"And-" He hesitates, "I think my mom would have wanted you to have it. Hell, she might have given it to you, if I'd brought you home to meet her."

Your cheeks flush.

Ben studies you for another minute, before you watch his smile twitch into a frown. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have gotten you jewelry. Annie said that you liked jewelry, but I told her you didn't and now the bitch is probably having a good laugh with that pussy of a boyfriend! Forget about it sweetheart, I'll go get you something else right now-" Ben tries to take the box from you, but you swat his hand away.

“Don't you fucking dare!” You shout, using the same words that he said to you when you tried to take his sweater away.

"But you don't like it-"

"I do! And knowing how much this means to you, makes it better."

"Really?"

You nod, a wide smile wiping away any uncertainty in his gaze. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Sure." Ben says gruffly. His voice has lowered a little, and you know that it's a mixture of pride and love mingling in the tone. It made something break open deep inside and flood your ribcage with love.

You turn your neck to the side, pulling your hair away from the skin as Ben hooks the chain together at the nape of your neck. The cool metal of the necklace against your skin and the weight are unfamiliar, but you already knew that you wouldn’t be taking it off anytime soon. "It's perfect!" You pull Ben in for a kiss, threading your fingers into his dark hair.

Ben smiles into your mouth, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go and you don't want him to.

It was odd to think that you'd only been together for four months, but you couldn't imagine your life without him. It seemed ridiculous for you to think that Ben was it after such a short time, but he was. You'd never rushed into anything in your entire life, but then Ben was there shattering every expectation that you had, enough to make you throw your inhibitions to the wind and jump feet first into the unknown if it meant he was with you.

The kiss is softer than the one the two of you shared at your front door, filled with more emotion than Ben usually let the world see, but he was opening up bit by bit, learning that you wouldn't judge him for that and it made you feel sky high.

This was the relationship you'd always wanted, and you never thought that you'd have it with Ben, but now that you were here you wouldn't change a thing, because it wouldn’t have put you in his arms.

"You can change the picture." Ben murmurs into your lips.

"No way. I don't have any kid photos of you. And I'm pretty sure you'll see all of mine this week.”

“I bet you were cute.” Ben smiles, raising one of the hands from your hip to push your hair from your face. “Hard to imagine you being any other way sweetheart.”

"Debatable." You sigh, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes Ben pull you back to him.

And when the kiss turns hungry, with you gripping his hair so tight you'd be sure that it would hurt anyone else, and with his fingers pushing up the bottom of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin against his hands and find the dips and curves of your body that make you moan into his mouth, you can't help but think that this is the best Christmas you'd ever had.

"I do think it's later sweetheart." Ben's eyes shine with mischief, mouth pulling into the familiar smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Good. Because I have one other gift for you." You moan as Ben's mouth trails down to your jaw, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin, in a way that drives you mad.

"It's not another plant is it?" He bites just under your jaw and you tighten your hands in his hair, gasping softly. "Fuck, I love those sounds you make baby." Ben murmurs.

"No." You've lost all ability to form sentences, not when he's so perfectly warm and the trail of his hands working up your abdomen consumes you.

"Give it to me later." Ben's eyes flash a startling green. "I want to unwrap my favorite gift right now."

"Keep going the way you are, and you're gonna find it."

Ben hesitates, before he raises his hand to feel the end of the brand new lingerie that you'd bought special for tonight, his eyes darkening with the realization. "Well then, Merry Christmas to me."

Ben's mouth falls against yours, but before he goes further, he pulls back just for a moment, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Ben?" You question.

"Merry Christmas Petals." He whispers, dragging his thumb over your cheek, and nudges his nose against yours in a gesture that warms your heart. He didn’t do things like that often, but whenever he did it always stood out to you, because it added on another layer to the man you loved with all your heart.

"Merry Christmas Ben."

A/N: I thought that they deserved a little Christmas fluff. I'm hoping that I have time to drop a follow up to this before Christmas, because I kinda want to write what happens when they go back to Illinois, but we'll see what happens! ❤️

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰

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