#or maybe ill just log off for the day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelsworks · 1 year ago

Text

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

#angelsworks post #dark #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod men #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw3 #soap cod #cod gaz #cod price #cod kyle gaz garrick #cod simon riley #cod john mactavish #cod john price #poly!141 x reader #poly!141 #dark!141

2K notes · View notes

allpiesforourown · 9 months ago

Note

love your role reversal au, not enough of those in the world, peak lord bingge is already annoyed with lqg, how will he feel with the intrusion of qiong ding's head disciple yue qingyuan? yqy is probably dropping by qing jing every week or so to see his xiao yuan

not to mention all the peak lords who've probably been treating shen yuan like the head disciple/peak lord whenever bingge has been away once shen yuan's cultivation reached a suitable level of cultivation, a level possibly helped by mu qingfang who might drop by with some pill or tea that's supposed to help those who started cultivating late if not because mfq admires shen yuan then it's absolutely because mfq figures that if sy is going to get into trouble and perform self sacrificing stunts even WITH lqq there as a bodyguard, sy needs his cultivation improved stat to he'll have a better chance of surviving and not needing to be on the medical peak every other day

We know that Cang Qiong prides itself as being very familial, and says its peak lords are very close.. we also know that wasn't really true until shen yuan transmigrated, because before that, everyone except for Yue Qingyuan hated shen jiu.

So I'm imagining peak lord Luo Binghe who does not give a fuck about any of his martial siblings except for Liu Mingyan.. but shen Yuan gets along GREAT with all the other head disciples. Everyone sees Shen Yuan, Liu Qingge, Qi Qingqi, etc etc all hanging out having picnics regularly and they're like "the next generation of peak lord are going to be SO close" and binghe is the only one who absolutely hates it.

Yue Qingyuan asks to hang out with Shen Yuan and Binghe says Shen Yuan spends too much time with him, and Shen Yuan replies "but if shizun has chosen me as the next peak lord of Qing Jing... shouldn't this one foster a good relationship with the future sect leader" and binghe feels like he's been punched in the stomach. Binghe kind of gets off on being shen yuans shizun and therefore holding authority over him, so the idea that one day he'll be out of the picture and it'll be SECT LEADER YUE telling him what to do... he's going insane.

I haven't quite decided what to do with Yue qi and shen jiu's backstories and how they're related to shen yuan... maybe shen jiu will join Qing Jing Peak later and become another person binghe hates because they keep stealing away shen yuan

As for Mu Qingfang... I think he's very protective of Shen Yuan because they are friends but also.. he definitely sees Shen-shixiong as his little lab rat. How is it possible for one man to get hit with so many wife plots poisons and enemies? He made an entirely separate patients log just for shen yuan because of how frequently he visits him. The log was layer refined into a medical guide on various illnesses and injuries and their symptoms, and Mu Qingfang is widely renowned for his book. No one knows that the entirety of the book is documenting just one person.

#long post #?#role reversal au #svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #bingqiu #binggeyuan #yue qingyuan #mu qingfang

520 notes · View notes

woniwontons · 4 hours ago

Text

dead end - CHAPTER FOUR

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 4.2k

warnings: psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, murder, domestic bob, gore/bloody void, like a lot of blood & violence, running away in the woods

chapter nav: one | two | three | four | five (coming soon)

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

Your calendar had no color-coded blocks. No assignments. No meetings. Just one blank space stamped across the interface: DAY OFF.

It didn’t feel like relief though, just a boring day ahead of you.

You made breakfast and sat in the lounge with a coffee you barely tasted. Read the same paragraph in your data log five times without processing a single word.

Still, you could focus on nothing but the questions in your mind.

By noon, you were moving on instinct, feet carrying you to the gym without direction. You knew who would be there at this time.

You found Bucky where you usually saw him: stretching in the corner, his hoodie peeled down to his waist and gloves half-fastened. His expression didn’t shift when he saw you.

“You’re off today,” he said simply, gesturing to your plain clothes.

“So are you.”

“Not really,” he muttered, going back to the resistance band in his hands.

You sat on the bench across from him, watching the line of his shoulders tense and relax with each pull. A few beats passed in comfortable silence before you spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

His hands paused mid-stretch. “You just did.”

You offered a dry smile. “About the people who worked with Bob before me.”

He exhaled through his nose. “What about them?”

You hesitated. “They didn’t last long.”

He rolled his wrists. “That happens.”

“What kind of happens?”

He looked at you then—flatly. “The kind that gets people reassigned. Burnout. Not getting along with him. The usual.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You and the team haven't ever experienced that around him, have you?”

“I’m not an empath,” he said, almost too easily. “I don’t absorb what I don’t need to.”

You watched him carefully, waiting for the twitch, some flicker of discomfort. But Bucky Barnes was good at hiding his emotions for everything. Better than good.

“You don’t think there’s something unusual about it?” you asked.

“No more than usual.”

He clipped the band back to the wall and stood, wiping his hands with a towel.

“Sometimes things don’t work out,” he said, voice neutral. “Doesn’t mean there’s a conspiracy.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re not curious?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

But he didn’t meet your gaze.

And when he turned to grab his water bottle. "Please just don't go looking for trouble, y/n," he added quietly, "for your own good."

It hung in the air longer than it should have, with a surprising level of concern and care.

You stood a moment later, nodding like the conversation had satisfied something. Like you were any closer to the truth.

You walked away with your jaw tight and your throat dry.

No one was going to tell you anything.

You weren’t trying to go anywhere.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you walked the endless hallways of the tower. No destination. No objective. Your shoes padding across the floor. Doors passing on either side like silent, judgmental witnesses.

Maybe it was just your nerves. Maybe it was the way your own thoughts had started to echo louder than sound. You’d been craving something you were unsure of. A reason to feel more. But the deeper you wandered, the more hollow everything seemed.

At some point, your footsteps slowed.

And when you looked up, you realized where you’d stopped.

The hallway was empty. The lights overhead flickered once. And in front of you—just a few feet away—was his door.

You hadn’t been here since that first night, and you froze.

The panel glowed the same:

SECURITY OVERRIDE IN PLACE — MONITORED ACCESS ONLY

But again, no guards or cameras.

And for a moment, you felt it—the pull. Not from the Void. From something subtler. Like gravity. Like muscle memory.

You stepped closer.

Your hand hovered just inches from the lock pad, like you already knew the passcode to enter.

You didn’t even know why. You just—

CLICK.

The lock disengaged.

The door hissed slightly, then opened.

And standing there, backlit in soft white light, brown hair tousled, expression still -- was Bob.

Neither of you spoke, but he didn’t look surprised to see you. If anything, he looked relieved.

"You came," he said quietly.

You let your hand drop from the lock pad. “I didn’t mean to.”

He smiled faintly, stepping past the threshold and into the hallway with you. “Doesn’t matter. You still did.”

The door sealed shut behind him.

Silence stretched between you, but it didn’t feel cold. Just cautious.

You both stood there a long moment before Bob leaned against the wall beside you, folding his arms. "Did you speak with Bucky or Yelena?"

"I spoke to Bucky, but all I got was a whole lot of nothing," you huffed in frustration.

Bob nodded, "So back to square one? Maybe there's a different explanation for all of this."

"I'm confident about what I saw," you stressed, "Do you think it has something to do with the nightmares?"

Bob's jaw tensed slightly. "The nightmares, you're still having them?"

You swallowed, his response throwing you off. "You don't remember them?"

He paused.

"No."

You turned your head. "The Void takes all of your memories?"

His voice was quieter now. “There are gaps. Long ones. I know I’ve said things I don’t remember saying. Felt things I can’t explain. I used to think it was the Void blocking things out.”

"How can I stop him from," you started, before being cut off.

"You can't stop it, none of us can once it starts," he said sadly, "I'm sorry."

You exhale a breath you didn't realize you were holding before nodding slowly, taking in his response. He stared down at you then, his eyes scanning over your facial features, over every tick of non-verbal response. The guilt eating at him, making him feel so useless.

"It isn't your fault, I'm sorry for involving you."

He scoffed before suddenly picking up your hands, clasping them in-between your own. "Don't apologize. I've never felt bad for listening to you, please, if you have anything to get off your chest. I'm here for you."

You gazed up at him, feeling your heart rate speed up. Brows furrowed in confusion, you bobbed your head in agreeance. "I appreciate that."

"I appreciate you."

You told yourself you were just passing by.

That your feet brought you here again out of habit. A wrong turn. An aimless loop through the admin level. But as you stood just around the corner from Dr. Harding’s office, that lie grew too heavy to hold.

The hall was quiet.

Her door, like always, was closed. But the lockpad light was green. Not red. Not yellow. Green.

Unlocked.

Your heart stuttered.

You glanced both ways. Empty.

You stepped forward—slowly, cautiously—reaching for the panel.

It chirped softly under your touch.

One press. That’s all it would take to slide the door open and—

“Hey.”

You jerked so fast your elbow banged the wall behind you.

An intern—probably no older than twenty-two—stood at the other end of the corridor, holding a datapad and a cup of coffee. Her brows knit together.

“You lost?”

Your mouth went dry. “I—uh—no. I was looking for… the sensory deprivation room.”

The girl blinked. “Sensory deprivation is two floors down.”

You forced a smile. “Right. I must’ve hit the wrong button in the elevator.”

She didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you.

A long pause stretched before she gave a tight, practiced smile and turned on her heel.

“Have a good one.”

You nodded, then retreated in the opposite direction at a normal, casual, totally-not-panicked pace. It wasn’t until you rounded the next corner and pressed your back to the wall that you let yourself breathe.

You almost got caught doing something horrendously stupid.

No—worse.

That light on Harding’s door hadn’t been green by mistake.

What if you were being tested?.

Tested.

And you failed.

In Your Nightmares, In the Maze

You opened your eyes and the world was wrong.

The floor beneath your feet was cold concrete, cracked and damp, covered in grime that had soaked into its pores. The air reeked of mildew and rust, thick with dust that scratched the back of your throat. Made you feel sticky, dirty.

You didn’t know how long you’d been standing.

Only that you had no memory of getting here. And your feet ached.

The hallway stretched in both directions—long, narrow, and dimly lit by broken fluorescent tubes overhead. One of them buzzed in a stuttering rhythm, flickering so violently you couldn’t tell if it was about to go out or explode.

You turned in a slow circle, arms folded tightly across your chest.

The walls were tiled, but discolored. Yellowed, cracked, and tagged with smeared fingerprints like someone had clawed at them over and over again. Shattered mirrors were mounted in uneven rows, jagged corners jutting out like teeth.

You caught your reflection in one of them.

And froze.

It was you. But not exactly.

The reflection stood too still. Her arms weren’t crossed. Her head tilted slightly to the side, eyes wide and expressionless. She blinked—but too slow. Like a puppet learning how to mimic human movement. Then her lips moved.

You took a step back, heart hammering.

No sound.

Another mirror—this one lower, shattered into shards across the floor. The sharp edges caught the flickering light, reflecting your face in fractured pieces.

You crouched, trembling, reaching toward one of the shards.

It wasn’t curiosity. It was like you had to see, you had to know if this was real.

The moment your fingers touched it, you flinched.

A thin line of blood opened across your palm, bright and stinging.

“Ah—”

You dropped the glass with a suck of your teeth.

It clattered against the floor with a sound too loud, too final.

And from somewhere behind you—

A whisper.

You spun around, heart in your throat.

No one.

Nothing.

But the hall behind you looked... different.

You hadn’t turned around, but now there were more doors. More mirrors. And the mirror where your reflection had been was gone.

Your blood dripped onto the floor, each drop loud in the silence.

You stumbled backward, away from the glass, away from the mirrors, clutching your hand.

And that’s when you heard it.

Breathing.

Not yours.

Slow. Steady. Too close.

You ran.

Your footsteps echoed down the hall, too loud, too fast. The breathing behind you had stopped, but only because it was closer now. You could feel it. Like hot breath against your neck, even though nothing touched you.

You turned a corner—

and another

another

—until your shoulder hit a doorframe and you stumbled sideways into a room.

The door shut behind you on its own in a violent slam.

You whirled around, heart pounding, but the knob was gone. Hell, the door was gone. Replaced with cracked tiles and a bloodstained seam.

The light in the room was a single bulb hanging from a frayed cord in the ceiling. It swung gently, casting warped shadows against the walls.

But you weren’t alone.

There was someone else here, and this room felt horrifically familiar.

At first, you only saw her back; hunched over, gasping softly, her arms trembling at her sides. The room was small, just a few paces wide. The tile beneath her knees was slick, and something thick and dark glistened across the floor.

You took one step closer.

Her head lifted slightly. Then her arm.

And she slammed something down.

A wet, sickening crack echoed through the room.

You jolted back, mouth open, but the scream got stuck behind your tongue. Her hand lifted again.

Another, crack.

You couldn’t see who she was hurting. The body beneath her was just shadow. Faceless, formless, made of blood and bone and the sound of something breaking.

Crack, again.

Again and again.

You stared in horror until she finally slowed, breathing hard, hand shaking in the air.

And then she turned.

It was you again.

Your face—spattered in red, eyes empty, chest heaving.

Her gaze met yours across the room, tears streaming down her bloody, sunken face.

You screamed. The bulb burst above you, showering the floor in sparks and blackened glass.

The floor dropped out beneath you.

In one blink, you were standing. The next, you were falling.

There was no wind. No scream. Just the sickening weightless feeling of your own body surrendering.

You hit something hard, your bones crushing with pain as they protested against all movement.

The world bent around you—walls folding like wet paper, corners bleeding into one another. Your knees struck concrete. Your palm, still bleeding from the earlier cut, left a smear across the warped ground beneath you.

Your breath came ragged, your head spinning.

You crawled forward, but the walls spun in circles around you. Lights blurred into trails. The air stung your eyes.

“Where am I?” you whispered aloud.

No answer.

Only a low hum in the distance. Like the power grid of a dead city flickering back to life.

You tried to stand, but your legs gave out.

You reached for a wall that wasn’t there anymore.

The floor cracked open.

And you dropped once more.

In the Nightmare, In the Maze

Your vision cleared all at once.

Flashing red and white lights pulsed in your peripheral.

Siren tones wailed in the distance, but muffled, like they were underwater. The air was cold now. It smelled of metal, antiseptic, and the copper tang of blood.

You were standing on the edge of an open ambulance bay. Night stretched beyond the parking lot like a black ocean, with figures moving just at the edge of the darkness. Too far to see, too distorted to name.

Inside the ambulance, the doors were open.

You stepped forward, and saw her.

Yourself.

Again.

This time she sat on the gurney, knees drawn to her chest, face streaked with blood. Though, none of it looked fresh. Her skin was pale and blotchy; eyes glassy and swollen. Her hands trembled around a disposable shock blanket, still clutched tightly around her shoulders like armor.

She wasn’t speaking. She just stared down at her lap, jaw tight, fingers twitching.

A paramedic stood off to the side, whispering to someone you couldn’t see.

“She wouldn’t stop screaming. Had to sedate her. We think it was self-defense… but the scene was brutal.”

Another murmured reply: unintelligible to you.

You took a step closer.

And then she glanced

Just barely—her gaze lifting enough to meet yours as her lips moved.

But no sound of a woman came out, but something akin to that of the void himself.

"Ever my ś̸̡t̸̨͛r̶̤͝o̴̻̓n̶͉̔ǵ̴̘ ̴͙͆g̴̭̈́ȉ̷̡r̴͕̿l̴͔̽."

The scene around you began to shake, like the ambulance bay itself was coming apart. The sirens slowed. Then stretched. Then distorted.

"Not everyone could, but ÿ̴̫́ò̸̤ǘ̴̮ ̶̳͑m̸̢̊a̸̧̿d̴̬̆e̶͈͆ ̶͎͊i̶̻̒t̴̤̑ ̵̰̂ò̷͙ů̶͜t̸͎̄. Didn’t you, little liar?"

You clutched your ears as the air seemed to pulse against your skull.

And the ambulance doors slammed shut in your face.

You blinked.

Open, Close, Open.

And the world changed again.

Gone were the lights, the pavement, the sirens.

Now there were trees. Towering silhouettes pressed in around you, black against a gray sky smeared with faint clouds. Their branches clawed overhead like bones, creaking faintly with every whisper of wind.

The ground beneath your feet was mud and moss and broken roots.

It was dark.

But not silent.

Snap.

A branch cracked behind you.

You spun around, chest rising sharply, but saw nothing. Just more trees. More endless darkness.

Your breath came faster now, eyes darting to every shadow, every movement of wind-tossed leaves. You took a step—

Crack.

Another behind you. Heavier this time.

Then—

Breathing. Fast and angry, barely contained.

You ran.

Your legs burned, your lungs screaming with every intake of cold air. Branches sliced across your arms. Something wet ran down your face; blood or rain, you didn’t know.

The breathing followed.

Always just behind you.

You didn’t dare scream. The sounds around you were too loud already. The woods echoed everything. Your heartbeat, the dead leaves crunching, and...

his voice.

"You've run faster than that."

You stumbled, but caught yourself. Feeling the bark of the tree imprint itself into the skin of your palm.

You couldn’t tell where it came from, but it was close.

So close that you pumped your legs faster, ignoring the pain of your bare feet hitting the forest floor.

Something grabbed your sleeve and snatched you backwards —no, just a branch.

You tugged roughly and broke free, but your breathing was slowing you down now. Your chest willing itself to explode as your lungs stretched for oxygen.

The trees grew tighter. Narrower. Like the forest itself was closing in to crush you. The breathing behind you accelerated.

It was laughing at you now. Not just with joy, but with certainty that it would catch you.

"They might have carved it out, but I remember. I always remember."

You saw a shape ahead—barely visible.

A black door. Standing hauntingly alone in the woods.

You didn’t think, only sprinted towards it. Heaving now, your lungs threatened to rise from the bottom of your throat. It pained you horribly, but nothing else mattered except escape.

Mud flew from your heels. Your vision blurred with tears.

"You were never meant to be happy, y/n."

Your hand hit the door handle, slipping on its sleek handle with the slick of blood that coated your palm.

"You're meant to be with me here."

You yanked it open—

And fell inside.

In the Nightmare, Outside of the Maze

The door vanished behind you.

The ground was… nothing. A space with no walls, no ceiling, no shape. Just pressure and the oppressive weight of silence.

You were alone.

Until you weren’t.

He emerged from the dark without warning; no footsteps, no sound. It was just there, like he’d always been waiting.

The Void. A silhouette carved from everything the world wasn’t meant to touch. His skin absorbed the light instead of reflecting it, black as rotted stars. His hair curled weightlessly like smoke.

Your legs gave out and you collapsed forward into his body, wrapping your arms around his legs in terror. The coldness of his body comforting to the exhausted heat being expelled from your own.

And then he was lowering himself to meet you on the ground. Arms slowly coiling around your back.

He held you like you were fragile, digging his fingertips into the sides of your waist as he held you upright.

You cried harder.

Not just from fear, not just from exhaustion, but from the horrible, gut-wrenching feeling that this was the first time you felt like yourself in so long. Broken, hurting, and miserable, such a familiar feeling to you.

"There she is," he whispered into your hair. His hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers impossibly gentle. He pressed your body to his like he could bury you in his chest.

His breath brushed your ear. Your throat. Your skin.

"It's no wonder you always come back to me, and every time, we end up here."

You tried to speak, but your voice was shattered glass in your throat.

He lifted your chin with a single finger. His gold eyes burned straight through you. "No need to speak, just think. Know that I remember, no matter what they take from you, I will always remember.”

You shook your head, but he only smiled. A reverent, broken thing.

"Let me keep you. Just like this. Broken, bleeding, and mine."

His lips ghosted over your forehead, slow and steady, like a temptation. "You don't have to run from it anymore."

And then—

You gasped awake.

The scream didn't make it out properly—lodged deep in your chest like a stone, but your body snapped upright. Drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled like restraints around your legs.

Your throat burned. A heartbeat galloped in your ears, loud enough to drown everything else.

Your eyes darted across the room, searching corners, shadows, the cracks beneath the door, expecting to see blackness leaking from the walls, gold eyes waiting in front of you

But instead:

He was sitting there.

Bob.

Near the edge of your room. In the dark. His form barely outlined in the weak glow from the hall’s emergency light.

Not moving, and certainly not speaking. Just watching.

Your breath hitched.

"Jesus—” You scrambled backward on the bed until your shoulders hit the headboard. “What the hell, how did you get in here?”

He didn’t rise or even answer at first. Just studied you, head tilted, brow furrowed. Quiet concern etched into every line of his face.

"I heard you," he said finally. Voice low and careful. "Screaming through the door, but... you were asleep."

You stared at him, heart still slamming in your chest.

You couldn’t even remember doing it. Only the maze. The blood. The gold eyes that felt too close to forget.

"I didn't want to scare you," Bob said softly. "I just didn't want you to wake up alone. It looked terrifying."

That cracked something inside you.

Because it meant he hadn't come here with any ulterior motive but to just make sure you weren't alone, having night terrors in the dark.

You wiped at your sweaty face, breath still uneven.

"I don't even know when I fell asleep," you murmured.

Bob’s voice was impossibly gentler now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, but after a moment you spoke anyway, "I was in a maze," you whispered. "And something was chasing me. I think."

Bob exhaled, slowly, "Do you remember who was chasing you?"

You looked up. "No, I don't, I never looked back."

"That's good," he hesitated, "did it feel like a dream or a memory?"

"Both."

The room fell quiet again. You noticed then that his hands were clasped in his lap. Knuckles white. Like either he wasn’t sure if he should come closer, or he was terrified of your response.

"They're not just dreams anymore," he said. "Are they?"

Your hands trembled in your lap, and you fought to answer him honestly. "No."

Bob stood slowly, careful not to make a sound too sharp or sudden. He looked like he was trying to give you space, even as his eyes lingered on the sight of you trembling in your bed. "I'll let you rest," he said carefully. "I shouldn't have come in. I just wanted to be sure you were okay."

He turned toward the door, but for some reason, your panic spiked.

"Wait—" You reached out and caught his wrist, hand tremoring. He stopped to listen, and your voice was barely more than a breath, "Can you stay... please?"

He turned back toward you slowly. “You sure?”

You nodded, pulling on his arm, just enough to guide him back. "Please," you whispered again, tugging him towards your bed.

He hesitated only a moment longer. Then sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain.

You didn’t wait.

You shifted beneath the covers and pulled him with you, tugging gently at his wrist until he followed. His weight dipped the mattress, and then he was lying beside you. He was awkward at first, stiff from uncertainty.

You curled toward him, face pressed to his chest.

And only then did he move.

His arms came around you, gentle and hesitant, like you were made of glass. One hand stroked your back; the other came up slowly to comb through your hair.

The moment his fingers threaded through the strands, something deep inside you twisted.

It was… familiar.

Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t pull away.

"You're okay," Bob murmured into your hair. "You're still safe here."

Your eyes burned. "I don't feel safe," you confessed. "I don't even feel like myself anymore, I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. I can't understand any of these emotions inside me."

His fingers brushed behind your ear. "Like a phantom emotion?" he asked, voice low but firm.

You pressed your face tighter against his chest, trying to keep your breath steady. But you couldn’t. The tears came quietly at first, then stronger. "I'm scared to fall asleep," you whispered.

Bob didn’t flinch. He just held you tighter, one hand never leaving your hair. "Then be scared," he said softly. "Feel everything. Cry if you need to, but don't ever think you have to do any of it alone."

You cried harder. You didn’t know if it was the nightmare, the silence, or the way his voice made the grief inside you finally feel seen.

But for the first time in what felt like so long, you let it out. And he didn’t let go.

His thumb brushed soft circles across your shoulder as your tears soaked through his shirt. His heart beat slow and steady beneath your ear. "You're not alone," he whispered, "I promise."

You weren’t sure when you stopped crying. Only that at some point, the world grew still again, and you stayed there, curled against him. And yet, it felt as though this had happened before, as if you were experiencing deja-vu for this very moment and couldn't fathom any reason for it.

His breath moved softly against the top of your head.

And sleep, when it finally came, did not take you kicking and screaming.

It came wrapped in warmth and wool.

Alright friends, I'm sure you're very confused as to what the heck is going on. I added a lot more hints in this one, in hopes that maybe some of you will catch on ;). Answers will come, to be revealed in the next chapter, followed by a full Bob Point-Of-View in part six. We are at our halfway point now since I'm thinking of eight parts total for this. If that changes, I'll be sure to edit this and update you in future notes. Thank you for all your love on this story, it motivates me to write more everyday, and I appreciate you. xoxo -woni

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on previous chapters, don't worry because i've already added you :)

continue to part five (coming soon)

82 notes · View notes

sky-scribbles · 10 months ago

Text

There are a lot of things to love about the SSV Normandy. It’s a symbol of cooperation between two species historically at odds. It’s a miracle of engineering, a technological masterpiece that could alter every pattern of space warfare. Its crew is the highest calibre that the Alliance has to offer, bolstered by multispecies allies: an emblem of flying hope.

It also has far, far too many flashing lights. Everywhere.

One hand pressed to the wall to keep himself steady, the other pressed against his forehead as if that’s going to do any good, Kaidan shuffles down the hall toward the med bay. Every light panel and display interface feels like a laser drill boring directly through his eyes, sounds reverberate against the inside of his skull, and his sense of balance is a distant, pleasant memory. Kaidan sucks in a tight breath between his teeth. It’s going to be okay. He can do this. He’s done it before.

He drags himself the last few feet, and the med bay doors slide open. Kaidan opens up his omni-tool – god, why are those so bright, too? – and does what he’s done a hundred times, scanning the medical interface so that the med system logs him. Doctor Chakwas isn’t here, which means she’s on her rest shift, but that’s fine. The med system will alert her if there’s a problem.

Kaidan, turns, so ready to collapse into the nearest med bed – except he can’t. Because there’s someone already in it.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Hey, Tali.’

‘Hey, Lieutenant.’ She still seems shy about using his first name. Maybe it’s a habit from being raised on board ships, or maybe she’s just not sure if she’s allowed. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I will be once the pain meds kick in.’ Kaidan makes it to the next bed along and finally, finally lies down and shuts his eyes. ‘Doctor Chakwas is just… pretty strict about me coming here whenever a migraine kicks in. Just in case it’s a sign of something going wrong with my implant.’

Through the fog of everything hurts, it finally surfaces in his brain that Tali in the med bay is… that’s bad, right? ‘What about you? Are you, you know –?’

Okay, he’s not sure how to finish that sentence. There’s probably not a polite way to say hey, are you here because you’ve picked up a fatal illness?

He cracks one eye open, just enough to see her looking glumly at him. He’s not sure how he can tell that she’s glum when all he can see is her eyes, but yeah. She’s glum. ‘You know how I took a hit on Feros?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And how I disinfected it, and used my patch kit on the suit breach, and told Shepard I was fine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I was not fine.’ She slumps down miserably. ‘My throat is full of painful slime, my sinuses are on fire, and my halesh –’ Okay, that’s obviously some piece of quarian anatomy – ‘is more gummed up than I can describe.’

Kaidan shuts his eyes again. ‘Well, my skull feels like it’s slowly contracting and crushing my brain, so… I sort of feel you.’

She laughs weakly. ‘I should have run an extra med scan once I got back to the Normandy. I just – I wanted to help with the engine maintenance today. And there’s this combat drone design I’m working on. And now…’ There’s a sound of movement; Kaidan gets the impression that she’s gesturing at the med bay in angry helplessness.

‘I feel that too.’ And he does. He really does. This isn’t the worst migraine he’s ever had – he can actually hold a conversation, which some days would be beyond him. But it’s… it’s not great. And he had things to do. Ash was running a drill and wanted him to look over her plans. He had a cleaning shift at fourteen hours. Shepard wanted to talk strategy for Noveria. And yes, he knows he has a right to take time off for a medical issue. He knows he’s no use to Ash or Shepard or anyone when he can’t even walk in a straight line. But knowing that doesn’t quite get rid of the squirm in his belly, the one that feels like letting people down.

Tali’s quiet for a minute, aside from the ever-present, barely-audible hum of her suit systems, and the occasional sniff from behind her helmet. Then she says, unexpectedly, ‘I’m just… I’m so tired. You know what I mean?’

Kaidan’s head throbs. He swallows. ‘Oh, yeah.’

The constant vigilance. Always having to be careful about where he goes – is this room too bright? Is this one too loud? – in case something triggers another bad spell. Taking hits to the head in a fight that anyone else could just shrug off, but that for him mean another trip to the med bay to make sure his implant isn’t damaged. Trying to do his job and suddenly finding, no, he can’t, because his body has decided that today’s the day he just doesn’t get to function.

Tali… she must go through the same awful deal, just in a different flavour. Always being careful, so careful. Someone else’s minor injury being her okay, let’s get a med check to make sure I won’t die. It’s not the same, of course: Kaidan can eat food without filtering it, touch people without protective layers, see people’s faces without a tinted mask. Still… there’s a tone in her voice that he knows from his own.

There’s a heavy silence. Then Tali says, ‘You know what’s really stupid? I left my datapad in my cabin, so I can’t even watch vids.’

Kaidan smiles. He’s seen her down in Engineering, a few times, hands flying around over the machinery, rocking back and forth on her heels. Idleness obviously doesn’t suit her. ‘You can borrow mine, if you like.’

‘Really?’ Her voice is already brighter. ‘I mean – won’t the noise will make you feel worse?’

‘Nah, I’ll be good.’ He’s not just saying it; there’s a blissful numbness creeping through his head which means that his meds are finally getting to work. He fishes the datapad from his pocket, taps in his passcode, and hands it over. ‘What kind of vids do you like?’

Her whole being perks up – tone, body, everything. ‘Oh, all of them.Any genre, any species. I mean… asari vids can be a bit long. I mean, they’re made by people who can spend a decade making a vid and a whole day watching it. Turians… their vids can be a bit depressing. There’s a lot of ‘this war ended with almost everyone dead, but one turian is still standing, so it’s a victory!”

‘What about quarians? What kinds of stories do your people tell?’

A small laugh echoes inside the helmet. ‘Quarian vids are pretty limited by environment. We don’t have a lot of varied sets to work with. So we tell the best long-running dramas. There’s one ship in the Flotilla that’s been hosting the same series for over eighty standard years now. Following the crew as they change over time, that sort of thing.’ She taps the base of her helmet. ‘It’s pretty good, but… I think if you watched it, you’d think there were a lot more explosions, murders and shipwide romantic entanglements in the Flotilla than there actually are.’

‘Human dramas are like that too.’

Tali laughs. ‘Quarian dramas make human dramas look relaxed.’

Kaidan finds he’s actually able to grin. ‘So what do human vids tell you about us?’

Her helmet tilts as she considers. ‘That you’re very individualistic. I mean, not every human culture. But you put a lot of focus onto characters and personal journeys.’ She scrolls down the datapad screen – looking through vid lists, presumably – then stops. It’s hard to tell, but Kaidan thinks she might be frowning. ‘I did notice… in a lot of human media, the biotics are…’

Another insistent pulse of pain through his temples. Kaidan sighs. ‘Crazy extremists?’

‘Yes. Do you… do you mind if I ask why that is?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Kaidan turns onto his back and stares up at the dim ceiling. ‘A lot of the early generation of biotics, the ones who got the same implants as me… let’s just say I got off lightly. Most ended up with much more serious medical conditions. And when people found out about the side effects of the L2 implants, the media got the bit between its teeth and –’ Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to translate. ‘Sorry. Human saying. They got a certain impression, and they ran with it.’

Tali’s quiet for several seconds. Kaidan twists his head to face her, and sees the pale eyes behind the mask giving him a long, steady look.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. And then, after a moment, ‘They tell lies about us, too.’

Kaidan holds her gaze, and feels terribly, achingly sad. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I bet they do.’

The way people look at Tali as she walks through the Presidium… it’s familiar. Not quite the same. There’s a note of scorn in the looks they give to Tali – but there’s suspicion, too, and that’s something he knows. All the times back on Earth, after he got back from Jump Zero, when he shook someone’s hand or opened a door, and their eyes found the implants. They way they stared at him like he was a loaded gun. All the documents he had to fill out to do anything, the knowledge that any government he lived under would always be hovering a few steps away, keeping tabs, making sure.

Remembering Rahna – remembering that obvious, instinctive fear in her eyes – is an old memory now, the kind that’s a faded scar. But he remembers the shock of it, back when he was seventeen. When no one had looked at him like that before, and it was dizzying and new and felt like a hole in his gut.

He bets Tali has that hole in her gut all the time.

Kaidan pushes himself up a little – which makes his brain spin, but he manages it – and gives Tali a smile. ‘Well. Let’s look for something that gets us both right.’

‘Definitely.’ She flicks through the options for a minute more, then pauses. ‘Have you ever seen Fleet and Flotilla?’

‘I think I’ve heard of it.’ There’s a faint memory of seeing an ad for it, maybe, and thinking it was the kind of thing he’d have loved as a kid. Space exploration. Justice. Love. ‘The… war romance, right?’

‘Yes!’ Tali’s legs bounce. ‘It’s – keelah, it’s so good, it’s – it’s about this girl, Shalei, who’s on her pilgrimage. And she’s interested in the geth, because she’s got this dream of finding a way to defeat them and take back the Homeworld, right? And when she finds something, she goes to the Citadel for help, but no one will listen except this one turian called Bellicus –’

‘Hold up. Wasn’t that… exactly what you were doing when we met you? Minus the turian, I mean.’

Tali ducks her head, suddenly shy. ‘I… I really, really like the vid.’

No kidding. Kaidan smiles. ‘So let’s watch it.’

His head still feels like a bombsite, and when he thinks about all the things he wants to be doing for his crew and isn’t, the rest of him hurts too. But maybe he’s still doing something for his crew, sitting in the med bay with his sick squadmate – his sick friend – and sharing her favourite vid with her. Maybe he’s doing something for him, too. He doesn’t do that too often.

Tali props the datapad up on the table between their beds, her whole body one big smile. ‘You’re going to love this,’ she promises, and presses play.

#sometimes your disability gives you a day tm so you write 1900 words about ME1's disability duo #i love their friendship. beloved nerds.#(if you're wondering 'did i see this two hours ago?' I accidentally posted it while I was still editing.#and I deleted it until I was ready to post because I'm a perfectionist)#mass effect #mass effect fic #kaidan alenko #tali'zorah #sky's writing

281 notes · View notes

slowd1ving · 9 months ago

Note

Hello can u write a Dokja x Medusa!male!reader please

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR GORGON ゜゜・KIM DOKJA

'You listening, Dokja? Maybe if you followed the guides for dealing with intelligent species like this one, you wouldn't be in such a stupid mess.' yall think aegis can be used as a different sort of barrier?!?! sorry anon this is less mythology centric than i planned icl art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! pairing: kim dokja + male reader warnings: canon typical danger, mentions of self-sacrifice wc: 2.9k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There exist several unspoken rules when interacting with the particularly volatile species integrated onto Planetary System 8612. Most ‘monsters’ are unable to effectively communicate with the main intelligent species in the domes, thus are doomed for imminent slaughter. However, exceptions like the catalyst behind these reports must be treated with particular regard.

Guidelines will serve you well in the coming days, reader. If you’ve accessed these reports, it probably means the days are bleak and you’ve encountered one of these species. One thing is for certain; if you are reading this, you will survive your encounter with a gorgon.

< Observation log, section 1 > (Relative Earth time 21/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPT OF RECORDING

‘Rule number one: if possible, do not engage with a gorgon. Though, considering your perusal of these records, it seems this was not successful on your end. Better luck next time!’

‘Sooyoung-ah, don’t be ru—’

Avoidance was always a good policy when it came to the apocalypse. It saved time, toil, and lives—much like a vaccine helped one bypass a virus. But one couldn’t rely on it entirely; neither vaccine nor evasion was infallible after all.

‘If they were, these records would not need to exist.’

And for humans, their biggest hamartia was their ignorance. Nerve cells could only do so much to detect dangerous stimuli and trigger a reflex for flight. If the hazard was less obvious, much more innocuous, then the poor human would only be wading into quicksand if they weren’t smart enough. Right before getting devoured.

‘Of course that squid was the blind one who got us into this mess.’

Just like these unspoken rules, it was de facto that Kim Dokja was unlucky. Unfortunate. Ill-destined. However you chose to put it, the man was born under a cursed star, which meant that the stranger sitting across from him in the park was naturally part of his jinx as well.

“What are you staring at?” Unlike the squid wearing his stupidly pristine coat, the man sitting on the bench facing him appeared to be a student: civilian wear and a lanyard still around your neck, like you’d frozen in time these past few months. Glasses rested on your nose, which you pushed up each time they slipped—even if they moved only minutely.

Perhaps you were nervous, but the caustic indifference in your tone suggested it was an unlikely possibility.

“Ah, sorry. I have a habit of looking at interesting people,” he laughed your question off, but the lack of information on you, coupled with the fact he didn’t recognise who you were, gave him the answer he needed. You weren’t a part of the original novel. “Uh, it’s a nice park, isn’t it? Lovely statues.”

You glanced at the reader, unimpressed. Just like that handsome bastard, there was that same impassive scowl plastered on your face. But as soon as he’d mentioned the sculptures scattered around this surprisingly lush pocket of Seoul, your face had softened somewhat.

“Art major?” he probed, for there was something about your gaze that drew words from his mouth. Or perhaps it was just how surreal this scene was: someone enjoying the park like anyone before the paid service began, just some guy taking a breather from classes with a thick, bound book beside him.

A ballpoint pen, rather than a sword or any other weapon. Blue ink, instead of bloody atrament.

You were a part of this world, yet detached from it all.

“No, chemistry,” you said. Deadpan, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m specialising in geochemistry. Rocks, soil, minerals. Humans do so underappreciate what goes on beneath their feet.”

Specialising. Present tense. Not specialised.

Humans: like you were utterly detached from anyone and everyone.

His breath caught in his throat.

The urging of constellations reminded him of just the situation he was in—about to run out of time in this sub-scenario, where hordes of monsters would soon swarm. Right in this very park.

“Listen, you’ll need to get out of here soon—there’s going to be swarms of insect-like creatures here in, uh, five minutes give or take. You’ll be in danger if you can’t fight,” he swallowed. A look of disdain flickered in your eyes, and his head throbbed with how much your expressions resembled that sunfish bastard’s. You’re the idiot, your brows indicated, while the set of your mouth held only one question: who said I couldn’t fight? In the same strand of thinking, the sudden curdle of your shoulders—hunched, guarded—seemed to gesture and who are you to tell me that?

‘If only you knew back then.’

In short, you could fight. You could fight, and you were absolutely terrifying to watch.

“Aegis,” you whispered, and the statues seemed to continue in susurration with you as the air warped in on itself. Dokja was thrown back by the shockwave as the space rippled—all in time for the main guests of the sub-scenario to arrive.

Insect mutations.

They crashed right into the distortions. A barrier. You’d set up an impenetrable defence in less time it took for him to draw breath, only for him to keel over behind you instead. Wow. Okay. He could still work with that.

“What are you—”

“Silence.” It would’ve stung less if you just told him to shut up instead, but from the very get-go you were never particularly nice. Kind? Somewhat, in the sense you’d viewed him as some useless, bumbling fool that would be better off behind the translucent shield you’d conjured. But nice? No, from the very beginning, you were never nice.

‘Deserved.’

That was fine. Bearable. Still in the realms of believability.

For Kim Dokja, the shock came after watching your hand raise to your face to slip your glasses off. From the back, he could no longer see the stern expression you no doubt wore. But he wasn’t focused on your face, but rather the warmth of the day instantly seeping from the molecules.

Time itself froze, and the insects did too.

No one breathed, and not a singular sound rang out—save something hissing. A tire, perhaps, but nobody was fool enough to simply drive cars during the apocalypse.

Then came the stirring of your clothes. It was a breeze only you felt, rippling and undulating until your hair moved too. Except it wasn’t the wind that hissed, nor was it the wind that wafted the coils. No, they twisted into thicker, scaly locks—snake-like, except these were snakes suddenly attached to your head. It was no longer a simile, nor was it a metaphor.

You had fucking snakes in your hair.

His breathing was shallow; in the sudden frigid climate, those puffs crystallised and condensed in small white clouds.

And what of those insects?

His eyes flicked back to the ground shakily, to where the arthropods lay crumbling. Statues, like the ones he’d complimented brief minutes ago. Pearlescent marble—no, stone. Your glasses were still grasped tight in your hand, and he knew if you turned to meet his wide-eyed stare he’d be next. But, alas—

“Who… are you?”

‘And this is how Kim Dokja put his foot in his mouth and demonstrated his exceptionally poor luck.’

< Observation log, section 2 > (Relative Earth time 24/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPT OF RECORDING

‘Rule number two: do not stare into the eyes of a gorgon. Don’t even look, except for when there are protective measures in place. Case one: a blindfold. Case two: glasses, which he literally wears every minute of the day save for when he’s sleeping. Dokja, do not sneak up on the man when he’s sleeping.’

‘Dokja, you suck.’

It wasn’t often you let down your guard, with writhing, clawing humans nonetheless. Pointing fingers to find the monsters under their beds and threatening their cities—when in fact it was their bellicose faults that doomed them. A self-made end, a fitting conclusion for the snake that bites its own tail. If you had ever been human once, these people shared more blood with the beasts than they thought.

Point was: you didn’t particularly care for those who appeared to be like you. Bodies, soft and squishy from a life coddled in cities; smiles duplicitous and more monstrous than any snarl; and their thoughts, often more heinous than any demon. And despite their sins, they’d meander in life wrapped in the bliss of self-ignorance. Dead in their varying morals like shrouds of far-too different cloths.

In this, no human was the same. This was the philosophy that alienated yourself from your sisters.

This was also the philosophy that landed you in a warm, damp place—completely dark with something poking at your cheeks. Correction—even through the thin membrane and slightly thicker skin that covered your eyes, there appeared to be a dim redness seeping into the edges of blackness. It seemed your blood vessels were alit by some foolish beastling. Almost like the golden chariot was prancing afore your eyes, except only Aeos of the Dawn was trotting along your lash line with a proud toss of his shrunken head.

Your fingers twitched inside your sleeping bag, but you forced a deep breath in before you could hear any hissing.

Actually, you knew exactly who was prodding at your cheek with a frigid index finger; the faint brush of his scent gave him away almost instantaneously.

“Kim Dokja. Are you an idiot?” you ground out, eyes still tightly shut to avoid turning this fool to stone. “I’ve already agreed to travelling with your circus, so I’d prefer you refrain from getting petrified.”

“You really do sound like him when you’re irritated,” he let out with a suppressed snort.

“Aegis,” you whispered, and the impertinent hand ceased its movements.

The barrier was not, in fact, activated.

“Gave me a bit of a fright there,” he swallowed. “I just wanted to say, it’s fine if you open your eyes.”

“No,” you deadpanned. Though you couldn’t see the expression, you could feel your facial muscles twitch into an impassive wall. “Don’t involve me with your stupid plans to kill yourself off.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he corrected himself. Were all humans like this when you lived as one? “It just won’t work on me. Me alone, which is why I locked the door so no one could come in.”

“Why?” He was a fool like the rest of them—risking peril for a glimpse of cursed eyes. Like all of man, his hubris rested heavy on his shoulders.

“I just want to see your smug face without any glasses.”

“You’re looking at it presently,” you argued. Though your ire was evident with your furrowed brows, he didn’t relent. Where was that puny man who’d trembled behind you at the sight of insects? More importantly, how had he changed so quickly?

“With your eyes open,” he clarified. He was more insane than anyone you’d ever met.

“Does it really make a difference?” you stalled. “How can you be sure you won’t suffer the effects as every other human and beast does?”

“You care about me that much?”

It was a quiet question. A tentative venture into teasing, yet strangely vulnerable.

“You worried?” he echoed. It was a weak aegis of his own, already prepared to accept your scoff and firm no.

“Fool.” Both the skin eyelids and the thin membrane unsheathed haunting irises. You already knew what you’d see in them—a milky sort of quality to their natural colouring, even without the extra membrane. Slit pupils dilated minutely at the sight of him, and his breath caught in his throat as you gazed upwards, unblinking.

Fool. The word echoed in his mind, an answer to his question but not at the same time.

I’m not worried.

Peering, your claws gently grazed his face: almost a kiss, if a kiss left a slight sting behind.

“I’m always worried about you, Kim Dokja,” you murmured, and it was perhaps then that his heartbeat grew erratic. Staring into those pretty eyes of yours with your thumb tenderly swiping across his flushed cheekbones, it was no wonder he could taste his very pulse. “Remember our first meeting?”

“How could I forget?”

A back facing his hunched form, more dependable than the shield spreading and curling beneath your mighty palms. Snakes coiling down your back, but there was nothing scary about how they swayed like ribbons in the sunset. And finally those eyes, directly protecting him from the swarms of insects.

No, perhaps it was then when the thrum of the organ grew somewhat more rapid.

‘Glad you realised.’

< Observation log, section 3 > (Relative Earth time 03/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPTION OF RECORDING

‘Rule number three: do not feed the snakes. Do not feed the snakes, Dokja. DO NOT FEED THE GODDAMN SNAKES.’

“Is Kim Dokja a masochist?”

The question, like most questions, came out of the blue. Such an innocuous, casual tone veiled your usual clipped syllables that Han Sooyoung found herself seriously internalising your words, before—

“What— koff— huh?” she spluttered against the sudden taste of her lemon candy, expression turning troubled, then incredulous.

“Does he take pleasure in torturing himself?” you clarified, as though it were a matter of comprehension rather than tact.

‘I knew what a masochist was! Why would he ask that?’

“If it’s Dokja, probably,” she coughed finally. Honestly, she’d pondered this very question herself—staring deadpan at the numerous deaths he’d experienced by his own plans. “Uh, just so we’re clear, why do you ask?”

“Is it normal to try to feed my snakes?” Definitely not.

“That… idiot did what?” she stared at the resident gorgon with quite the perplexed expression, but soon regained her composure. “No, not particularly. Are they… venomous?”

“Yes. Very much so. Please tell him to quit.”

Yet, despite all the half-hearted chidings of you and Sooyoung alike, your little snakes were beginning to grow fat and affectionate towards the man. You could feel something fundamental begin to shift, and it wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling.

< Observation log, section 4 > (Relative Earth time 14/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPTION OF RECORDING

‘Rule number four: gorgon venom should not be ingested. If you are Kim Dokja, this applies perhaps most poignantly to you. You may be immune to its effects for whatever reason, but the venom is a nightmare to get out of clothing. Thanks.’

“An experiment?”

Kim Dokja’s face didn’t change from his usual, vaguely blurred visage; but it wasn’t like snakes had particularly good eyesight regardless. “Yes. Would you be up for it?”

You’d agreed on a whim. Why the experiment was to take place in a closed room, you didn’t particularly know. Maybe humans encountering an apocalypse had special customs to adhere to. “I am familiar with experimental protocol in laboratories and practicals.”

“Would you like to help me upgrade my poison-immunity skill?”

You’d initially refused outright—struck dumb at how recklessly he treated his life. Every time you thought he was a fool, he proved himself even more foolish—a crazed endeavour if you ever saw it.

Gorgon poison. Released in more diluted doses from the snakes on you, concentrated particularly in the bone-white fangs in your mouth. Like a vampire, Yoo Sangah had excitedly noted: much too excitedly for your liking.

Bite me, he asked you.

A pale wrist was held out cautiously in front of him. The air was no longer mere air, but an ancient altar dedicated to this sacrifice. Thus, you were the priest for this rite once more, but this time the ram carried the bronze knife itself.

He’s an idiot, you seethed, yet you were too.

For you suggested a less painful way of transferring venom, but he agreed. For you gently clasped his chin with razor sharp talons skimming the dermis of his throat, but he melted pliantly in your hands. For you leaned in with softened eyes, but his own simply fluttered shut in anticipation.

You surged, pressing him against the cold cement of the wall. Air was robbed from his lungs as he gasped, but rather than pulling back his warm, human hands merely wrapped around your nape to meld your body against his.

Why did his hands shake so? Was this not just an experimental procedure dedicated to strengthening a human?

Despite your analytical mind, your eyes closed too—both membrane and skin—and you savoured the lingering taste of the meaty dinner he’d eaten, and the underlying flavour of him. Hot blood pumped beneath his fragile oral mucosa; your greedy, long tongue prodded his own to find just where his pulse thrummed the strongest.

Ah, fuck, he thought dumbly; sloppily making out with you in a forgotten room was not how he’d envisioned this night, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Even as he winced with sharp pain when your fangs cut his lips, he couldn’t pull back—objective achieved but long forgotten. Those pesky, wandering hands of his clung onto your body when his head canted: deepening the kiss rather than wrapping up his poison exposure.

Iron tainted his mouth. Dripping past the seams of desperate lips was the crimson mixture of blood and venom, dripping onto his sweater and corroding the very threads—yet Kim Dokja both did not notice and did not particularly care.

But all good things came to an end. The two of you were met with an extremely exasperated Han Sooyoung at the door as she gave you a look, one that implied I expected better from you. For Dokja, the reserved expression was I expected this, to be honest.

‘PDA is not appreciated during the apocalypse. Take that shit elsewhere.’

‘Thus, these reports can be summarily concluded in two points of advice:

1. Unless you are Kim Dokja, do not attempt any of these activities with a gorgon.

2. Simply don’t do what Kim Dokja does.’

#slowd1ving #res ･ﾟ writing #x reader #x male reader #ask slowd1ving #male reader #orv #orv x reader #orv x male reader #omniscient reader's viewpoint x reader #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscent reader #omniscient reader x reader #reader squared or smt #kim dokja #kim dokja x reader #kim dokja x male reader #kdj x reader #kdj x male reader

244 notes · View notes

bunny-jpeg · 6 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/bunnys-kisses/768349619894861824/im-holding-your-hand-when-im-saying-this-as-a?source=share

people started asking crane (Max’s friend) on stream if Lestappen (Charles and max) is real. I think he was like “I shouldn’t be furthering/entertaining this” (I forgot what he said word for word). People took it as something to be excited about, that the drivers are aware of the ships and all, but idk. I think fandoms are getting too bold for my liking. I have no problem with shipping, but this parasocial behaviour is out of hand. I saw this when 1D was still a group (with Harry x Louis shippers harassing Louis to the point where he got so upset when the ship was referenced in the popular show Euphoria), I’ve seen it with Kpop in which idols have stopped hanging out publicly because fandoms get out of hand (a girl in the group Aespa had a boyfriend earlier this year and fans got very upset because they shipped her and another member and they broke up. A few years ago, 2 members of two different kpop groups (SNSD and EXO) dated and the girl got harassed at the airport even). And now this.

Fandoms get so parasocial so quickly, it’s insane. It’s not new behaviour, but it’s strange.

exactly, this isn't new behavior. but i feel like it's become more emboldened with how much more "online" both fans and companies/groups are.

more under the cut, because this is a long one....

i also think it ties into this notion that i've been seeing online about how fans have this feeling to be "right" both with rpf and fiction as well. that their theories, opinions and whatever else is "correct". i've seen this with like pieces of media like steven universe and even star wars. like fandom isn't fun anymore, it has become this weird one up over each other. i honestly don't know when this changed, my guess is around the pandemic when it seemed like people were more logged into the internet. but, i could be wildly off with that. (if you have an idea, i'd love to know). it just feels stupid in so many ways how fandoms are structured. even if you're not the "best" artist or writer, people can't have FUN in fandom - of course that doesn't mean it has to be absolved criticism. you can have fun and still call out hate within spaces. the issue with formula one (along with k-pop like you mentioned, anon), is that these aren't characters. this isn't arguing in the tags over is finnpoe or reylo is more valid or legitimate within the narrative. these are REAL people, with REAL friends, families and partners.

it's this weird push to have someone's theory - and while i have a soft spot for lestappen, it is at the end of the day nothing more than fan theory - be confirmed. also personally, if hattie (oscar's sister) or crane (max's friend) "outed" them, i would be horribly fucking offended on oscar/max's behalf. to have someone you TRUST just out you like that. it's sick. maybe it's because i worked in queer spaces from high school all the way through uni, and the number one rule no matter WHAT, is you never out someone. even if the question is harmless and the person asking has no ill intention. you never out another person, because it's not YOUR coming out. so the fact that fans are near begging these people to OUT their loved ones, is not only a level of delusion that i can't ever comprehend. but, also it could honestly, ruin that interpersonal relationship.

so like even if a driver is queer, whoever it may be. could be a driver from the 90s, could be a driver today, it could be a driver in five years, i don't want someone else in their life outing them. because that's THEIR story. and fans need to realize that. bothering crane or hattie or alexandra (i've seen that too) - isn't helping anyone and it makes you look unhinged and weirdly alienates not only the driver but their loved ones. YES, they knew it exists, it is EVERYWHERE. but shoving it in their faces doesn't help. and you're never going to get the confirmation because there is a high chance that their not even queer to begin with. and if they are, NOT OUR CONCERN

i don't have a problem writing or consuming rpf, it is not a crime nor do i think it should be stopped. like HAVE FUN. but you have to realize that it's not like debating star wars or marvel or whatever other piece of fictional media. formula one is REAL, they are not actors. they are athletes, and unless you want all rpf to be shut down some how. i suggest the likes of some of ya'll need to understand that there are different boundaries. and respect them.

i know they're all millionaires, but they still breathe and bleed as a friend of mine once said. it's fun to put them in little scenarios in fanworks, but just keep it out of their direct attention. there are unspoken boundaries, that some of ya'll need have said to you apparently.

asking oscar issac if he THINKS that finnpoe is real is VERY different than asking someone's sister if she thinks her REAL LIFE BROTHER is fucking his REAL LIFE TEAMMATE. - people's relationships have turned to ash over insistent rpf in their faces all the time.

my advice at the end of the day is: have fun, don't write or draw it because you want confirmation that it's a real relationship. write or draw it because you're having fun. fandom is about making friends and shipping in whatever context is about finding a slice of community on the vast internet, not cracking the code of if it is a real relationship. - bunny.

#bunny speaks #formula one #f1 #lestappen #max verstappen #charles leclerc #fandom woes #formula 1 #lando norris #oscar piastri #landoscar

97 notes · View notes

perseephoneee · 5 months ago

Text

sleigh ride [ficmas day 8] [castiel x reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

author's note: this is a day late bc my stomach has been killing me and also i was hella sleep deprived but you know what it's fine totally fine nothing to see here

playlist:

winter wonderland -- pentatonix

coffee -- tori kelly

7 o'clock news/silent night -- phoebe bridgers

You never thought about kids, not in your line of work.

The reasons people got into hunting were varied. Most of it was personal. For you, you just couldn’t deal with the knowledge of the supernatural world and not bother actually doing something about it. Even though you knew that doing so would likely mean a young death.

This is why you stopped thinking about kids; you’d likely never have them. But being stuck in Leavenworth, WA, with Castiel gave you the same kind of glee. You imagine parents likely got excited to watch their children experience Christmas for the first time. That’s the same joy you felt watching the angel observe all the twinkling lights around you.

The difference is that Castiel is not your child. And if he was, that’d be gross, considering you are harboring a major crush on him.

Maybe you should’ve thought of a different analogy.

You had been hunting with the Winchesters for a bit now. You all ran into each other on a ghost case. Your hula hoop of salt made their jaws drop, and the next thing you know, Sam is inviting you to hunt with them. You didn’t know that Castiel was a regular member of that group.

Even in his vessel, you could sense something otherworldly about Cas. There was a sort of preternatural stillness, an ancient gleam in his eyes otherwise juxtaposed by his lack of knowledge of human nature. It was so easy to get lost in his curiosity. Sometimes, when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but feel his gaze observing every molecule you were. Like he saw you better than anyone else.

Right now, you felt like you saw him better than anyone else, the angel so ready to give up everything for humanity. It was late, and snow was falling. You had all decided to take an extra night in Leavenworth after a Krampus case had gone wrong (don’t ask). Also, Baby was struggling to get out of the snow, and Dean was too wired up to ask for help. Fortunately, it was the Christmas season, and Leavenworth knew it. The town looked like the North Pole. You weren’t surprised it was a tourist attraction, not when there were actual reindeer and Bavarian-style buildings. The cup of hot cocoa you had earlier solidified this town as Christmas incarnate.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, watching Cas catch more and more snowflakes on him. He just shook them off.

“I don’t get cold.”

“Lucky you, I’m freezing,” you shivered, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. Your nose was ice cold, and your breath came out in puffs. Castiel frowned, walking back over to you. He shucked off his trench coat and put it over your shoulders. You felt your cheeks heat as he made sure you were adequately cocooned. The jacket was surprisingly warm. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“I do not want you catching a cold,” Castiel said. “I am ill-equipped to handle it.”

You laughed. His lips quirked for a second before settling into their normal neutral expression. You would give the world to see him smile.

“I’m going to go inside and get something to drink. Are you going to stay out here?”

“No, I will join you,” Castiel nodded. He paused for a second. “Is that alright? Dean often tells me people want alone time.”

You melted.

“Of course, it’s alright, c’mon,” you nudged him with your shoulder, still bundled in his jacket. You walked the short distance back to the inn. The idea of mulled wine sounded appealing at this moment. The inside was a picturesque log cabin with a roaring fire. You let out a sigh of relief from the warmth and were able to return Cas' jacket to him. You also were able to remove your hat and scarf. You probably looked like a sweaty mess, but you didn’t care. You chose a seat by the fire and tucked your legs under you as Cas came to sit across. A waitress came over a second later, and you ordered mulled wine for the both of you.

“I don’t really drink,” Castiel added after the waitress left.

“You can just tell me what the chemical compounds are,” you shrugged. Castiel looked out of place in his suit and tie. And yet, the light from the fire accenting his bone structure, contrasting the blue in his eyes, was enough to think that this was where he was always meant to be.

He was frowning at the tree.

“Why do humans put angels on their trees?” he inquired, brows furrowed. You looked up to see a stereotypical angel planted on top of the Christmas Tree. It had a little horn and everything.

“I think people like to imagine there’s someone watching over us, that we’re not alone,” you sighed, turning back to him. “Even if it isn’t true.”

“It’s true for some,” Castiel murmured. “I watch over you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, especially as Castiel looked at you with those intense eyes again. You had to wonder if he was really this clueless, or if he knew exactly the effect he had on you. You watched him lick a sauce off his fingers once, and it was enough to make you excuse yourself from the room.

The mulled wine arrived a moment later.

The spices were a perfect blend, and you felt yourself sink deeper into your chair as the alcohol invaded your system. Castiel took a sip and nodded.

“Mostly ethanol and water,” Castiel sipped it again. You grinned as he listed off the ingredients. He would ruin anyone who wanted to keep a secret ingredient.

“Last call for sleigh rides!” a man dressed as an elf called out, having come in from the front door. You perked up immediately. You had never been on a sleigh ride before but have always wanted to. You have a soft spot for horses.

“We should do that,” you jumped up, grabbing Castiel’s sleeve. He spilled the wine, but you were already out the door. You barely had time to throw on your hat and scarf as you were running after the elf man. Castiel, to his credit, kept up with you.

“One sleigh ride, please!” you said, breathless. The man just looked you up and down and then took your money as you jumped with glee.

“What is a sleigh ride?” Castiel questioned when he caught up. He was not out of breath.

“You get to sit in a sleigh and get pulled around by horses.”

“And this is entertainment?”

“It’s serene,” you smiled, getting good luck at the horses pulling your sleigh. They were beautiful Clydesdales, and even in their enormity, you weren’t intimidated. They were beautiful. Cas didn’t ask any further questions as you piled into the sleigh. You took one of the blankets provided and put it over your lap, bundling it up. The sleigh was going to pull you through the town, emphasizing the light installations and ice sculpting competition. The cold kissed your cheeks as the sleigh started moving.

You both sat in companionable silence as the sleigh ride started. It was so quiet, and you welcomed that peace. When did you ever receive peace such as this?

“I understand now,” Cas nodded. “Why you were excited over this.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Someone had built an igloo, and you took your phone out to take a picture. Castiel just looked at you.

“I don’t measure beauty the same way humans do.”

“How do you measure beauty?” you inquired. Some part of you was worried that whatever he was going to say would dash your dreams.

“By someone’s soul.”

That wasn’t the answer you were expecting, and you just blinked in response. It shouldn’t be shocking. You just never expected that maybe he would never see your face, only your soul. You wondered if your soul was beautiful.

You didn’t say anything as you passed through a light tunnel, the brightness contrasting with the night sky. You could fall asleep out here if you let yourself.

“What are you thinking?” Cas asked. He noticed your silence.

“Is my soul…?” you trailed off. You barely had the guts to say anything at all. Castiel’s gaze softened as if he understood.

“Your soul is like the North Star,” he answered simply. You kept looking at him. “It’s what one needs to follow to get themselves home.”

He was full of surprises tonight. You don’t remember anyone saying anything like that, especially not to you. How absurd was it that the first person to truly see you was not a person at all? Your heart picked up pace.

“Cas…” you murmured. He never looked away from you, was never shy. It was unnerving and intense. He would never be too scared and proceed to look away. You couldn’t help but look at his lips. He noticed. His hand came up and brushed loose hair away from your beanie, his fingers somehow still warm as they brushed your freezing cheeks. You sucked in a breath.

“I do not understand human courtship,” he whispered. “I would be interested in you showing me.”

You understood; how could you not? He just called you his home. You closed the distance between you two, going slow until you weren’t slow at all. Your hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him into you. You kissed him like you needed him to kiss you. Fortunately, Castiel was a quick learner. He nipped your lips and kissed your teeth like he had been doing it his whole life. You would sell your soul to kiss him for eternity, just like this. His hand was firm on your hip like he was afraid to touch anywhere else. You wished he would touch you everywhere.

You had to pull away for air, even if he tried to chase after your lips afterward.

“You’re a quick study,” you breathed a slight smile on your lips. Castiel grinned a true goofy smile that you had been yearning to see. You were the cause of that style.

“Anything for you,” he responded.

He kissed you until the sleigh ride was over, and the worker was rolling his eyes. He kissed you when you made it back to the inn, and you felt like you could feel his wings holding you closer. You would stay with him until you weren’t able to because with him, you were finally home.

taglist: @thefutureastronaut @lover-of-books-and-tea @qardasngan @evasmlp

#castiel #castiel x reader #misha collins #misha collins x reader #supernatural #supernatural fics #spn #spn fics #ficmas 2024 #ficmas #my writing

93 notes · View notes

moomine · 7 months ago

Text

come with me | jesper the guard

author's note: psa! this is total self-indulgence... the jesper the guard follower mod/skyrim guard tales literally have me giggling and kicking my feet (cover image credit)

summary: (jespertheguard x dragonborn!reader) (she/her pronouns) After the reader discovers she's the Dragonborn she bonds with Jesper, a Whiterun guard that understands her. The Dragonborn returns to Whiterun after a long time of adventuring and convinces him to leave the city and come with her.

word count: 1,627

warnings: mentions of blood/bloodshed, trauma very briefly explored (mostly fluff here)! all characters are 18+

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As of late, Jesper’s watchful eye felt less and less inquisitive and more so on the side of admiration. Underneath the protective sheath of his helmet, the young guard watched as you walked throughout Whiterun in awe. Upon your initial arrival, he was unsure of you. Who wouldn’t have been off-put by a young woman —dressed in ill-fitting Imperial armor, covered in scrapes and bruises, approaching the city gates with a dire look in her eyes? Better yet, someone who claimed she had information about the dragon attack on Helgen.

Within a short period of time, your name began to carry weight around Whiterun, and the word of the last Dragonborn consumed the entirety of Skyrim. Everyone, man and beast alike, sang praise of the rise of a new hero. Nobody saw you as the woman you truly were, a woman thrusted into a life of adventure and risk without much experience with either. Other than Jesper.

He was used to being overlooked, and when he was noticed it was typically at his own expense. The rest of the Whiterun guard took pleasure in tormenting him. Most of the time they were harmless pranks, just enough to make poor Jesper uncomfortable and his comrades laugh. His experiences outside of the city walls were vastly different. Maybe it was because Jesper took the time to get to know you before you absorbed that dragon’s soul, and the first cry of the Greybeards in centuries could be heard. Maybe because he took great concern at the sight of your disheveled appearance and the obvious shellshock in your eyes when he first saw you. Whatever it may have been, Jesper saw you as more than a hero. He saw you as the woman you were before your legendary quest began.

It had been a number of days since Jesper had seen your return to Whiterun, and his normal anxiety seemed to grow astronomically with each sun that set. When he finally saw you enter the Bannered Mare, seemingly unscathed but clearly exhausted, he felt a weight immediately lift from his shoulders. He watched from afar as you approached Hulda, handed her a fist full of gold, and took a chilly bottle of mead into your gloved hand. He felt his heart begin to race as you turned around and looked about the room, scanning the crowd of merry men and women chatting amongst themselves and listening to the sound of Mikael’s famously sweet lute. As your eyes met his masked face, he felt a smile spread along his lips without his knowledge. It was like an impulse. The second you saw him he felt lighter, felt seen. Somehow you always knew it was him.

You approached, armor clanging against itself as you walked, and nodded to the empty seat across from him with that tired smile of yours. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Jesper said, almost too quickly, and sat up straight.

You didn’t hesitate, dropping your heavy satchel to the floor as you sunk into the rather uncomfortable chair. A long, drawn out sigh blew through your lips. The wooden chair creaked beneath you, warping from the weight of your armor. By your reaction, Jesper would have thought that was the most comfortable chair you had ever had the pleasure to sit in. Realistically, he realized that might have been the first time you sat in a chair at all in days. Ashen logs crackled as the fire ate away at their bark flesh, filling the inn with warmth and the haunting smell of smoke. It had been several months since what happened in Helgen, but you were still tense around fire and smoke.

“You must have had quite the adventure,” he remarked with an amused voice.

“You could say that.” You sighed, popping the cork from your mead before taking a long gulp of the crisp ale. “How’s Whiterun been treating you?”

Jesper grimaced under his helmet. “You really want to hear about how I’ve been? I’m worried I’d bore you to death if I told you.”

“You could never bore me. You have no idea how much I miss the simple life.”

By your expression alone, Jesper could tell you were being genuine. You looked as though you needed to hear about something other than dragons and bloodshed for once.

“They won’t let me take gate duty anymore,” he paused, turning his attention to the wooden sword sheathed at his hip. “And I’m not allowed to carry a blade either.”

Your brows furrowed instantaneously, and you sat up in your chair. “What? Why?” you asked, your gaze piercing and angry.

Jesper felt a shiver go down his spine. “I let a thief into the city. So, now I’m stuck with tavern watch. Making sure drunkards don’t break out into fist fights or harass the barmaids, and all that.”

“As if there aren’t already thieves in this city. That’s outrageous. I’ll talk to the Jarl, we’ll sort this out. I promise-”

“Don’t…” His voice was weak, quiet. “I prefer this. The other guards don’t bother me here, and Hulda’s letting me rent the attic room. It’s better this way.” His eyes fell almost shamefully back to the toy he was burdened with.

“Why do you stay here?” you asked bluntly.

“What do you mean?” he responded, taken aback by your question.

“Why stay in Whiterun? You deserve so much more than this, Jesper. You’re capable of so much more.” You placed an assertive hand on the table, an offering. An understanding. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Come with me.”

Jesper’s face softened as he looked back to you, although you couldn’t see it. “I shouldn’t… I-I mean I can’t. I have a responsibility here. My life is here, in Whiterun. If I go now I’ll be letting everyone down. My family, my brothers and sisters in arms, the Jarl, maybe even you. I can’t just give up because some of the men tease me.”

“They aren’t just teasing you, Jesper. They’re cruel.” Your tone was stern but not harsh. It held a softness you saved just for him, for the rare moments where the two of you could talk. Truly talk. “Come with me. We could go to Solitude, you could join the Bard’s College.”

Your honesty was hard for him to digest, getting stuck in his throat as he tried to swallow the bitter truth. There was little left for him in Whiterun, other than his career and barely notable status. What little he had to his name was either already on his person or overhead, tucked away in that small attic room he had come to call home. Beneath his helm, Jesper’s eyes wandered away from the intensity on your face and toward the fire as it popped, cinders rising from the flames like torchbugs in the night. Your hands tensed, fingers curling into your palms to form fists, as you suppressed a flinch.

“You remembered that?” he asked earnestly, his gaze still fixed on the flickering flames ahead.

A sweet smile crept onto your face as you leaned closer, resting your elbows on top of the table now. “How could I forget? It’s your dream, isn’t it?”

“That’s all it is,” he mumbled. “Just a dream.”

“Don’t you see? We could make it a reality. You can make it a reality,” you said gently.

“I don’t know. They’ll consider me a deserter, you know? I’ll never be allowed within the city walls again.” The discouragement in his tone was starting to become disappointingly familiar to you.

You reached across the table and placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. “You, my friend, are fortunate enough to know the Thane of Whiterun, remember? It pays off to have friends in high places, huh?”

There was truth to what you were saying, but it was clear to Jesper that you were trying to ease his worries through humor. Since your arrival, he finally had a bit of influence in the city. Although, it was worthless without you physically there to back him up.

Silence fell over the two of you as you stared at one another. Mikael plucked the strings of his lute softly and the commotion of story-telling and conversation echoed throughout the room. Jesper weighed his options, grateful that the conflicted look that surely took over his face was hidden behind the veil of his helmet. After a long moment, he finally nodded, seeming far more sure of himself than before.

“Yeah, okay. If… if you’re certain, then I’ll come with you.” His voice was higher, more excited than before.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you replied.

Your face was lit up like the nearby fire, spreading warmth to Jesper’s cheeks as they flushed. Almost reluctantly, you peeled your eyes away from his face as you took one last swig from your bottle. The chair beneath you croaked as you pushed it back, scratching against the stone below. You came to your feet swiftly, despite how clearly fatigued you were. Jesper couldn’t help but frown as he watched you stand.

“Where are you going? The… the night’s still young,” he questioned. He didn’t want the night to end, to stop talking to you.

You smiled tenderly as you looked down at him. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ve had a proper night's sleep in days.” You bent over, grabbing your satchel and the rest of your equipment. “I expect to see you by the stables at sunrise. It’s a long ride to Solitude.”

“I’ll be there!” Jesper replied eagerly, watching as you walked away with a gleam in his eyes. You turned to him one last time with an affectionate smile, then closed the door to your room. “I promise,” he mumbled.

#x reader #reader insert #skyrim #skyrim x reader #jesper the guard #skyrim guard tales

145 notes · View notes

fanartlover1234 · 10 months ago

Text

SKIP

Y/n and Hook are dating but he has to make up for forgeting their anniversery

All day long Hook couldnt think of a rrason of why his sweet Y/n was off and kind of cold to him, her respones were short and she shyed away from his touch.

He decided maybe she just didnt feel like talking untill he walked to his room to find a little box on his bed with a little note that said 'happy one year' and he felt like driving a his hook through his head, how could he forget.

He opened the box to find a medalion in shape of heart and opening there was a picture of them both.

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

"Im not ditching class with you" Y/n said trying to get away from her boyfriend not wanting to let him convince her as she was still hurt by yesterday.

She without noticing fell into a slower pace as her boyfriend slowly walked backwards infront of her trying to meet her eyes.

"Class happens everyday, this one doesnt?" He asked still trying to find his way into her gaze.

Y/n noticed he didnt have his hook with him so he must have left it in hurry, i mean he practicly ran to her.

"I cant fall behind" she said coming to a stop and finaly meeting his eyes.

Her eyes looked down when his hand rested on her hip, giving it a little squeeze.

"Ill help you study" he said and she rolled her eyes knowing his version of study when he pulls her on to his lap when she would try to memorize something, he smirked when he saw her expresion.

He smirked even harden when she lowered her gaze, shuffling from one leg to another, a thing she did when she got nervous under his gaze.

"I have a test soon" she mumbled a excuse even she didnt believe enymore.

Hook moved the hand on her hip to hrr waist and pulled her into an empty hallway.

"Ja-" she froze when on of his hamds fell under her jaw squeezing just a little to make her lips part as his other hand fell on her waist.

He kissed her softlt making her brain log as he pulled her close.

One kiss led to another and soon a little moan when he pushed his leg betweem hers and he squeezed her neck and he gasp letting his tounge dance in her mouth.

And when the sixth kiss came, James laughed when his sweet girlfriend jumped because of the bell for class.

"Great now im late" she mumbled.

"Well not that you are late anyways" he said playing with her hair and squeezing her hip as he smirked whem her eyes tried to avoid his, a ting she did after a kiss "you can come with me now"

"James" she said with a small pout he found very cute as her doe eyes looked at him a bit annoyed "im going to class"

"Love, please just come with me it will be worth your time" he said.

"Class is important to me"

"This is more important" he said taking a hold of her waist and draging her with him but when she still refused he picked her up bridal style to carry her there.

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

What Hook had to show Y/n was truly nice, a picnik by the enchanted lake while watching the fairy blossoms open up for summer.

Hook had apologized for forgeting their 1 year but promised to never let it happen again no matter what.

Now Y/n was studying by her table catching up on astrology classes she missed, taking notes she borrowed from Bridget to copy.

Hook was laying on her bed, he'd be lying if he said his sweet Y/n studying wasnt a turn on.

"You said you will help me" Y/n said turning to see her boyfried only to quickly turn away and look at her notes at the sight of her boyfriend with no shirt.

Its not like she hasnt seen him shirtless before, they had fucked so she could never understand why she still grew shy at the sighy of it.

Hook chuckled as he leaned hisbhead to the side to see the sides of her cheeks a bit pink, his eyes trailing down to her thighs that were clenching together.

"I am"

"No you are not"

Hook got up walking over to where she sat placing both hands on the table at either side of her body.

"Fine. Let me help you now" he whispered and smirked seeing her legs start to rub together.

"With flashcards?"

"Later. For now" he said steping back and turing her chair around as he kneeled before her on one knee " id prefer if those pretty thighs clenched around me"

As those words left his lips, Y/ns face turned shades darker in red as her hands flew up to cover her face.

Y/n was never the one to admit she was horny or needed him, Hook just simply knew how to read her body language.

Hook got up reaching for her hands to pull them away so he could look her into eyes.

"No need to be embaressed darling" he said before kissing her " i got you" he said before his lips trailed down her neck.

His fingers slowly unbottoned her shirt before his lips latched to the top of her breast slowly going down to her skirt.

He lifted her up as he walked to the bed before his lips kissed her flods over her panties.

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

Y/n floped down breathing hard, het legs giving out when Hook finaly pulled out of her.

His fingers ran up her pussy as he spread the folds and toyed with the clit a big more.

"James"

"Im making it up to you, just one more love" he said before sucking her clit before going up to kiss her as he pushed hia dick back unside bow going in a god like pace.

Y/n s eyes rolled back as Hook braught his finger to her mouth and she gladly sucked them while she was on her 8th orgasm this night.

When Hook felt the girls last orgasm he pushed his fingets down making her gag a bit.

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

"Im sorry darling" Hook said again as he kissed the girls shoulder.

"Its okey"

Not my original idea, saw a post and loved it so gave it my twist.

Original idea belonhs to @giveityourworst and i love their work

#joshua colley x reader #descendants #descendants james hook #descendants joshua colley #descendants red #descendants chloe

118 notes · View notes

stillalivedcingscience · 10 months ago

Text

have something that’s been on my mind for awhile, gonna try to put it into words … try, anyway

this isn’t a post directed toward anyone or anything, it has no ill intent, me posting it is due to more of a curiosity if anyone out there feels similarly at all …

for a long while now, I find myself really drifting away from online objectum spaces … I feel more and more every day like I just can’t relate, not to the experience of being objectum, but like, idk, maybe the online “culture” or “vibe” I get off tumblr and discord both?

a little context … I’ve identified as objectum for over 10 years now … and blogged about it on my main accounts for over 10 years. But all that time, I’ve spent my time irl really dedicating a lot of my time and energy and life tbh toward my objectum loves … it’s taken me down a crazy, windy, terrifying, beautiful mess of a road irl

but

idk. While in the past, I never felt a rift between myself and tumblr objectum community, I feel one now, and I don’t know why. It makes me a bit sad. But “here” just feels … so online. I mean. It IS online … but it feels SO online. Does anyone relate to what I’m trying to say? Or am I totally alone in this?

i know that objectum is a completely unique experience to everyone who defines as it. I’ve always loved that about it. But I also always felt like I could log on tumblr and find a space that felt relatable to me. Maybe I’m just too old. Idk. I love all objectum people on principle. But I think the time when i could post here and people would genuinely relate to me may be over. Maybe I’m the one who’s grown unrelatable … the idea of that makes me sad. Idk.

anyone feel like giving me their two cents?

signed, a lost objectum sexual

#Objectum #:(

77 notes · View notes

phyrestartr · 2 years ago

Text

Till Death Do Us Part (Miguel x Reader)

Miguel x Husband!Reader W/C: 9.5k

#NSFW, exhibitionist kink, praise kink, hurt/comfort, infidelity, toxic relationships, brief verbal abuse, mending relationships, mentions of medication, mentions of mental illness, difficult/complex feelings and emotions, things work out in the end, nobody dies, the zombies aren't that important, old men just really going through it

Note: I cried a lot writing this lol please also cry and enjoy! (I also tried my best with the Spanish and tried to reference good sources, but I apologize if it sounds whack lol I only know EN and JP o(--( )

-- Till Death Do Us Part --

"(Name), where the fuck are you?" Miguel ran his hand through his hair as he watched the news, as he stared outside at the cascade of chaos. He waited for you to pick up the phone. He'd already called so many times, but you weren't picking up. Why weren't you fucking picking up?

"Miguel, he's probably fine," Dana cooed as her arms looped around him from behind. "You need to worry about what we're gonna do."

Miguel shook his head and shoved Dana's arms off of him. "Our daughter–Gabriella–"

"You mean our daughter?" Her tone was vile. So, so fucking vile.

"Shut up," Miguel barked before ripping the phone from his ear when your voicemail picked up again. He shot you another text, asking where you were before his fidgety fingers scrolled the log up and down, cruelly reminding himself of the messages he'd ignored from you just a few days ago.

November 18th 7:04am babe come home 7:04am please 12:19pm we can talk about it 12:20pm we'll figure it out 12:46pm gabi misses you 9:34pm call me tomorrow

November 19th 7:35am you still ignoring me? 7:40am gabi wants to call you 7:41am you gonna answer if it's her? 8:05am i'll tell her you're busy with work 9:50pm i miss you

November 21st 9:56pm call me

November 23rd 12:01am i shot someone 12:01am i had to 12:01am but i can't stop thinking about it 12:32am i need you 1:12am please 2:07am miguel

November 30th 7:16am miggs shit's crazy outside 7:17am lock the doors, don't let anyone inside 7:17am maybe stock up on food first idk this might take a while 7:18am but DON'T help anyone who's bit or injured 7:19am they evacuated gabi's school but i don't fucking know where they're going 7:19am i'm gonna find her, i promise 7:20am i love you. stay safe.

December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry

Miguel rubbed his eyes. He sped past his own wall of text starting from that day, December 3rd, and sent another plea, another wish that you'd respond back sooner than a week from now.

"Oh my God, just give it up–"

"Dana, shut the fuck up, just shut up."

He called you again.

And this time, you answered.

Miguel's heart jumped. "(Name)?"

"Babe?" You sounded like you were panting, like you were straining against something. "Are–are you okay? Where are you?" A string of coughs punched out of your lungs in rough staccato, pinching Miguel's nerves with every ghastly beat. He was scared. He was so fucking scared.

"I--I'm," Miguel stammered, still unable to have that conversation, still too much of a coward in the end. "Does it matter?"

"Just keep the doors locked," you continued. "Keep 'em locked, and…and I dunno if you're in a tower or a house or fucking whatever, but don't leave until things get quiet." You picked yourself up from the ground, Miguel could tell by the scratch of gravel echoing wherever you were. "Don't get bit. Don't help anyone who is bit. Put yourselves first."

"But, I–you–do you have Gabi?" Panic gripped his throat as jets flew overhead, high above the city. The engines roared a gruesome apology, a sound Ouranos himself must have made when his own children slew him, so filled with godly enmity.

Then, molten death rained on the city. Miguel stared at roaring explosions dotting the cityscape, watching pillars of flame feed into the world's chaos. His hands trembled when the same carnage screeched through your phone.

"I'll find her. I-I promise, Miguel, I'll find her and--and I'll–shit."

There was gunfire. Gunfire encased in wild snarling. It devoured the crack of plastic hitting concrete, the noises you gasped out, the–

Silence.

Miguel hated his mind. He hated how it remembered that one moment so clearly, like it'd happened just a minute before the present. Sometimes, when he felt like torturing himself more, he wondered what your face looked like in those last moments. He wondered where your life flickered out. He wondered when he'd see you stumbling through the streets and have to put a bullet in your head.

But he'd force good memories to the surface when he found the light growing too dim; that confession and first kiss, starry nights spent lazing on the hood of your jeep, the look on your face when you finally held little Gabriella for the first time–it all chased away the darkness. It all made him feel whole again, it let him see clearly again. But with clarity came the difficulty of accepting what he'd lost.

He found a way to do it. He found a way to talk about you, too. It was hard not to–your old colleagues, other officers of the lost world, were an integral part of the Alchemax colony. Jeff Morales and George Stacy, amongst a few others, had known you, and by proxy they knew Miguel.

"He was a good guy," Jeff had mentioned when the moment felt right. "Bragged about having the best-looking and smartest partner around. Now, I ain't gonna say he was right, but he wasn't wrong." That brought warmth to Miguel's chest, but guilt smothered it too quickly.

"Never stopped talking about your daughter either." George smiled when he recalled it, but it was something small and morose. "Gabriella, right? Yeah, he said she was a smart cookie. Kind of a brat, apparently, but hey, with that guy as her father? Hah! I'm not surprised."

Miguel liked having them around. He liked the happy memories they brought to your name.

But on bad days, vulnerable days, Miguel wanted to break their necks and watch them turn so he could kill them again in their undeath; they still had their children, their families. How could they bring up what he'd lost while they still had everything?

Today was one of those days, too, one where your memory hurt just a little more than usual. Maybe it came with the snow whirling in the blue-drenched outdoors, or the sudden darkness the world lost itself in. But he knew the frostbite decaying his heart came from the eternal proof of your lost existence:

December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry

Why did you apologize? Miguel sighed, and carded a hand through his hair as he paced Alchemax's halls. Enough of that, Miguel. You need to focus. Focus.

And once he stepped foot in the control room, the routine morning check commenced: doors remained sealed with no record of tampering, security cameras still functioned, the solar panels still collected more than enough light to keep things rolling. Good. Perfect.

"Hey, hey, how's it lookin'?" Peter asked, a cup of coffee in one hand and his little girl tucked in the other arm. It would've been a wholesome sight, if Peter hadn't ruined it with a too-loud slurp from his mug. Ugh.

"Fine," Miguel grumbled. "Everything's in the green. Nothing to worry about." He ran a hand over his face with a sigh. "Just have to clear the snow off the solar panels later today."

"Oooh, snow! It is that time of the year, huh? December already! Who woulda thought. Time goes by pretty quick when you're not worried about getting eaten all the time." Peter looked at his little May and cooed. "Isn't that right, Mayday?"

Miguel rolled his eyes fondly and shook his head. "If you're that excited about snow, I'll put you on shovelling duty, Parker."

"Oh, wow, I'm suddenly deaf and can't hear you." Peter shuffled away in his stupid slippers and stupid bathrobe. "Oh, right, right, MJ made bread! Can you believe it? I feel like I haven't had a bread-carb in forever! We really gotta do another supply run or we're eating canned beans all winter long. Y'know what? I'll put it on the 'to-do' list!"

Miguel threw a glare at Peter over his shoulder. He was annoying, but he wasn't wrong. They did need more food, more supplies, more ways to sustain themselves. Scavenging the dregs of supermarkets and convenience stores wasn't cutting it anymore; there were too many mouths to feed, and shitty, packaged foods wouldn't suffice much longer.

Miguel braced his hands on the centre console after pulling up a satellite map of the surrounding area. The lab they called home laid nestled away from prying eyes of citizens, making it a safer place to start to rebuild the semblance of a normal life. Though, at the same time, it made it more difficult to get in and out of the city in good time. They had to pick their destination on the map, calculate the time it'd take to get there, and then execute the plan with little to no hiccups. It was hard. It was a pain in the ass. But it had to be done.

Miguel took his time scanning through the map, trying to spot any buildings they hadn't already marked off as empty and not worth the trip. These days, they had to get creative, they had to think of places that'd have food where people wouldn't expect, where the average scavenger wouldn't think to look and–

"Shit," Miguel breathed before rushing to move the map. "How could I forget?"

He spotted a small building on the map, one they'd never ventured to, one they never thought to go to. A chain link fence surrounded the perimeter, giving about five metres worth of breathing room around the building. Clusters of huge garden pots dotted the area randomly, along with whatever outdoor trees and shrubs that'd survived all these years on their own.

Miguel covered his mouth as he smiled.

"You might've just saved us, viejo."

Because you were a country boy. A farmer's son.

You convinced (begged) him to pull over, to go to the new garden store that'd appeared not too long ago. Miguel, far too smitten with you, couldn't find the heart to say 'no' to the excitement buzzing in your voice.

The store was filled with beautiful plants, ranging from common houseplants, to tropical rarities that Miguel never knew existed. All sorts of bushy plants, tall single-leafers, and vining beauties lined the displays and bathed in the gentle, constant mist raining down on them. It really felt like a tropical jungle landed in New York.

You'd sauntered over to the seed section while Miguel wandered through all the store had to offer before finding you again. You had several sachets in your hands and scanned the shelves for anything else that piqued your interest; they were all vegetable seeds, stuff like corn and green beans, tomatoes and onions, but the occasional herb showed itself as well.

To Miguel, raising vegetables seemed like a cute hobby. But to you, raising crops meant revisiting your childhood.

"You wanna get some?" Miguel asked. He looped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as he read all the different seed names on display.

"Yeah. I mean…maybe. Dunno if a vegetable garden'll go with the house." You laughed softly, a little self-deprecatingly, before you reached to put the packets back. "I just–I don't know."

"I think it'll work." A smile warmed Miguel's face as pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. "We can make a greenhouse. A big one. In the backyard." He kissed your neck next. "You can show me the farmboy fantasy."

You laughed, turned in his arms, and kissed him. "Done."

Miguel crept up to the garden centre with Hobie and Gwen in tow. Travelling anywhere from the safe confines of Alchemax was something of a nightmare, but Miguel was used to it–despite being the man who knew how to run the building, he too often volunteered to head out on supply runs himself. He needed the space to think, to feel the darkness they’d found themselves in, and to feel the light of the sun on his skin to remind himself it wasn’t over. Because it was far from over.

The garden centre was surrounded by chain link fences encircling the entirety of the building, the very same ones Miguel had seen from the satellite’s view. Honestly, he found himself surprised to see just how good the place looked–the windows were mostly intact, the fences hadn’t been torn through, the doors were still sealed, and a row of crippled undead and frozen re-deads dotted the perimeter, but none were inside. It didn’t seem like any had ever been inside, actually.

“That’s…kinda weird, right?” Gwen murmured as she adjusted her toque. “This place feels like…like it never went under, or something.”

“Damn near stuck in the past, I’d say,” Hobie agreed. He looked to Miguel. “Fishy’s an understatement, yeah? Might be some not-so-dead-yets in there.”

Miguel took a deep breath as he thought. “It’s a plant store. Not the highest priority for scavengers like us.” He headed forward, grip tight on his hunting knife. “Try not to shoot. Not unless there’s a runner.”

“Better not be any runners,” Gwen grumbled. “It’s December. Hopefully they’re all freezing to double-death right now.”

Hobie scoffed a smile. “If not, we just give ‘em an early Christmas present, hey?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure they’d love their brains blown out.”

“Eh. I would.”

Miguel rolled his eyes as the youngins bickered softly behind him. There was no point stopping them–trying to dad them out in the wilds of New York just gave Miguel a bigger headache, and too often ended in a louder match of bickering and scolding, which then often resulted in the undead stumbling their way. It was always a mess. Maybe he should stop bringing the dynamic duo with him.

But you’d known them. You were fond of them, too, always letting them off the hook with a slap on the wrist when they were caught vandalizing buildings or stealing from stores when they were teenagers. You laughed when you told Miguel stories about them, about how Hobie’d call you “officer tall, sunny and handsome” to get on your good side (which worked), and how Gwen would try to bribe you with car-washings and babysitting to get you to not tell her dad what happened. You knew they were good kids, just bored and too smart for their own good. Miguel knew that, too; the two of you were thick as thieves back in the day, total petty-crime masterminds. Maybe Hobie and Gwen were your dark apprentices, in a way.

Miguel smiled faintly. He missed the days where you both broke into abandoned buildings, haunted houses and everything else inbetween to fool around and fuck. It’d always be filmed, much to Miguel’s embarrassment, but watching the videos back always made him feel…wanted. Appreciated. Like a rare piece of art.

You’d always cheese it up and make it sound like some sort of bad porno or found-footage film, like you didn't just break into Chuck E. Cheese to fuck in front of the creepy animatronics. Breaking the law got you excited, as ironic as that was for a future cop. Miguel thought you were a freak. Miguel was kind of a freak too, though.

“Fucking God,” Miguel moaned, somehow louder than the squeak of the table hosting your feverish coupling. His hips bucked and rolled against yours in a desperate attempt to keep up with your brutal, delicious pace, and his thighs dug into your sides with his hands clutching to your shoulders for dear life.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you mumbled into his ear. Miguel’s body gave a sharp, involuntary jolt, kickstarting the sudden crescendo of his well-earned euphoria. He let his voice be heard as he arched off that shitty table and up against your solid frame, his hips still rutting and moving in sync with your own. You groaned too, letting yourself be just as loud in the midst of him tightening around your heavy, thick cock pummeling into him.

“God, lookit that pretty face,” you growled when you pulled back to see how fucked out he was. “You feel good, huh? ‘M I makin’ you cum hard?” Your hand slapped the side of his ass, and Miguel whimpered sharply. “You’re so good, baby, so fucking good. I’ll make you cum again, yeah? Make you cum while you–while you take everything I got.”

You were terrible. Horrible. A monster in the sack, and apparently in front of powered-down robots. You did what you promised, and ripped another orgasm from his exhausted, over-stimulated body before reaching your own blissful undoing with a rude grin on your stupid, annoying face.

It made for good content, though.

They reached the front gate without problem, only to find it locked with hefty chains and thick padlocks. If there were people in there, then breaking through the first line of defence wasn’t their favoured option–they didn’t like other survivors, no, and they didn’t work with them without good reason, but they weren’t in the business of sabotaging them, either.

“Hobie,” Miguel beckoned, muffling the chains’ clanking while holding up one of the locks.

The young man smirked and flicked his old lock picking set from his pocket. “Don’t mind if I do, coz.”

He unlocked everything in record time. Miguel thought of you for a moment, and wondered if you’d taught the young man a few nefarious tricks since you, too, were an expert sneak. But Miguel pushed the thought aside as they all carefully, slowly, painstakingly unwrapped the linked metal from the fence, and pushed it open with just as much care to keep the noise to a minimum. It’d be a shame to ring the dinner bell in such an untouched place.

They relocked one of the padlocks for peace of mind before wandering towards the front entrance. The doors’ windows were boarded neatly and meticulously, Miguel noticed first. He crouched down and noted something blocking the small gap between the ground and the door, but the faintest reach of light still reached through the few cracks that remained.

“Lights’re on. Front’s boarded,” he sighed before backing up. “Might be a different way inside. Looks like there might be people in–”

“Miguel!” Gwen whispered. He looked her way, and saw her point to a decrepit shed nestled up against the side of the building, right underneath a large window. Shoved against it laid a single, heavy pot flipped on its end, serving as a sort of stool to get up on. But the lack of snow on the newfound path gave Miguel pause.

“I’ll check it out,” Gwen said before nimbly scampering up the side of the shed.

Miguel frowned. “Gwen–”

“Relax, I’m just gonna look.” But Miguel did not relax, especially not when she rose on her tiptoes on that shitty, rickety shed roof and peered through the window before her eyes grew wide with a soft woah.

“Whatcha got, Gwendy?” Hobie asked, approaching the shed himself.

“You two–” Miguel warned. He looked around cautiously, his body aching with primal instinct–they weren’t alone. There had to be someone else here. Gwen and Hobie had to realize that. They were smarter than this. They wouldn’t do anything stupid. They wouldn’t be hypnotized by whatever was in there and throw caution to the wind to get it. Right? Right.

…Right?

Excited, Gwen smiled and glanced at the two before looking back at whatever she saw. “There’re–there’s…trees? And bushes with veggies and–and wow, you were right, Miguel.”

“Well, I say we hop in there and snag a few to bring back, yeah?” Hobie suggested. “Reckon they grew on their own?”

“No,” Miguel scolded. “They didn’t. Come down, right now. We need more people for this.”

“I’m juuust gonna...” Gwen reached for the window, and Miguel’s anxiety peaked.

“Gwen.”

“Just a little–” The window groaned as it popped open.

They froze. They died as statues for a single, long moment, rejecting the need to breathe, letting their eyes freeze solid in winter’s mercy while their ears pricked, searching like the alert deer suspecting death stalking nearby after a misstep on a brittle branch.

One minute passed.

Then two minutes.

Three minutes.

But the birds kept chirping, the world kept spinning, and Ares didn’t come to collect their battle-worn souls.

Gwen looked at her group with a nervous smile, a guilty thing that said, “oops?”

Miguel was furious. But now was not the time to argue or yell. He could let her father handle that back at Alchemax.

But someone grabbed her, and yanked her inside.

Hobie didn’t hesitate. He jumped up to where Gwen once stood and took the plunge after her, scrambling up into the window, but that same someone shoved him, sending him plummeting down to the frigid concrete. Miguel rushed to his side when he hit the pavement with a choked-back groan.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Miguel rolled him on his back. “Hobie, you fucking idiot.” Miguel’s panic ebbed just the slightest bit when he saw the punk blinking away stars instead of losing consciousness.

Click.

Electricity burst through him. Miguel ripped his revolver free of its holster and returned aim up at the shadow in the window. The tired winter sun illuminated a barrel of black metal, and the small, tawny hand holding it steady. A child. A kid. He was pointing a gun at a kid.

“We don’t want any problems, kid,” Miguel called up. He tried to relax, but he couldn’t; children who grew up in this world were ruthless. They were cruel, unrelenting, and unapologetic towards their targets. He couldn’t blame them. It was all they’d known, all they’d been taught. But they were only as cruel as their teachers made them. Some of them still held on to shreds of humanity.

And judging by that unwavering hand, Miguel feared their adversary was at least a confident shot if not a full-blooded monster.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Hobie groaned. “We just–we just want some seeds ‘n shit, ‘at’s all.”

The small hand faltered a bit. Seems she still possessed sympathy. But a voice, deep and thread-bare, called to her. She looked over her shoulder for a second, before pulling the window closed and locking the latch behind her.

Panic lanced through Miguel as anger possessed Hobie. “I’m gonna snap that kid in half–” but the creaky hinges of the front door opening cut him off. Miguel aimed toward it, and Hobie did the same once he got himself together, but then–then Gwen peeked out.

“Guys!” Her hand fluttered and ushered them to come. “You’re not gonna believe this! It’s–”

“Daddy?” A young, gentle voice asked, and Miguel’s gaze snapped to her. To her. To the little girl peeking out from around Gwen. To his baby, to his tiny world, long lost but never forgotten. To–

“Gabriella,” Miguel breathed.

“Ho-ly shit,” Hobie commented.

Gabi’s eyes flooded with emotion. She sprinted to him, nearly slipping and tripping in the snow before jumping into his arms and holding on tight. She was so much older now, so much bigger; her tiny face used to bury into his stomach, but now she had her head tucked up against his chest, staining his jacket with heavy tears.

“It’s okay, mija, it’s okay. I’m here, Daddy’s got you.” Miguel kissed the top of her head. He fought back tears of his own, but did so so pitifully with broken, bewildered laughs and shaking breaths. He pulled back and looked down at her face, her beautiful, beautiful face, and carefully wiped away the wet trails freezing on her cheeks. “I–you–L-Look at you. How’d you get so big?”

Gabi smiled and sniffled as she wiped her eyes. “I-I, um, finally ate my veggies.” She took a breath to try and still the quiver in her lungs between thoughts. “Y-You have so much grey in your hair now!”

A few beats of warm laughter left Miguel. “Yeah, no thanks to you. Spent all this time worrying about you, kid.” His hand, so used to killing and defending, trembled as he brushed flyaways out of her face. "Listen, I–I'm gonna take you somewhere safe, okay? You won't be alone anymore."

Gabriella blinked. Her small hands clutched his jacket. "What? But–"

"She's not alone."

Miguel almost didn’t look. He didn’t really believe what he just heard. But when he risked it, when he managed to wrench his gaze away from his daughter and back to the heavenly light of the front entrance, he saw you. The man who'd been haunting him for years. The man who'd been keeping him warm at night. You, his lover. You, his husband.

(You, the man he betrayed.)

"She hasn't been alone," you said, the words punctuated by hazy clouds of warmth–proof you were alive, that you weren't an illusion, not this time. "I promise."

You looked so, so tired.

But Gwen was grinning, and even Hobie smiled with a lack of irony as he walked to you and gave you a hug.

"My man! Officer tall, sunny and handsome in the flesh!" He clapped his hand hard against your back but you hardly wavered. You offered a smile, and hugged him back, short and sweet.

"Hey, Hobie. Behaving?"

"Eh. Sometimes."

"Good enough for me." You let him go and scanned over all the survivors, your eyes not lingering on anyone for too long. "Head inside. It's warm, there's food. We'll talk. Gabs?"

"Okay!" She hurried to corral everyone inside. "In, in, in, we gotta lock up for the night." Her gaze turned to Miguel as he hesitated, still watching you with glazed eyes. "Daddy, are you–?"

"I'll be there in a second, mija." And, thankfully, his baby girl read the room better than he could have at that age, and let you two be.

You looked over your shoulder, so like a predator making sure his cubs were inside and safe before prowling through the night. A man enchanted, Miguel followed you, watching you re-lock the gates they'd slipped through, and lagging behind while you checked the perimeter with thorough hands. Miguel would give anything to have those hands on him right now.

He didn’t know where to start. "(Name), I–"

"You said you could take her somewhere safe, right?" You asked before you turned that timid, unsure gaze back to him. "You meant that?"

The words took too long to register. "I–yeah, I meant it. I mean it." Miguel forged courage out of trepidation and used it to fuel his journey to you. "We have a colony. The old Alchemax building, you remember?"

"The one that was supposed to get torn down?" You wondered.

Miguel nodded. "Yeah, that one."

You kept walking. "Didn't we fuck in your office there?"

A smile threatened Miguel as he followed like a lost puppy. "We did."

"Ah. Always liked that building. Liked that desk, too." You shrugged. "Comfy, all things considered."

Miguel hooked his finger into your belt loop and pulled you closer to him. "Then you'll be happy to hear it hasn't changed."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You almost laughed, Miguel heard it. But you pulled away from him, and wordlessly finished up the perimeter sweep.

"You should stay the night," you mumbled on the way back. "Pretty sure it's gonna snow."

"Might make it harder to get back tomorrow," Miguel said, following you inside and watching you bar the door again. "We came here by foot."

"No truck?"

"None."

"I'll take you back, then. I got a truck."

"You make it sound like you're not coming." Anxiety gripped Miguel. "I'm not losing you again." He held onto your arm tightly.

You looked troubled, glancing between the hand on your arm and Miguel's eyes. "Did Dana die?" You asked.

Sickness coiled in Miguel's stomach. "What?" But his tone was too deep, too dark.

You shook your head. "No, I–I'm sorry I don't know why I said that, I'm just–"

"We both know why you said that," Miguel said through clenched teeth.

The way you looked at him, eyes full of bristling hatred for the woman who'd stolen away everything from you, set alight an ancient sort of fear in Miguel’s core. It was so like that night, the one where you'd found out.

Gabi was still at daycare. You were at work. Miguel was supposed to be at work, too. It could have been the perfect crime, one full of sinful lust and infinite rapture.

But you came home early.

You didn't even say a word when you walked into the bedroom and found him tangled in the sheets with Dana, with the woman he'd convinced you to think was a surrogate, not someone he was fooling around with and just so happened to knock up. You had that same stare, rotting with hatred, infested with betrayal, all for the woman underneath your husband. Miguel loathed that look, but he found some sick joy in hurting you, too. Because he hated you, for some reason.

Dana laughed when you walked out, some smart comment about how pathetic you were dancing off her plush, scarlet-stained lips. Miguel scoffed a laugh, too. You really were a coward, weren't you?

(But you weren't.)

Miguel finished with Dana, and she left. He heard her say something to you, something light and playful and damn hurtful, but Miguel didn't say anything. Nor did you.

He found you in the living room after he'd pulled some clothes on like it mattered. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, staring hard at your profile while you graced the ground with an empty gaze. Your hands clasped and unclasped slowly. Your head nodded shallowly.

"You're really not gonna say anything?" Miguel goaded.

"What am I supposed to say?" You offered.

Something. Anything.

Miguel laughed, mocking, and sat down across from you, on a mirrored couch, across the glass coffee table you'd picked out together.

"How long?" You managed.

Miguel hummed in thought. "How old's Gabi?"

That got a reaction out of you, something Miguel craved so deeply; your eyelids fluttered in disbelief, and your lips parted to suck in a sharp breath. You looked hurt. You looked like you were feeling something.

"The prenup says you keep what's yours, I keep what's mine, yeah?"

Miguel's smile faded. "What?"

"Gifts fall into that category. I’m keeping the Jeep."

"Wait–"

"I'll find a lawyer in the morning." You got up, and Miguel snapped.

"You're not even going to fucking ask why?" He yelled, pursuing you into the bedroom. "You don't wanna know why I'm fucking someone else? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

You ignored him. Miguel's temper flared.

"Fine! Fine, fuck it, I'll tell you. You don't excite me anymore. You don't try, you don't wanna fuck me, you don't wanna do anything anymore–"

"Miguel–"

"You're not the same man I married. What happened to you? When'd you get so–so pathetic and weak?" He took a pause to breathe. Or maybe gasp, more like, as the stabs of panic started to overtake him. "I hate you. You can't leave me."

He braced on the door, trying to get his bearings on his own, but you were quick to his side. With a strength Miguel loved and adored, you eased him down and fell in slow-motion with his shaky frame secured in your arms.

“It’s okay, Miggs. You’re okay.” Your fingers combed through his hair slowly. You held him tight, and convinced him to breathe with you. In and out. In and out. In and out. He breathed to the rhythm of your heart, as it turned out. Slow and steady. Hurt and bleeding.

“We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

And he believed you.

That’s why he took off the ring, and left first thing in the morning.

Hobie and Gwen passed out after eating their fill of stew. Miguel was beyond annoyed, but couldn't find it in himself to wake them up and leave, not when you were undecided about going with them, but very much wanting him to take Gabi.

Honestly, he didn't think you'd still be hurting after all this time. Dana was something of the past, a succubus that followed the steps of opportunity and wealth wherever it may go. That's why she wasn't with the group anymore. That's why she left him when he needed her most, and jumped in a truck with strangers while he bled out, alone, in the solitude of an abandoned pet store.

Chills raked his spine, breaking off chunks of bone when he thought about it. He'd never been so fucking scared in his life. He wished he could have called you to come save him. He wanted you to be the one to walk in there and find him, crying and dying, because you would have stuck by his side through all of those moments; if he hadn't let his emotions get the best of him, if he hadn't made so many stupid decisions, he would've been with you. If he died that day, it would have been in your arms.

"Hey," you murmured with a gentle touch to his shoulder. Miguel jumped, and your eyes softened. "You okay?"

Miguel swallowed thickly as he nodded. He looked around, grounding his mind through the touch of your hand, the duo snoring and slumped against bags of soil, and the gentle flickering of the propane campfire keeping the space warm. You taking a seat beside him helped, too.

Copper eyes took a moment to pace around the old garden centre; true to the outside, it was more or less untouched on the inside, just more cluttered with haphazard barricades and half-done projects. Miguel watched his ghost walk through the isles, once filled with tropical plants, but now replaced with beautiful, healthy trees raised by your hand. It was no wonder Gabi grew up so strong.

Speaking of--"Where's Gabi?"

"She's in the next room. Watering some seedlings." You smiled for a fraction of a second. "Putting her green thumb to the test. Tryna show her old man up, I guess."

Miguel smiled though his eyes stung. "Sounds like an O'hara."

"Yeah, I thought so, too."

You shared a few broken beats of laughter before silence fell, just like the snow beyond the door. Then, shyly, like you'd never done it before, your arm reached around his waist. Miguel didn't hesitate to lean his weight into you, though, and that arm didn't wait to pull him in closer right after.

"So. You still hate me?" Miguel dared to ask before the dancing cinders.

Your hand smoothed up and down his side thoughtfully, soothingly. Miguel melted against you more with a sweet, content sigh.

"I never hated you," you whispered in return. "Never."

Miguel made a little sound, something caught between surprise and relief, while your words sunk deep into his thoughts. You didn’t hate him. You didn’t hate him.

“Then come back with us.”

“Miguel–”

“There’s no reason to stay here,” Miguel bit out, frustration egging him on. “We have shelter, we have water, showers, rooms, beds–we have everything.”

“What about food?” You asked quietly.

But Miguel didn’t have an answer; food was the reason they were coming out here, to find more ways to create sustainable living, to try and make life work again. He couldn’t help but look at the trees and bushes bursting with colourful fruits and vegetables, showing off years of dedication and hard work through the literal fruits of your labour. Miguel didn’t know how hard it was to get there. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

“...It’s a work in progress,” he grumbled instead of admitting the truth. “But we could use your help.”

Your warm fingers dipped under layers of clothes to find the searing skin of your past lover. To Miguel, it almost ached. He hadn't been touched in so long. He hadn't felt your hands on his bare skin for even longer. It intoxicated him, filled his mind and blood with wants and needs–things only you could fulfil for him.

"I won't leave you hangin', promise that. I just–I need to figure out how this is all gonna work." You looked around the room, taking stock. "Lots of gear we'll need, lots of shit to move. I'll send you back with whatever's already picked. Not worried about the cold with those. The trees are another story, don't want 'em to go dormant while–"

Miguel kissed you. Sloppily, and wantonly, but with genuinity. Your hands scrambled to hold onto his massive frame when he leaned into you and almost knocked you off the discounted garden bench. This time, you were the one who made a cute, surprised noise.

And you were the one who kissed him the second time, but it was smaller and shier coming from you, not so eager to consume like Miguel. Your calloused hand held the side of his neck, and your thumb ran along his jawline thoughtfully when you parted, noses bumping and nudging together in a weak nuzzle.

"I guess you don't hate me anymore?" Your whisper ached Miguel's heart.

"I never did," he confessed.

"Then why did you say it?"

"I don't know." He traced the curve of your lips with tired, weighted eyes. Your cupid's bow had a nice shape to it, so soft and pillowy, meant just for him. "But I didn't mean it."

"I need a better answer than that." You swallowed down what Miguel could only guess to be a tincture of fear and sorrow, or maybe rage and betrayal. "I've lived with–with that for a long, long time." Your eyes glistened with unspent grief, suddenly. "I need more than 'I don't know.'"

Miguel's heart lurched. He hadn't bore witness to the consequences of his selfishness before, not with you, not during his affair with Dana. He'd only seen you grow distant across that coffee table far before that god-awful night. And back then, he wanted a reaction. He wanted something like this out of you, but now, he couldn't fathom why.

"Mi amor, I–it's hard to put into words, and I was a stupid kid, and–hey, hey, don't--don't cry." He wiped away the bravest tear to fall first before you turned away, back to the flickering blaze, and rubbed your face roughly.

"Here's my guess," you muttered. "You wanted to fuck, and I couldn’t–I just–it was hard for me. Or maybe it wasn’t hard, maybe that’s a better way to put it.” You rubbed your face, and held your head in your hands. "The, ah, the medication, the anti-depressants or whatever, they were fucking me up. I didn’t wanna fuck you. I didn’t wanna do anything. Then I was in training to join the force. Wasn't home, and when I was, I was too tired to take care of you and Gabi, so I focused on her. And that made you go back to Dana. Again."

Bile scorched the back of Miguel’s throat. "You knew." A realisation, not a question. "You knew we–that she and I–"

"Yeah, that she wasn't a surrogate.” You picked your head up from your hands and stared at the fire, unseeing. “Because she was dating Gabe at the time, and you were with me." You sighed and let a deep, venomous grief finally escape from the space between your lungs, from the spot where that thing had festered like a disease for too many years.

"I could let it go the first time, turn a blind eye because she gave me–gave us–our daughter, but–the second time? With all the shit you two said?" You shook your head. "I just--I couldn't–I wish you'd just told me what was wrong. I wish I'd told you what was going on with me, too, 'cause I know all the shit that happened is my fault, too.”

"Dad?” Gabi's small, hollow voice rang. The both of you turned to her, but you were the one who got up.

“Baby,” You said with a hushed tone, somehow so comforting but so afraid. “Hey, you done with the watering?”

“Uh, yeah, but…um, is everything okay?” Her gaze flicked between you and Miguel. He could almost hear her little mind firing on all cylinders as she tried to parse what they were talking about. “You look sad.”

You crouched before her and took her hands in yours. “We’re talking through some things, honey, it’s alright. We’re figuring things out.”

A light of worried realization illuminated Gabriella’s gaze. Miguel fidgeted and futzed with his clothes as he looked away, unsure of how to deal with her accusatory revelation. How much did she know? Did you tell her anything? No, no, you wouldn’t do that, you wouldn’t dirty her memory of her father like that. You were a good man. You were a better man than Miguel.

“Oh,” she whispered.

You nodded and brushed some hair free from her freckled face. "We’ll be alright, baby. You just get some sleep, alright? Tomorrow's gonna be a busy day. Lots of loading up to do."

Gabi whispered the softest okay before giving you a hug. She paused for a moment, before running to Miguel and throwing her arms around him for a few precious seconds before running off to the loft to sleep.

You sighed, then, and Miguel did too.

You turned to him. “Look, you–I don’t know why I’m starting shit right after you…you wander back into my life,” you murmured, going back to Miguel and straddling the bench before taking his hand and squeezing. “I’m sorry. And I love you. You know that, right?”

That pang came back in Miguel’s chest, but this time, it was warmer.

December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry

Miguel squeezed your hand back and this time, he was the one tearing up. “Mi amor, you don’t need to–you’ve done enough apologizing already.”

"Miggs, don't say that. I–"

"Stop. Stop it." Your husband straddled the bench, too, and scooted closer to you until he was more or less in your lap, his heavy thighs draped over your own.

"But–" you started, and stopped as Miguel cupped your face with both hands and squished your cheeks. You sighed and leaned into his touch when it eased up. "Baby–"

"Me arrepiento de lo que hice," he whispered to you, "espero algún día puedas perdonarme." He let go of your face, and found your hand to kiss its back. "Te amo."

You smiled. Something real, something happy. Something that stayed around for more than a few seconds, and made the corners of your eyes crinkle with the beautiful way you'd aged. Then, you kissed him.

"Te amo," you murmured back, your lips still touching his. "We'll figure this out. Work it out. We have the time." Your lips pressed against his again. "I'm not giving up on us."

This time, Miguel cried.

It took some time to transport everything to Alchemax. It took a little bit longer to get you there, too.

But you got there eventually, ready to stay for good, and ready to put Miguel's mind at ease.

Your old friends and coworkers greeted you, clasping their hands on your back and hugging you tight until you couldn't breathe anymore. You smiled, too, and asked them how they were holding up, if your husband was keeping things in line. You couldn't help but remind them that you in fact hand the handsomest and smartest partner in the world, too.

They let you get acquainted with the building pretty quickly, probably seeing the haggard, exhausted state you'd lived in for five years and wanting to let you unwind for the first time in a long time. And that called for a hot shower, food, and some sleep.

"I'll take you to your room," Miguel told you as you both left the common area.

"My room?" You retorted, sounding mighty confused and damn near insulted.

Miguel blinked and looked at you. "Yeah. There's enough for–" Oh.

"What's yours is mine, yeah?" You said, stern and a little bit spicy. "Then your room is mine. And your ass is–"

"Câllate," Miguel cut you off with a smile. "I'll take you to our room."

He led you there with a bit of a spring to his step, and you kept up with as much enthusiasm. The room was nothing special, featuring nothing more beyond a mediocre bed, uninspired furnishings, and random knick knacks Miguel had left here over the years. But it was home. Your shared home.

"Huh." You looked around the room. "I think that coffee table woulda looked nice here."

Miguel scoffed a laugh and rested his hand on the small of your back. "You think so? I think it'd clash."

"Yeah, well, you have bad taste, hun."

"Oh, wow, you're really gonna say that when I'm married to you?"

"I'm the one who confessed first. I'm the one who proposed. Pretty sure it's safe to say I picked you." You leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “And I have good taste.”

Miguel felt his face get hot. "Shut up and take a shower."

"Your wish is my command." You set your pack down by the bed before sliding open the door to the ensuite. Miguel watched you like a hawk, his prey drive skyrocketing when he caught swaths of your bare skin peeking out from the washroom. He wanted to watch more, but you deserved a little privacy.

"Oh," you said, peeking out from the doorway. "I, uh, kept my phone through everything. There're some photos of Gabi, if you wanna check it out." You vanished back into the bathroom and Miguel heard the water turn on. "It's in my pack! In the shitty little phone pocket thing."

"Yeah, I–okay, I'll take a look, thanks." Miguel smiled, and rummaged through what you'd brought with you before pulling out that beat up phone with the charger still plugged into it and kept together with bandages of tape. Colour him impressed.

He sat on the edge of the bed and went straight for the camera roll. There were loads of new pictures ranging from Gabriella when she was littler, to pictures of animals that Miguel guessed Gabi had a hand in.

There were old pictures, too. Mostly of Miguel, as embarrassing as that was, but the baby photos took over his reign once that perfect little girl entered your life. It made Miguel wish he’d taken more photos, that he hadn’t thought it was too cliche and embarrassing to capture every moment. He used to say shit like, “Do you have to take a photo? Can’t you just live in the moment?” but you’d stick your tongue out, give him a pinch or a bite on his cheek or something else in retribution. Because you didn’t care, you wanted to look back on little memories.

He scanned through photos until he caught one that sent a rush of red to his features; it was of him, on his back, eyes teary and face alight with a fierce blush as you, well, obviously fucked him stupid. It was the only one of its kind. Maybe you forgot to delete it? Maybe–

The videos. Oooh, now that had Miguel excited. Miguel scanned through the other folders, but found nothing, much to his dismay and relief, seeing as Gabi probably had free access to your phone.

But then, he spied a locked folder.

The first password he tried worked (your anniversary because duh. You were such a sap), and a whole catalogue of videos and pictures were unleashed.

Miguel glanced up at the washroom door before he skimmed through. He remembered all of these places (but the geo tags helped, too. Christ, you were so organised with your exhibitionist porn), ranging from IKEA after closing, to an abandoned amusement park. He still didn’t know how you picked out these places, or how you knew how to get into them without getting in heaps of trouble with the authorities.

He tapped on a video and bumped the volume up a couple notches, just so he could barely hear; it was him on his knees, on a rusty old ferris wheel, staring up at you like you were God himself as he gripped your thighs and did his damndest to give you the blowie of a lifetime. Your sighs and soft moans rippled through the speakers like waves lapping at the shoreline. Present Miguel rubbed his mouth, worrying at his bottom lip before licking the dryness away.

“Good boy,” You whispered on the other side of the camera. Your hand came into view and carded through dark locks before cupping his cheek. Miguel of the past turned into your touch and took your thumb into his mouth while his hand took over stroking your length from base to tip over, and over again.

Miguel swiped to the next video. He was on his back this time, in your shared bedroom, if that duvet cover was to be trusted, while your fingers plunged deep inside of his heat and tore loud moans and gasps from him. He remembered this; you called it an experiment before you bullied his prostate with three, thick digits.

"How's that feel, gorgeous?" You purred. Miguel swallowed thickly, both in the video and in the now. His hesitant hand crept down his thigh slowly, like he was trying to hide it from himself and call it an accident as he reached to palm himself through his jeans while he watched. He almost felt guilty. But that's what made it better.

"Good. Really fucking good." His past self rocked down against your fingers, choking on a needy whine as his eyes slid open, and found you. "I need you, mi amor. Please–"

"I know, babe, I know. I'm almost done here," you promised. You tilted the camera down to his stretched hole to catch what you did next. "Then you can have whatever you want from me."

You pressed your pinky in, then, and Miguel of the present bit his lip as his shocked gasp and shaky cry pierced through the speakers. Miguel still couldn't describe the deranged pleasure he got from having half your hand in his ass, nearly to the point of fisting him.

Miguel switched to a different video quickly. The next one was in the Jeep you loved so much. You were both out camping for the weekend, something you loved and Miguel had learned to love; that stupid red truck became home for so many long weekends, it became host to long hours of napping and intimacy, it turned into one of Miguel's favourite places.

The video started with you adjusting the camera and squinting at it while Miguel’s younger self bitched and moaned in the background.

"I'm just making sure the tripod's working 'n shit, babe, just gimme a sec!" You whined back.

"My dick's getting soft," Miguel threatened, so blasé but annoyed at the same time. "Come on, viejo."

You pulled away from the camera, grinning smug as a fox, and scooted back to your lover. His past self was lounging, hair and clothes already a mess from the prologue to this movie, as he watched you.

"I'm here, I'm here." You kissed him, and Miguel could almost taste the s’mores on your tongue, the coffee on your lips. "Sorry, just wanna make sure it's perfect."

"Oh, yeah, 'course. Gotta make sure your indie porno looks good."

"Hey, one day we're gonna look back on this! It's worth it, baby, trust me."

"Whatever. Just kiss me," Miguel demanded with a laugh. And you did as you were told, kissing his lips, then down his chest, then–

"Knew you'd like watching 'em back."

Miguel jumped, nearly dropping the phone as he jerked his hand away from his clothed bulge. "I, uh–what?" he asked dumbly as he stared at your built frame leaning against the doorframe. God, you were still an impressive specimen. He wished that loose towel would just drop from your hips already.

"Our, ah, home videos." You grinned, so much like that fox from the past, and paced to Miguel. "Nice looking back, ain't it?" You cupped the underside of his jaw and tilted his face up. "Got you a lil' excited, yeah?"

You weren't wrong. With a hammering heart, burning skin, and tingling nerves, he couldn't deny he was stuck deep in a pool of desire and need. And now with you handling him like this–fuck. He was in trouble.

Miguel nodded weakly. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Just a little."

“I’ll help.” You eased onto the bed and took great care in settling behind him. "Let the video play," you whispered against his neck before leaving a possessive kiss.

Miguel leaned back into you. He watched you pop open his jeans and slip a hand down, down, down, until your warm palm met his aching length. A shuddered breath escaped him when you felt him up, pulled him free, squeezing and stroking in all the right spots; it'd been so long since anyone touched him. It'd been so long since he touched himself.

"I, ah, don’t think we–did we lock the door?" Miguel heard himself moan in the video, and he dared another look; your head bobbed between his thighs while fingers pistoned into him. He wondered if you would do that to him again. Maybe tonight.

"Nope.”

“Shit.”

"Mmmh. You want me to stop jerking you off so you can lock it?"

"No."

You chuckled. "Okay."

Your hand still worked him slowly and thoughtfully while lovers of the past filled in the rest of the silence. Miguel's hips bucked, and you hummed, so pleased with yourself. Pleased with yourself for pleasing him. Something Miguel found self-value in.

"I think I, uh, I think you mighta been right," he murmured to the air, trying to control his voice. Your gentle hum of intrigue spurred him on. "I think I need you to fuck me more than I realized. Need you to want me, ‘n…take me."

“Yeah?” You asked before sinking a bite into his neck. “Figured you had somethin’ of a praise kink. Makes sense, in hindsight.”

Miguel gasped when you picked up the pace. “Fuck–I’d call it…mmmmn, I’d call it a-a love language–”

“Huh, didn’t know there were six love languages–”

“Sh-shut up, shut up, you know what I–what I mean–!” Miguel bit down hard on the inside of his mouth as his hips rocked up into your cruel, talented hand. He was close. How embarrassing. “I, uh…physical touch. Words of affirmation.”

“‘Needing my husband to fuck me and tell me I’m sexy.’” Miguel moaned and dug his head back into your shoulder as you chuckled. “That sound about right?”

“Viejo,” he whined, setting the phone aside to be forgotten. “I–”

“I know, baby; show me how hard this love language makes you cum.”

It only took a few more strokes for Miguel to come undone. His teeth clattered together as he strained to keep his voice on lock as a forgotten rapture ripped the air from his lungs and electrocuted every vessel in his body. He clung to the other arm that’d come to wrap around his chest and hold him against you while you worked him through the motions, slowing down, accommodating the way his body reacted to the blinding pleasure. There were words said, probably encouraging ones muttered into his shoulder, but Miguel didn’t have the mind to parse the meaning of what you’d said.

“Y’know,” you tried again when Miguel’s mind levelled out, “I think I have a praise kink, too. But a complimentary one. One where I like praising you.” You rested your chin on his shoulder and hummed. “Hm. Who woulda thought.”

“Hah. Good to know you’re still annoying,” Miguel said with a chuckle. He scrunched his nose up when you licked the side of his face. “(Name)--”

“No.” You bit his cheek this time, and he sighed. You did, however, feel his softening cock start to come back to life again. “Want me to lock the door now, old man?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. You got off the bed, letting the towel fall where it may, and Miguel finally gazed upon his lost treasure. “And set up your phone. We need to update the archives.”

You grinned when you turned back to him, and Miguel felt so at ease.

There were still things to work out: the mental illness you hid from him, the cheating Miguel tried to hide from you, the little secrets you both kept wedged in the darkest cracks of your minds. But with you with him, the man who refused to give up on their bond and their love, Miguel felt safe indulging in mindless pleasure you so generously gave to him. Neither of you were about to seal away the past again, but if you could share in the good of your relationship while acknowledging the bad, then hope wasn’t lost; it was found in the moment you’d pulled his old wedding band from your pack, and slipped it back on Miguel’s finger that night, murmuring the words you said in a church so long ago:

“Till death do us part.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr #smut

272 notes · View notes

fr33time · 1 month ago

Text

-GN!reader meeting with estranged family- 🌙

Ft. Lyca, Ren

Note: Written for how the meeting went WELL!!

I’ve been going through complicated feelings in my own life. I made this because I’ve find comfort in these characters, but maybe someone can find comfort in them too. I don’t think I would write these for anyone else, I don’t want to think about it any further. I hope you’re having a lovely day ✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

Lace divider credits: @limesoda69

hurt/comfort, fluff, headcanons

Requesting rules here! (Read before requesting) ╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

♡Lyca

He can practically smell that you’re nervous. You’ve told him before that you aren’t in contact with family because of a variety of reasons. What he doesn’t understand is why you want to see them again if they hurt you or other people.

He tries to convince you not to see them, not only because it doesn’t make sense to him, but what if they hurt you again? He wants to protect you, even if it means blurting out what’s in his head.

You explain that you want to give them a chance; if they hurt you again, it solidifies everything that you’ve thought all this time. You promise him that if something bad happens, you won’t give them another chance for a long time… or ever.

-After meeting with them…

Lyca is still wary, even though it went well and they behaved, he can’t get over what they did to you in the past. When they leave and you express that you’ll see what happens, he has the urge to say something but you seem… fine?

When you retreat to your home for a few hours without texting him, he gets worried and decides to see you. He asks why you’re being distant despite everything going well. “I don’t really know, I just feel… weird, I guess.” You say with a shrug. “Why, what’s weird about it? Aren’t you happy?” He asks plainly, he genuinely wants to know. “I just feel confused about my feelings, I never thought that this would happen. I gave up on the idea of seeing them for a long time because I thought they would never try to change. Now that it has, I’m conflicted.”

He doesn’t understand exactly what you’re feeling. He’s still navigating being around people and dealing with emotions. He immediately takes your hand and tells you to get ready.

He brings you to Frostheim. You two aren’t going inside, but he understands that you need to do something other than being in your room. Playing with the snow at Frostheim makes him happy so he wants to share that.

100% brings you to Obscuary so that you can sleep over. He doesn’t want you to sleep alone!

-★-

♡Ren

I think he is ill-equipped to deal with his own emotions, so he can’t provide much besides an awkward pat on your back. He cares, but it’s so hard to show for him. When he says something about it he ends up coming off as cold.

“Why do you care about it?” It comes off really bad when he says it. He thinks it’s better to just shut his mouth at that point because he can tell that he’s just making it worse.

He does not trust this estranged family of yours. He’s pessimistic and all he can think about is how this meeting will end terribly. To him, there’s a reason why estranged people are ESTRANGED, and that won’t change. You explained that you wanted to give them a second chance, but he didn’t want you to go home crying.

-After meeting with them…

He’s on his phone and relieved that everything went well. To him you seemed decent the whole time, you were engaging, even though he could tell that you were being careful.

The both of you went back to your homes, Ren didn’t think anything was wrong until he checked his friend's list and realized that you hadn’t signed in all day to claim a special reward that was only available for today.

He immediately called you “Hey, you haven’t signed in all day. Get on.” He sounds urgent because the offer is almost over, and he needs you to check on the guild before the end of the day. “Hey Ren, honestly I don’t think Iwant to log in tonight. I'm debating on taking a break.” This was unique, he sits up in his bed almost right away when he hears your mention of not logging in… not to mention that you want to take a break?! He sighs heavily “Why? You said you wanted the characters from the collab.” He pretends to act frustrated, but you usually log in regularly and you were super excited about a collaboration with your favourite show. “I just feel weird after today…” your voice starts to sound exhausted “I’m really confused, I don’t know how to feel right now.”

Ren stays silent for at least 10 seconds, you were worse off than you led on. “Get over here.” That was all he said before he hung up on you.

When you arrived he had his pillows on the floor. You wondered what it was before you saw Ren pull up a website for movies. His idea was to watch horrendous movies so that you could smile.

You end up staying overnight. You accidentally fell asleep while watching the 2nd movie. He pulled a blanket over you two and (bravely) held your hand before he fell asleep himself.

He’s not good at this at all, but he tries to accommodate you because he cares about you (even if he doesn’t say it…).

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

#tokyo debunker #tkdb #tokyo debunker x reader #fluff #tokyo debunker headcanons #headcanon #tokyo debunkers #ren shiranami #lyca colt #lyca x reader #ren x reader #tkdb x reader #tokyo debunker ren #tokyo debunker lyca

30 notes · View notes

lovlive · 1 year ago

Text

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ midnight insomnia' - c.yj

SYNOPSIS - its the middle of the night and you have 2 problems; no.1 you cant sleep, and no.2 you miss your boyfriend. PAIRING - choi yeonjun x f!reader GENRE - fluff, established relationship WARNINGS - reader is depicted with a pink colour, reader is called ‘baby’ and ‘girlfriend’, just yeonjun and y/n being really cute with eachother <3 requested from anon: hi! i dont think you've posted yet, maybe your busy or just dont know what to write about since your a new blog, but i want to put in a req.. could you do reader x yeonjun with the prompt “i can’t sleep, come to my bed” id actually die AAH im so curious what you could turn this into, thanks :}

notes: thanku sm for the req! yeah, i havent been writing yet since my brain was blank tbh i had no ideas for a fanfic in mind 😭😭 but now youve added fuel to my fire and ill try start writing more often :3 (and yes, the 127 in the fic was on purpose)

The moon cast a soft glow through the small sliver between your curtains, painting the room in hues of silver. In the quiet of the night, you tossed and turned under your soft blanket, unable to find solace in slumber. As you battled with your insomnia, you just couldnt keep your mind off of one thing; Yeonjun. You couldnt stop thinking about the way he would hold you through these chilly early-spring nights, and how much you missed his warm body next to yours. At this point you’ve realised just how starved you were from him despite only seeing him a couple of days ago.

You gave up on your slumber, rolling like a log from one side of your bed to another to pick up your phone. The sharp glow from the screen hit your eyes, your face instinctively scrunching up since you werent used to the brightness. Your fingers lazily glided over to the message app icon, and then tapped on Yeonjun’s contact. The time at the side of the screen caught your eye, and your realised it was 1:27 AM. You were a little weary of texting your boyfriend at this late hour; you knew that he was probably tired after a long day of practicing and you didnt want to seem selfish or too clingy. But you shook off your bad feelings since you knew that Yeonjun wasnt the type to be able to fall asleep easily either. You began to type your messages…

“jjunieeee..”

“baby… ☹️”

As expected, Yeonjun was of course awake. Your one word messages were opened by him a minute later. He looked at the texts, a little confused on why you’d be texting him right now. Any how, he started typing back.

“y/n? why’re you still up. you better not be up to some weird shi 😐”

“jjunie, i cant sleep. come to my bed.”

“baby, its half 1 in the morning.”

“please..😔 i really cant sleep and i need sum1 by my side 😞”

“y/n you’re going to be the death of me... but what wouldnt i do for my beautiful girlfriend”

“ill be there in 5”

“yippee! 😇 i love you ❤️”

“love you more baby ❤️”

Your face lit up as your boyfriend agreed to come over. You immediately put your phone back on your side table and plugged it back into charging, then quickly tossed the dirty socks that were lying on your bedroom floor underneath your bed to appear a little tidier. After a little while, you could hear a quiet knock echo through your small apartment; your face lighting up once again. Your feet quickly brought you to your hallway, where you rummaged your drawer for your keys. Eventually finding them, you jammed the correct key into the keyhole, twisiting it and gently opening the door. As your boyfriend appears from behind the door, you immediately pull him into a hug, shutting the door behind him. “Whats up with you today?” He teases as he feels your arms lock around him tightly, wrapping his arms around your waist in response. “Just missed you baby.” You responded, taking in his soft scent which you missed badly. “Y/n, we just saw eachother a few days ago..” His chuckle landed right in your ear, warm breath brushing right up against your ear. The sensation of course did not fail to make you blush a little. “Yeah, but ‘just a few days ago’ feels like an eternity to me.” You whisper into his shoulder, finding comfort in just burrying your face in his shoulder and hiding from the world. You feel his hands come away from your waist and up to your back, rubbing small circles. “You really arent a patient person, are you? Now, lets get you to bed.” He whispers as he takes your hand in his and begins to lead you over to your bedroom. You obviously dont resist, and grip his hand back as you walk behind him. None of you made a sound as you walked to your bedroom. Both of your social batteries were drained from the long day you’ve survived today, and all you wanted to do was to hold eachother in peace as you tried to fall back into a slumber.

You walk into your bedroom, and Yeonjun leads you straight to your bed. He lets you crawl in and under the covers as he takes off his jacket and throws it onto the chair you have by your desk. He came just wearing his pajamas, since he knew all you were going to do together was snuggle and sleep. He climbs onto your bed, arms wrapping tightly around your body as your face hides in his chest. His hand runs through your soft hair in a consoling manner, trying to get you to feel more tired and sleepy. His hands work like magic, your eyes beginning to feel heavier by the minute. But before you fall asleep, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and manage to whisper a set of three familiar words.

“I love you.”

114 notes · View notes

sometimescherwrites · 3 months ago

Text

Fax Me

Luke Cooper x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

content: luke being lazy, luke being a male manipulator (to Michael), reader and luke are both interns, fluff, reader hates luke at first, luke plays Minecraft, if it’s shit blame my illness

day nine of cher’s conversation hearts series!!

If you ever saw Luke Cooper outside of the office, it was on sight.

The two of you both interned together and lord did you wish you didn’t. He did absolutely zero work- the definition of pretty privilege, or, more likely, nepotism. If you slacked off in half the ways he did, you were sure Luke’s uncle would fire you instantly.

Luckily, you didn’t. And people actually liked your presence. Shit you hated Luke.

But Luke… did not seem to hate you. It started slowly. Getting your coffee order right. Being slightly more cooperative with you. Including you, whether you liked it or not, in his schemes. Such as making sure to sabotage everyone but the two of you.

He was an asshole, and beyond immature. But he at least was an asshole that seemed to listen to you- even if it were only you.

“What’s your play?” You asked, dressed in a typical excessive amount of red and pink as he handed you your coffee. The correct order.

“Its 6am.” He says, as if its self explanatory, “I’m too tired to be petty.”

That, you can at least agree on. You don’t typically come in at 6am. But Michael had insisted, saying he needed the interns in early.

“What do you think he even wants us for?”

He shrugs, ushering you impatiently over to his uncle’s office, “Dunno. But I’ve got shit to build.”

“Shouldn’t we wait out here like he said?” You really weren’t looking forward to losing your paid internship.

“He won’t care.”

“He won’t care about you breaking into his office to play video games. I’m not exactly granted nepotism immunity, Cooper.” You remind him with a frown, “I’m not allowed to pull stunts like this.”

“Yes you are.” He says absentmindedly, not looking up from his computer, “You’re the only one i listen to. They fire you, i become insufferable.”

“You’re not already?”

“I could be worse.”

“That’s a scary concept.”

He chuckles, rubbing his eyes, and begins logging into Michael’s computer, “So, you’re welcome, for extending the nepotism to you. Now you wanna see what I built?”

“I still think you’re pulling my leg on that. There’s no reason I’d need-“

“They were gonna let you go a couple weeks ago. Heard ‘em talking about how upset they were that the ‘good intern’ was going an’ not me.” He shrugs, not looking at you as he pulls up a game- Minecraft.

You blink in shock. Your immediate instinct is to say bullshit. But then you thought about how he’d suddenly started listening when you asked him things- and only you.

And how when you’d been running late one morning, when before Luke you normally would’ve received a warning, you instead got an ‘it’s fine, accidents happen’. All of which had started a couple weeks ago.

“Who all knew?”

Luke rattles off a few names. A few names who had been incredibly nice to you and never once gave you any hint that you’d been about to get let go. If anything, they’d let you believe that you were doing well a couple weeks ago.

“Sons of bitches.” You curse under your breath.

“Some of them are daughters.”

“Point is they’re bitches.” You scoff.

“Mhmm.” Luke still doesn’t look at you, then his face lights up, showing you his… it honestly looked like a city. You had zero idea why he’d wanted to show you, but he seemed very happy about it.

“Wow… that’s um… that looks good?” You say, letting him give you a tour.

“This world’s based off of the entire movie of Citizen Kane. I’ve got Xanadu here and the Inquirer’s Office here…”

In that moment, you begin to see him as more than just the annoying man child you would’ve fought on sight had you seen him outside of work. It became apparent that he did have passions and motivations, just not at Dunder Muffler. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person ever.

“You know, i never liked Kane- the character, not the movie.”

Luke’s eyes light up with the most genuine excitement you’ve ever seen from him, “You’ve seen it?”

“When i was a kid. I preferred color movies, but my abuelita always had something old on. She did love Twilight Zone though- which i did love.”

“See, Twilight Zone was good, but i don’t know if I’d put it in my top shows. It was definitely one of the better anthology series. Didn’t have a lot- if any CGI if i remember right- god I hate when movies overuse CGI. It always ages so poorly- even the shit we’ve got right now we’re gonna look back on and say ‘wow, they could’ve done that way better without CGI’ especially cause there’s usually ways to do it without CGI and it always looks infinitely better-“

You blink at him in disbelief. Rationally you knew that the vast majority of people, no matter how little effort they put into other aspects of their lives had something they were passionate about. But seeing Luke Cooper, of all people, passionate about movies and the use of CGI in them, was something you hadn’t expected to see.

Michael’s sudden appearance startles you out of your quiet flabbergasting.

“What are you two doing in here?”

“I wanted to play Minecraft.” Luke says, as if it’s obvious and Michael is dumb for not coming to that conclusion himself.

“And you?”

“Luke wanted to show me his Minecraft.”

Michael just sighs, “Luke, I need you to go to the store and get some office valentines gifts before everyone else gets here.” He says, then looks at you, “And I need you to decorate around the office.”

“We couldn’t have done this yesterday and not at 6am?” You raise a brow.

“Well, you see,” Michael says, as if this was the obvious conclusion to come to, “Sometimes, as boss, you get busy, and forget about holidays. But it’s important for employee morale to celebrate. And you seem… weirdly into this holiday, so you get to decorate.”

“I’m a normal amount into this holiday.” You protest, well aware that you were not, in fact, normal about this holiday in the slightest.

“Look, just… both of you, do your jobs.”

You sigh deeply and get to work with the red pink and white streamers, asking Luke if he can bring some decorations from the store. Michael’s paying, after all, and if he had to spend a little extra… well, he had been going to fire you. So maybe he deserved it.

An hour later, Luke is back, much to your relief. Funny how someone can go from the worst person ever to the only person you like in the span of one morning.

He returned with very little of what was asked of him. But he did bring two boxes of chocolates, some candy hearts, and the decorations you’d asked for.

“That’s it?” Michael asked, looking at everything Luke had brought.

“Inflation, man.” Luke shrugged, voice monotone.

“They were out of chocolate boxes?”

“Yeah only had two.”

You have a feeling they were not out of chocolate boxes, but don’t call him out on it in front of Michael.

“Okay… um, I guess we can split the chocolates and give everyone a candy heart box?”

Luke shrugs again, “I mean, I guess if that’s what you want to do. No need to give anything to your interns that came in at 6, right?”

A few hours later, you’re sitting in the break room, laughing with Luke as you both stuff your face with chocolates, saving the chocolates you don’t like for the others.

“Hey, hey, look at this one.” You say, sliding a candy heart over to him, it says ‘fax me’, “Setting appropriate, right?”

“Might be the only fax I’d ever send.” Luke snorts, popping one into his mouth.

“Do people even fax anymore?”

“That one company does. I know cause Pam keeps asking me to fax them.”

“Let me guess, the machine is broken?” You tease.

Luke just grins, going through his conversation hearts until his face changes. Noticing his sudden silence, you look up, only to see him slide one across the table to you.

It reads ‘movie?’

You take a moment to look through your own hearts before sliding one back.

‘yes’.

If he’s in a better mood the rest of the day, no one else comments on it.

#cher’s conversation hearts #conversation hearts series #luke cooper x reader #luke cooper fluff #luke cooper #evan peters fandom #evan peters characters #the office #the office us #luke cooper x y/n

25 notes · View notes

kayawolfhorse · 1 year ago

Text

Anywhere You Go | Read on Ao3

My piece for the @boatemvillagezine! The zine turned out spectacular, be sure to give it a read <3

—☾—

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the air is fresh in Pearl’s lungs as she slides open the van door and steps out into the small parking lot, gravel crunching beneath her boots. Turning around, she offers a hand to Mumbo, who still looks queasy from the bout of carsickness that’d struck him earlier on the road.

“Grian is trying to kill me personally, I think,” Mumbo mutters, holding Pearl’s arm for stability.

“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve been rid of you by now,” Grian comes around the front of the van saying, offering Mumbo a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Mumbo harrumphs, “You took that last turn faster than you had to and you know it. Why did we let you drive, anyway?”

“I’m a perfectly adequate driver, I’ll have you know! In my defense, I did not see that bend coming up—”

Scar climbs out of the backseat next, adjusting the tiny version of his scarlet top hat he’d insisted on bringing along, though his Swaggon attire had been swapped out for a more practical shirt and shorts combo of the same color scheme. Pearl admires the dedication to the theme, really.

Hooking an arm around Grian’s shoulders, Scar says, “Now, now, gentleman! Let the worries of our travels fall away as you admire the magnificent view all around us.”

Still sitting in the passenger seat, maps spilling out upon the dashboard in front of him, Impulse snorts, “You make it sound like you’re trying to sell them the forest, Scar.”

“Well, you know what they say, there’s profit to be had everywhere you look!” Scar hums, getting that all-too-familiar gleam in his eye.

“As your CEO, I appreciate the mindset, but you can’t sell us public land,” Mumbo points out with a laugh, straightening up looking significantly less ill. Scar shrugs, a cheeky smile on his face.

Adjusting the bandanna she’d tied around her braided hair, Pearl bounces on her feet. “Profits aside, we’re finally here! Let’s get going already!”

Earlier in the week, Impulse had proposed an overnight hiking trip, following a trail through the scenic foothills of the closest real mountain range, ending the day out by camping around the lake found in one of the higher-up valleys, to give the Boatem crew a break from building. The idea was met with enthusiasm, and just a couple days later, Pearl found herself crammed between Scar and everyone’s luggage in the backseat of Mumbo’s van as Grian drove and Impulse directed, Mumbo clutching the front of his pineapple-patterned shirt next to Scar for dear life.

After hours being stuck in the same uncomfortable position, Pearl’s more than ready to start up the trail. The others are quick to agree, and after packs are assembled, shoelaces are tied, and the van is locked, they’re off.

The woods feel like an entirely different world than the lot they parked in. Tall, thin trees with fluffy foliage form a lush canopy high above Pearl’s head, and between the trunks the ground is alive with brush, pocket-marked with fallen logs and framed by the soft brown pine needles of the forest floor. Lichen creeps up the boulders scattered throughout, and steep rock faces contrast beautifully with the greens of the plant life.

Mumbo’s the first to break the hush that had fallen over the group. “Wow,” he breathes, “just, wow.”

Impulse nudges Mumbo and points to a tree with a thicker trunk and hole in the center that, paired with the bits of bark surrounding it, almost resembles a mouth of sharp teeth. “Hey, look, it’s Treesa!”

Following his gaze, Mumbo laughs. “I see it! Could be Treesa’s cousin, maybe—it doesn’t quite have her eyes.”

“I knew it was going to be pretty, but I didn’t expect it to be this amazing! Would you just look at the shape of those trees!” Scar walks in front of the group and waves vaguely to the left, grinning.

“Uh, Scar, we’re surrounded by trees,” Grian teases in a deadpan.

“And they’re all beautiful,” Scar agrees, stretching out the syllables of “beautiful” with a studious nod.

“Oh, I completely get you. Look at this terrain! I’m getting so much inspiration for my mountain already.” Pearl wishes she’d brought her sketchbook with her. Such beautiful shapes! She’s determined to commit everything to memory to recount on paper later.

Scar and Pearl fall into step together as they walk, the path beneath their feet nothing more than a line of dirt trodden enough to be distinguishable from the undergrowth, laughter from Grian, Mumbo, and Impulse echoing all around them. Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling against the gorgeous landscape, and the conversation between Pearl and Scar is nothing short of gushing about every detail.

—☾—

The first three forks in the trail are marked with signs, and it’s easy to follow the arrow pointing towards the lake. The forth fork’s signpost, however, must’ve succumbed to the elements at some point, and now lays half buried in the mud puddle gathered on the side of the path.

“I can’t make out what any of it says, can anyone else?” Grian squints at the muddied sign, whose lettering has weathered away almost completely. After a chorus of no’s in response, he asks, “Impulse, would you be able to find the route on the map?”

“I sure can!” Impulse sticks a hand in his shorts pocket, only to frown. Checking the other pockets, his expression grows more worried, until he pulls off his backpack to root around its compartments. “I must have it here somewhere.”

Remembering the stack of maps piled on the dashboard of the van, Pearl sucks in a breath through her teeth and asks, “Did you actually grab it from the car? Before we left?”

Freezing mid-action, Impulse’s eyes go wide. “Now that you mention it… no, I didn’t. Do we go back for it?”

Grian shakes his head. “We’ve already been hiking for hours. If we go back now we’ll be trying to find the campsite in the dark. Should we just… follow the path and hope for the best?”

“It’s a terrible idea, but it might be our best option, and if that doesn’t sum up our group as a whole, I don’t know what does,” Mumbo agrees.

“Then it’s settled! Onwards!” Scar marches forward, before seemingly remembering that they haven’t decided which route to take. “Actually, which way are we going?”

Impulse points to the right, where the slope they stand on continues uphill. “The lake’s in a higher valley, it’d make sense to keep going up until we find it, right?”

With a shrug, Grian says, “Seems like a reasonable plan to me.”

From there, of course, it doesn’t take very long for things to go wrong.

Right over the crest of the hill they’ve been hiking over is a pool of sticky, deceptively shallow-looking mud that spans too far on either side to be avoided without getting tangled in dense vegetation. In their attempt to cross, Scar missteps and ends up in mud up to his ankle, his boot completely trapped underneath. Mumbo and Impulse manage to free Scar, but his shoe is lost forever, and the spare pair Impulse loans out to Scar is a size too tight.

On the other side of the puddle, the trail is notably not nearly as worn down as the rest of it has been so far, and after a while it fades entirely, leaving the group stranded.

“I can’t see anything!” Mumbo throws his hands up in defeat. “Isn’t a lake supposed to be big? Surely it should’ve been visible by this point?”

The part of the forest they’ve found themselves in is densely wooded, the trees close enough together that it’s near-impossible to see anything beyond the small clearing they’ve stopped to rest in. Paired with the slowly setting sun, Pearl’s suddenly struck by the feeling that she does not want to be here past dark, thank you very much.

Shrugging her pack from her shoulders, Pearl suggests, “I could climb a tree? See if I could spot anything from up there?”

The idea is met with mixed responses. “It’s definitely illegal, and stupid, and dangerous,” Impulse starts, “but… it would be good to reach a higher vantage point.”

“Oh, super illegal,” Grian agrees. “I’ll go with you, Pearl. We’ll make sure not to litter or destroy the tree. I’m sure the forest will understand.”

After leaving their bags with the rest of the group, Pearl and Grian set off to find a good climbing tree. The forest is predominantly made up of tall trees with narrow trunks, with their shorter, bushier counterparts dotted in between—nothing ideal for climbing.

“Oh, this one is pretty good!” Pearl says, as they come across a tree suitably large, with branches low enough down to act as footholds.

“Sure is,” Grian says, bending down to tie his shoe. As he straightens up, he tosses Pearl a grin. “Race you to the top!”

“Oi!” Pearl exclaims, grabbing at the first branch and hoisting herself up. The limb creaks, but holds fast, and Pearl reaches for the next. Partway up the tree, Pearl and Grian are neck and neck, and Grian sticks his tongue out at Pearl around the trunk, Pearl wrinkling her nose in response.

In the highest boughs that’ll support her weight, Pearl gives a whoop of victory, holding her hand out to Grian to help him up the last bit of the way. There’s no real place to sit, so instead Pearl takes to crouching on her branch with an arm around the trunk, Grian standing, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.

“See anything?” Grian asks, after a quiet moment of taking in the view.

Scanning the land around them, Pearl sighs. “No. It is quite lovely from up here, though.”

From so high up, the mountains are visible through blue-tinged fog, ringing the horizon like a crown. Rolling hills stretch out as far as the eye can see, and Pearl can just make out the rocks that break up the woods below. The cool spring breeze rustles the treetops around them as it does the loose hair around Pearl’s face, and when she inhales, Pearl’s surrounded by the scent of sweet, refreshing pine.

“Well, this was a bust, then.” Grian lowers himself, readying for the climb back down.

Carefully shifting her grip to join him, Pearl takes one final sweeping glance, when something shiny catches her eye. Turning fully towards it, she gasps, “Wait! Grian! I see the lake!”

“You do?”

“Yeah! Over there!” Pearl points to where the last remnants of the sunset sparkle over the water of the lake, mostly obscured by trees and uphill to their current position. “It’s not too far! We’ve been running parallel to it, looks like.”

Grian laughs, full of incredulous relief. “Sounds about right for us. Let’s grab the gang and get going!”

Feeling rejuvenated in their discovery, Pearl and Grian sprint to where the others are waiting in a small clearing, seemingly focused on the ground at their feet.

“Please do not destroy my shoes,” Impulse is saying as Pearl and Grian come into earshot. Scar, wearing said shoes, pouts in response, and Mumbo looks to be weighing the merits of the option.

“We found the lake!” Grian shouts in excitement. “It’s just beyond that hill over there!”

The trio looks up from the shoe debacle in almost perfect sync, which Pearl can’t help but snicker at. “You did? We’ve been this close the whole time?” Mumbo passes a hand over his hair. “I thought we’d have to camp out right here!”

“Don’t be dramatic, my good sir, have some faith in us! We would’ve been fine,” Scar assures. “Though, having an exact location streamlines the process, I will admit.”

“You were just planning to cut Impulse’s trainers into sandals!” Mumbo retorts. “You have no standing to be calling me dramatic.”

“My toes are all cramped! I see where Impulse is coming from, unreasonable as it is, but it would’ve been worth—”

“Fellas!” Grian interrupts. “We can keep arguing about shoes all you want later, but for now it’s getting dark and we still have a couple hundred blocks to go. Let’s get a move on.”

“Fair point,” Mumbo concedes, holding a hand out to help Scar to his feet. After Scar’s up, they’re moving, anxious to get to the campsite.

The woods beyond the clearing are far darker than Pearl expected them to be, and the torches are broken out almost immediately. The birdsong that had accompanied the daylight is quiet, save for a few stray chirps here and there. Even amidst the shadow, while surrounded by the glow of the torchlight and soft chatter of her friends, tired from a long day of hiking, Pearl feels safe.

Nighttime has settled over the land entirely once they reach the lake. Stumbling through thick brush, Pearl breaks through to the water’s edge—only to find herself looking at the campsite, tiny from so far away, on the other side of the lake.

“…Well, at least we found the lake?” Impulse winces.

Mumbo sighs, picking loose a few thorns stuck in his shorts. “There’s no way we can walk all the way around, is there?”

“We could take boats across?” Scar suggests.

“That’s a great idea, actually! I packed a few extra, just in case.” Pearl pulls the boats’ compacted versions from her backpack, setting three down in the water and watching them grow to full size.

“You’re a lifesaver, Pearl,” Grian thanks, climbing into one of the boats. Scar settles in behind him, and Mumbo and Impulse get into the next one together, leaving Pearl with her own.

Grian’s boat leads the way, and as Pearl rows behind it, she catches sight of the stars, reflected against the water, disrupted by the ripple of her oars. Slowing to a stop, Pearl lets her boat drift as she looks up to admire the scene, filled with more galaxies than she could count, the moon hung high above. Stars all around her, in the water and night sky, Pearl feels like she’s floating through the void beneath the Boatem hole, untouched by the chaos of the world above.

Apparently noticing Pearl’s inaction, Impulse’s rowing peters out, and she waves to let him know she’s alright. After a moment, Mumbo calls out for Grian and Scar to stop, and the soft lapping of the water against Pearl’s boat and rustles from the surrounding forest are the only noises to break the silence as they all take in the view.

They soon start for the site once more, docking against the sandy bank. Five tents are arranged in a semicircle around a campfire, and dinner is shared over it. S’mores are an irreplaceable classic to any good camping trip, and after a proper mess of sticky marshmallow and gooey chocolate is made, Pearl bids her goodnight, and heads for her tent, exhausted in the best way.

In the morning, the hike back is easier than the one the day earlier, and they make it back to the van in the early afternoon. The drive back home is filled with blasted music and recounts of their adventures, and towards the end of it, Pearl isn’t the only person to catch a quick nap on the final stretch of road.

Returning to Boatem, Pearl sets down her bag and immediately goes for her sketchbook, stored by her bed in her little starter boat. She has so many ideas for her megabase.

(Reblogs do more than likes!)

#hermitcraft #pearlescentmoon #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #impulsesv #boatem #sky duo #boatem village zine #hermitfic #my writing #zines #YEAHHH BOATEM ZINE #i adore everything about how this project came out

110 notes · View notes