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unholyhelbig · 3 months ago

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More firecrest pls & thank u

Title: Firecrest (Part 5/7)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: More bad parenting, Needles, shootings (guns and mention of death), discrimination, Politics (vaguely), and horrible grammar because we all know I don't proofread.

[A/n: Woo, okay, have finally gotten my bearings on a chapter count. Two more to go folks and then all of my attention will be focused on Fright Night!]

The bourbon burned uncomfortably when you swallowed it down in two gulps. The warmth swirled in your stomach and instantly went to your head. It was a dizzy feeling, one that replaced the despair that had settled in your bones. The oaky taste was appealing enough for you to tap the edge of the glass to signal for another.

The Rusty Nail was the definition of ‘dive-bar’, with its smoke-yellowed walls and torn booth seats that frothed with foam. The bartender had a stained towel over his shoulder and replaced the beer that was in front of a man at the other end of the bar, wordlessly.

A box television that had to be from at least the early 90’s was mounted on the corner of the wall. The news played through the speakers with a cracking static. There was roadwork in the majority of Brooklyn, and coat drives taking place at every middle school in the district.

What caught your hazy attention was a photo of Lance. His smile was intoxicating to the general public, and the graph that populated next to him with winning numbers confirmed this fact. He was pulling ahead astonishingly, and even through your misery, you felt a swell of pride.

“Get a load of that guy,” The bartender hissed under his breath.

“Not a fan?”

You’d heard everything under the sun about your step-father, pointedly ignoring the negative opinions in favor for the man that cooked fantastic blueberry pancakes. His campaign relied on dissolving what remained of the Sokovia accords, and removing the restrictions that were put on Inhumans.

For you, it was easy. While a deep and dark fire brewed within you, you still looked relatively normal. Of course, you went through your teenage phases of turmoil, just like everyone else. But, there were people out there who weren’t so lucky; Inhumans that were plagued with spikes covering their entire bodies, translucent skin that displayed the entirety of their innerworkings, or the rocks that engulfed you once, never falling away at all.

Still, with the small Inhuman marking on the edge of your license, it took three times as long to get through airport security, and renting an apartment hadn’t even been a possibility without your mother co-signing. The world still feared Inhumans, just as they feared the changes that came along with them.

It had been changing for years, and Lance wanted to push things just a little further. You held out hope, but immense love for the man who had helped raised you. Though, not everyone felt the same way. A good portion of citizens opposed the man with the golden smile and kind eyes because of his stance on Inhumans.

“He’s pretty don’t get me wrong. But his stance on those… freaks? Those accords are the only thing keeping our streets safe.”

“Oh?”

“You disagree?”

You took a tentative sip of your drink. You were bone-tired and not much into political talk. It was the middle of the night, and you had just felt the adhesive of your ‘fake-dating-band-aid” get ripped from your skin. It left a stinging discomfort behind.

You shrugged “I don’t think they’re hurting anyone.”

The bartender narrowed his eyes and scoffed. He took your empty glass and didn’t offer to refill it. He probably thought you were drunk, and while you were a little tipsy at best, your position on what you were, what so many people around you hid, stayed the same. It worried you, the target that Lance had on his back because of this.

“What about that shooting?”

“The one committed by a human?

This silenced him, though he wore his frown on his sleeve. It had been so quick, blasted all over the news. A father of a teenager had walked into the pizza place where his son worked and opened fire. He’d found out earlier in the day, that his son was an Inhuman, exposed to the same chemicals you were. Three people died, including the shooter, but it was spun in a way that was unforgiveable.

You held you tongue, instead, throwing your money on the counter. You’d come here to get away from the chaos of your own mind. It had dulled the anxieties to an extent, but what was taken away was soon replaced with annoyance.

Your apartment was, of course, empty upon your return. Keys were set on the end table by the door and you flicked on the nearest light so you could avoid the furniture that you thought about moving every single day. It was lonely here. Cold in a way that went beyond a thermostat.

Sleeping was well out of the question, so you skimmed the bookshelf placed on the far side of the room and grabbed the piece of literature that was most appealing. You saw no point in keeping books that didn’t pull you in within the first hundred pages, but there was a staple few that you kept no matter what.

You’d picked up a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You thumbed through the pages, letting it fan the sharp sourness of old paper. The last time you’d read it, you only made it halfway through, and the makeshift bookmark that fell out landed on your lap.

You abandoned the book as quickly as you picked it up in favor for the page marker. It was an old, folded photo. As if pouring salt into the wound, it was one of the only known photos of you and Kate together. Her smile beamed at the camera, one arm around your shoulder and the other holding up the middle finger.

The two of you were standing on the docks at rented cabin that your families shared. Usually, you didn’t run into the Bishops, but one fateful year, your leisure time had aligned. Eleanor wanted to take a nice photo. You never knew if it was for the masses, or for her own pleasure, but Kate ruined every single shot with her shit-eating grin and obscene gestures.

It had been creased right down the middle, a sloppy split in the glossed parchment. A tear had dripped from your chin and landed on the edge, your throat suddenly tight. You didn’t bother wiping them away, or picking up the discarded copy of Pride and Prejudice when it hit the carpet with an undignified thump.

You were sobbing by the time you decided to fold the photo back up. That was as far as you had gotten, really. Slumped back in a worn loveseat and letting the tears that had been building all day well-up and soak your collar. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and your chest ached fiercely.

It angered you, that all of this was about Kate Bishop, of all people.

It should be Clint that brought on the wealth of emotions. And in a way, it was. It had always been. The archer had discarded you as a young child, and you supposed you should be thankful for that. You were privileged, especially compared to the poor boy in the pizza shop. But the scars still lingered horribly.

You landed softly, and most of that had been because of Kate. The anger and distress that came with the situation was always dampened by her stormy eyes and her pension for doing good. It rebelled against the Bishop protocol and after a long while, you realized she was different. Kinder. Clumsier. More dedicated.

She knew what she wanted, just as well as she knew what you needed. In moments of anger, she’d distract you with her innate ability to drive you crazy with competition. In panic, she had a softer touch that soothed you into extinguishing volatile flames.

Sleeping with her had been a bad idea. You knew if from the start, but preened at her deeper attention, at the way her hands felt against you, breath fanning warmly across your cheeks and then your chest. For her, you were a release. For you, she was everything.

You were in love, with Kate, mother fucking, Bishop.

It weighed your shoulders down, labored your breathing. But strangely, you felt no flames. The warmth that usually accompanied strong emotions such as these wasn’t there. For the first time, in a long time, you succumbed to sadness. Just sadness.

The cobalt of Kate’s dress illuminated the blue ringlets in her iris’s. They caught the light of the chandelier in the lobby. They were crystal, hanging low but secured tightly to the ceiling. Almost as tight as the dress that Kate wore.

You were clad in a tailored suit, loosely buttoned black fabric a lace corset that matched the cobalt of Kate’s cocktail dress. She’d sent you the color combination in a single word text. Blue. And you’d followed her instructions perfectly, matching her wavelength like always.

For extra measure, you put on a dainty stainless steel arrow necklace. It showed commitment, it was just short of showing your misery. Kate’s eyes canned from your toes to your own stare and you barely suppressed the shivers that came with her scrutiny.

She figured it would be better to face this on a united front and arrive together. She let out a quiet huff of indignance and folded her arm enough for you to loop your own through it. Her warmth, her comfort, no matter how scarce, was overwhelming and threatened to bring back the tears.

That wasn’t what tonight was about. Tonight was about having a united front, about being endlessly in love to make your parents uncomfortable. You weren’t quite sure what Kate was getting out of this and she wasn’t about to tell you either.

The elevator ride up was uncomfortable. She’d never been this quiet for this long before.

“Kate,”

“No.” She clenched her jaw, voice a low whisper despite it only being the two of you and the slowly climbing lift. “For once, y/n, don’t say a word.”

Your eyes met hers in the reflective paneling and you gave her a small nod. The silence had suddenly become heavier, deeper. Your hand curled up in your jacket pocket before you diverted your gaze. The only mercy was the elevator reaching the penthouse, a muffled ‘ding’ proceeding the doors sliding open to her foyer.

The archer had pulled her shoulders back and had a soft smile on her face. There was a sadness behind her eyes that anyone else would have to dig for, but you could see it from a mile away. She was hurting as much as you were but wasn’t going to show it.

You did just the same, working the tension from your features as the scent of lamb coated your lungs and made your stomach clench. You’d always hated the dish, but it was a staple of the Bishop family chef so you powered through it every time.

She smoothed her hand over your jacket sleeve as the two of you stepped out of the elevator. It almost scared you how perfectly she fit into this role. It was the flip of a switch. You were uncomfortable with the thought of it being in your favor. You couldn’t feel the love behind her gestures, because they were just that. Gestures.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Ready.” You replied.

The mechanical whir of the elevator had attracted the attention of those who had already arrived. You’d been in Kate’s house once or twice, enough to count on only one hand. But, you knew the layout fairly well. Her apartment was open concept, and this had a million intersecting walls and corridors.

The two of you passed the dining room and entered something you could only describe as a sitting room, maybe a study with the large oak bookshelves, dusty and untouched. The walls were a Spanish moss green and the hardwood covered by an oriental rug.

Eleanor wore a blood red dress, and Jack had a matching silk pocket square. Clint was the only one that stood out among all of you. He wore a nice dress shirt that was tucked into black pants, he looked cleanly pressed and perfect for a Bishop dinner party.

He held a glass of whiskey, and Jack was pouring one more. He gave you a beaming, and wholly innocent smile, his mustache lifting at the sides. “Miss Morse! Katie!”

You felt Kate stiffen next to you at the name, her jaw clenching. Instinctively, your hand covered hers, thumb ghosting over the scarring on her knuckles. Her shoulders seemed to lower, and that breath smelled of the familiar wintergreen.

“Darling,” Eleanor moved forward and placed phantom kisses against both of Kate’s cheeks before moving to do the same with you. “Let me get a good look at you both.”

“Mom, you’ve seen us before.”

“Not like this. It’s different. Before it was just rumors, and speculation. Annoying, isn’t it? But now, we can spin this anyway we want to.”

Kate gave her mother a tight smile. “We’re not a press opportunity”

“Not so easy to say when you’ve already been all the press can talk about.” She shrugged and took the glass from Jacks hand. “You know, at first, I thought this was horrible. But people seem to like you both.”

There was something on the tip of her tongue that wanted to escape. A God Know’s why or a couldn’t be me. But she said neither and an uncomfortable silence fell over you all. Kate subconsciously tightened her fingers against your arm once more, and the pressure was nearly soothing.

Your eyes met Clint’s across the room, and you got hit with the familiar feeling of your world tilting in a nauseating way. He offered up a small smile, the only one he could muster within these last few chaotic weeks.

He waved at Kate, not enthusiastically, a neutral and awkward expression of affection. Kate let out a long breath, retracting her arm and similarly placing her hand on the small of your back. She needed a grounding technique, just as much as you did.

Eleanor sensed the tension and announced that it was time for dinner. The scent of the lamb came rolling back in crashing waves. Upon entering the dining room, you were positive that the woman hadn’t cooked this meal herself.

A linin table cloth was punctuated with candles, bathing the room in a dull yellow light. There were different platters piled with dripping meat, and steaming mashed potatoes. Glasses of red wine rested next to the salads situated on gold plating.

Fire crackled within the large stone hearth that you’d never seen lit. It seemed almost directed, sitting in front of the warm, smoldering flames. Across from you was Eleanor and Jack, Clint right in between them. Jack seemed particularly fond of the man, similarly entrapped by his accomplishments as the rest of the world.

“Everyone, dig in” Eleanor prompted “No need to be so formal.”

“Right,” Kate cleared her throat, picking up fork and chasing a cherry tomato with the prongs. “How is everyone?”

You winced at the pathetic attempt at small talk, staring down at your own wilted greens. It was a valiant effort that was promptly ignored by everyone else at the table.

“Y/n, why don’t you tell us more about yourself?” Eleanor asked.

Kate gave you a look that intimately read as you don’t have to entertain her. “You know all about Y/n. We grew up together.”

“From fifth grade onward. I remember when your mom enrolled you. You kept deliberately ripping your uniform until she agreed to pants. Same thing happened with Katherine. But now that you and my daughter are involved, I’d like to know more.”

She took a sip of her wine, and your fingers brushed over the glass base of your own glass. But you didn’t pick it up. You’d decided last night, sometime between showering off the scum of the dive-bar and propping a window in your apartment to get some fresh air, that you needed a clear head for something like this.

You cleared your throat. “Well, uh, what would you like to know?”

“Where you grew up!” Jack cut in fantastically, talking around a mouth full of vegetation, waving his fork around like a madman “Your favorite color, if you have any pets!”

Your stare flicked to Clint, but he was staring down at his untouched food. He didn’t know the answer to any of these questions and the stinging bile that threatened to push past your lips was instantly swallowed back down in favor of your dignity.

“I moved around a lot as a kid, my mom traveled for work a lot so we were never in one place for too long. Amsterdam, Delhi, Perth. The best place though, was a small desert town in Arizona. There weren’t many people there and it could get to about a hundred degrees by the time the sun was at it’s highest point. But it was peaceful, and beautiful.”

Clint was watching you carefully now. He’d been there too. It was one of the last places you’d traveled together as a family. There was a small strip of old wooden structures that reminded you of the wild west, cutting through the orange of the desert. Murals were painted against the rocky structures, writhing snakes, swallowing the sun, and fire shimmering over it’s scales.

It was captivating during the day, but even better at night. It was the clearest you had ever seen the stars. Blankets of twinkling constellations and milky ways that you’d never seen before. Your neck started to ache from staring up at it for so long, and it was Clint who had laid a blanket in the bed of his truck and laid next to you to view them.

He’d taught you about the different formations, and of course, his favorite, the Sagittarius. An archer that sacrificed his own mortality for the sake of his sons. It seemed ironic now. But then, it had made you feel like the most important girl in the world.

“A dusty old desert town over the streets of Amsterdam?” Eleanor seemed to find amusement in this, piercing a slice of carrot with the prongs of her fork. It gave a satisfying snap. “Interesting.”

“It was peaceful” You shrugged, finally giving in and taking a warm sip of wine. “The last time we were together as a family.”

“Is that right?”

Eleanor was enjoying herself too much and Kate’s hand nervously went to the charm around her own neck. You hadn’t noticed it before, trying to be respectful. Trying not to let your eyes wander during an irreparable time.

She looked best in gold and knew that from a young age. The chain was dainty, and the pendant was a whisp of a flame. It made your mouth go dry and you wondered if it was a conscious decision, just like the one you had made to grab the only necklace with an arrow.

“I remember that place.” Clint spoke up for the first time. “It was called Chloride. Weird name for a town.”

You were too transfixed on Kate’s fingers running over the curvature of the necklace to care. Her cheeks took on a red tint in the glow of the candles. She removed her hand and found yours on top of the table. It was damp, but a solid force.

“You were afraid of scorpions in your shoes and made me and your mom check and double check them before you even thought of putting them on. You usually went barefoot, which was more dangerous than just wearing the shoes.”

“Is this your idea of an olive branch?”

The words left your mouth without thinking, and they were pumped with venom. You couldn’t help it. Your stomach was already rolling unsteadily and his words, though soaked with kindness, were far from merited. Kate’s mother sat back with an almost giddy look on her face. She’d been expecting this.

Kate tightened her grip inadvertently, and you could feel the small sting of her nails carving crescents into your palm. You wholly expected her gaze to be narrowed at you, but it was transfixed on Clint. There was a hardness there that she had harbored for you earlier in the week.

You let out a strangled breath and stared down at your salad. It wasn’t worth it. None of this felt worth it. In a strange way, you were absolutely defeated, and the wilted lettuce was much more interesting than satisfying Eleanor Bishop’s sick need for chaos.

“No. of course not.” His expression betrayed a sadness that pulled uncomfortably at your chest. “Just a memory, is all.”

“Do you know what I remember?”

Kate rumbled softly, a noise that was every bit the warning to you. Let it go. She worried incessantly about the fire under your fingertips. Possibly more than yourself in moments like these. But there was no itching beneath your skin. For once, it was just a storm of sorrow. Sweat was forming on your brow and Kate’s grip shifted to your wrist, finger pressed plainly to your pulse.

“The look in your eyes when you walked away. I was just a kid, but that was the first time I ever learned about betrayal. For months, Clint, months I would sit by the window and wait for you to come back. It didn’t matter where we were, what country, what city, I would wait. I was certain that you would find us and we could be a family again.”

He clenched his knife and fork on either side of his plate, his knuckles turning a sickly type of white that nearly echoed yellow, his whisper was broken. “I’m… sorry. I understand that you need someone to blame, kid.”

“Blame?” You let out a dry laugh, standing with enough force to push the chair back with a strangled screech. “You think this is about blame? That’s a simple emotion to work through. This is about which one of you was willing to stick around when things got hard, and which one of you ran to a new family.”

The silence was deafening. Eleanor lifted her wine glass and hid her vicious smirk behind the seductive red liquid. Jack had directed his tender stare to Kate, no-doubt deciding then and there to be a good stepfather for more than a few moments at a time.

You sucked in a heavy breath before shaking your head and leaving the room. It wasn’t difficult to navigate the Bishop penthouse, with it’s dark open-concept layout. You needed air. It was much too hot in the dining room and you’d begun to sweat through your layers of clothing.

The balcony connected to the family room lacked decoration. It was a stone ledge that caught the cold drafts of high winds, drying the sweat against your skin instantly. You swallowed enough frigid air to burn your throat, but the tears refused to come. You couldn’t cry anymore.

Your head hung over the edge of the balcony, a strange dizziness washing over you as you stared down at the passing traffic, hundreds of unblinking eyes that lit up the night. You wish you had the foresight to grab the glass of wine, or something stronger from Jacks secret stash.

The temperature had dropped significantly by the time you heard the sliding glass door open. You didn’t bother turning around. Not with the subtle evergreen scent. “Tell Eleanor I’m sorry for ruining dinner.”

“Ruining?” Kate chuckled softly. Warmth engulfed you as she draped a blanket over your shoulders. You grasped the frayed edges out of habit and tugged it closely around you. “She lives for the drama of it all. She expected this, I think you’ve actually made her year.”

She leaned against the balcony, letting her hands hang over the edge. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, pale and beautiful. The tell-tale anger that had been etched into her features earlier was surrendered. You caught the glint of her bracelet and nervously brought your own hand up to the cool arrow charm that rested against your collarbone.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it? Waiting for someone to apologize?”

The corner of your lips lifted into a smile. “Very subtle, Katie.”

“I’m giving you an opening here.”

You sighed heavily and turned just enough to get a better look at her. She always knocked the breath out of you in an almost cruel way. Her eyes held a tenderness that was unmatched. She was patient with you, just like she had always been.

“This entire time, I’ve been chasing after an apology from Clint., one that he’s too proud to give. It’s easy to be consumed by something like that, but that’s no excuse to hurt you in the process.” You swallowed heavily, trying to curb the dryness in your throat.

You couldn’t look at her. The mere sight of the curve of her jaw, the softness of her demeanor despite her deep seeded anger, would be too much. Kate effectively knocked you off your feet every single time she spared you a glance. If you were going to get this out in the open, you’d much rather stare at the traffic below.

“Katie, I can’t begin to describe how much you mean to me. We’ve always had this unspoken rivalry and for the longest time I couldn’t figure it out. Why couldn’t we both just be good at the same things without vying against one another?”

You let out a wounded sigh, fingers digging into the stone balcony. “I never understood why I wanted to beat you so badly, and I don’t know where along the way that changed. But I’ve realized recently that it was never about beating you. It was about making you proud.”

Her breath had caught, a subtle noise that you noticed due to proximity. Her hand was atop yours, much like it was at dinner, somehow warmer than your own. She didn’t say anything, and you didn’t lift your gaze to meet hers. Your cheeks were enflamed with blush that you could blame on the two sips of wine you had.

“Deep down, I’ve always known that I’ve been in love with you since that first kiss at archery camp. I don’t expect you to feel the same, but I was doing more damage hiding it from you than putting it out there. You have to understand, Katie, I never meant to hurt you the other day. I’m just so used to burying it down, to keeping my emotions stifled for the greater good, that I didn’t know what to say… how to say it.”

She was rendered speechless herself and you could feel your vision start to blur at the edges, the lights from lines of city traffic suddenly fuzzy. You were never a fan of heights, but the sudden sloppy confession was much more daunting than the prospect of falling thirty stories.

“Oh,” Kate rasped.

You clenched your eyes shut until you saw stars. She’d never been a girl of little words, and you felt your heart rate increase. It pounded listlessly, preparing for rejection that you knew typically followed her silence.

None of that came, however, instead was the slightest pinprick against the side of your neck. You would have figured it nothing more than a mosquito if the weather hadn’t taken an icy turn. But this was different, this alerted your senses in one fail swoop.

Your eyes snapped open and narrowed at Kate in time to register the emptying of the syringe she’d pushed past your skin. A sickly green liquid that already stung terribly as it started to pulse through your veins.

“A lovely sentiment, I’m sure.” She pouted in a mocking way, lilting her head to the side as she pulled the needle from the side of your neck. Your fingers pressed against the area to quell the foreign sensation.

You were suddenly incredibly dizzy, the pulsing of your vision matching with the frantic beating of your heart. You were losing strength quickly, clinging to the stone balcony for some type of solace. You fell all the same, collapsed at its corner with quick breaths of panic.

Kate was suddenly crouched in front of you. She lifted your chin until you could stare into her eyes. They were cold, emotionless. “Maybe one day, you’ll be able to tell her.”

Her thumb brushed lightly over your cheek. It was so familiar, yet incredibly foreign. Your thoughts were muddled, non-existent as the heavy sensation took over. She seemed to revel in your confusion, in the pain that she’d so easily inflicted.

Kate’s disconnected stare was the last thing you saw before darkness swallowed you whole in an odd type of comfort, the world ceased to flicker, like the edges of a flame.

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121, @escapereality4music, @cyberbonesworld, @dark-hunter16

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #Kate bishop x reader #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction #hurt/comfort #Ask #bobbi morse #lance hunter #mockingbird #clint barton #Reader has fire powers

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morganas-pendragons · 1 year ago

Text

ache | fourteen

this got away from me sooooooo quickly, I hope you like it!

The first time you met him, he didn't have to tell you how old he was. You were well versed in reading people. In distinguishing those hidden details between the lines, between the cracks of the person, and recognizing the little things no one else could bother to care about.

You knew he was old. You didn't know he was forever. You didn't know that he'd been running for so long that he'd never allowed himself to learn how to stop. To plant his feet in one place, to inhale, to exhale.

You didn't realize how much he craved you. How he craved you like the oxygen he has not breathed in since Gallifrey. Since the last time he allowed himself to simply exist without having to flee to the next destination.

The Doctor. The man who keeps running, because he dare not look back.

But with you... when he left you...

Oh, he did. You just didn't know.

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart found you in the aftermath of the Doctor's departure. You were sitting on the park bench where the TARDIS had last dropped you off, knees drawn to your chest and eyes blankly staring at the spot in hopes the box would materialize.

It never did. Every time you sat here and thought about it, about him, your chest ached so badly. Like it was seeking the oxygen it had been deprived of.

She'd sat beside you and waited until you turned your head to acknowledge her, "Whatever it is, I'm not interested. I'm waiting for a friend to come back."

There's so little hope in your voice. You know he's not coming back. You know, but you hope, because The Doctor can ease that ache in your chest and breathe that air back into your lungs.

You wish you hadn't been so impressionable. He'd flashed those marvelous brown eyes and that charming smile. That was all it took.

And when he'd laid those bleeding hearts in your hands, you'd let the blood run through your fingers and held them close to your chest. You'd protected them. Cherished them.

And then you'd thrown them back in the TARDIS. Left to fend for themselves. Left to bleed again.

The ache just won't go away.

"Your friend is a notorious runner," Kate remarks. "The likelihood is slim. However, I do have an opportunity for you that you could consider.. where he may show his face sometime soon enough."

You heard her out. She told you about UNIT, about The Doctor and his involvement, and you took the job when she offered it to you.

You saw him from afar multiple times after that. You never saw Ten again, but Ten would see you, parking the TARDIS out of sight multiple times before he changed faces because just seeing you eased the ache in his chest that had settled there when you were gone.

Then the one in the tweed with the bowtie. He was clever. Sweet. Kind. You saw him several times. Marveled at him from afar.

The ache got a little bit easier to deal with.

Then the next one. So much older. Older and angry and lonely and so, so ready to give up. That companion who'd gone with him sought you out the first time they came to UNIT together. Almost like she recognized you.

Turns out, Clara did.

"Hi," You turn to acknowledge the younger woman from your spot at your desk and smile warmly. "My name is Clara. Forgive me for the intrusion, but I have to ask you something."

"Come on in," You wave to the open chair with an empty hand and settle your tablet on your desk. You'd been reading up on the Doctor and all UNIT had gathered on him since you'd joined. There was a lot to sift through. "What can I do for you, Clara?"

"I thought you looked familiar. Then I remembered," She reached into her pocket and pulled out an old photo. You froze instantly at the sight and leaned outward to inspect it. "He's got a picture of you on the console."

It's definitely you. You and Ten and Donna, weeks after you'd joined them on the TARDIS, wrapped in your parkas and Ten in his trench coat on the Planet of the Ood.

"That is me," You whisper. Clara softened as you ran your fingers along the edge of the picture, turning it over to read the inscription on the back. That's Ten's handwriting. It's not yours. It reads, When the ache was gone. "I used to be just like you. I was so..."

Clara waited. She waited, but your voice never came, because then she was saying, "I just wanted you to know something. He talks about you. He hasn't done it a lot, but you're the only one he's got a photograph of on the console. I see the way he looks at it. And he's mentioned you a few times. The Doctor told me once that he's been in pain since you've been gone. And I don't think it's going to stop."

And then she's gone, and you're on your own again. She didn't even leave you the photo. She just leaves you to collect your thoughts and the fact that The Doctor has not been able to move on from you.

Silent tears track down your face. You would give anything to touch him. To hold him, to run your thumbs reverently under those ancient eyes, and just... tell him how loved he is.

But you can't.

He keeps running away.

***

He stops cold when he sees you inside of Unit HQ. You're standing there behind Shirley, so beautiful, and so very alive. He's only just come back from Soho.

From the Toymaker. From the nightmare, from the constant reminding that he failed you, failed them, failed all of them. All the ones who died.

"We hired Y/N as a liaison. Turns out hiring your companions has proven to be quite beneficial. They are something of experts, after all."

And then there's Mel, and it's all just too much because there are so many people in this room who love him. He doesn't deserve that love. There's too much weakness in this room. His hearts are bleeding everywhere and The Toymaker knows his weaknesses.

The Doctor will not let the ache infect him again. Not when you're standing less than three feet away from him for the first time in fifteen years.

You have no time to react before he's in front of you, and you can smell him, and he's everywhere and his fingers are lacing with yours.

Something shifts inside of your chest.

"I have so much to answer for," He murmurs lowly enough only for the two of you to hear. "And I know there's no universe in which you don't hate me for what I did-"

His whole affect shifts into something of despair when you step forward to fill the gap between you and grip his chin between your thumb and finger. There's so much pain in those eyes now. Pain from inevitable losses, pain from what he's done to you, pain from existence.

You just want to take his ache away. If you're going to do anything with the precious amount of time you two have, you are going to take those bleeding hearts back into your hands and fix them. And then you are going to hold him.

You are going to hold him with your bloody hands - because when does anyone who is ever associated with The Doctor not have blood on their hands? - and refuse to ever let him go.

It makes your ache less. It makes your pain less.

"There won't ever be a single instance in which you could make me hate you," You admit. "And you will have all the time in the world to tell me why you made me leave."

"The Toymaker. He... He preys on weaknesses. He will know. He always knows."

And it's on that moment that you see something you almost never saw with his Tenth face: Fear. He is terrified. That unnerves you.

Without thinking, you stand on your tiptoes and cradle his face in your hands as you kiss his forehead. It's tender. Reverent. Mel and Donna try not to gape as The Doctor leans in closer and remains there until you pull apart.

"Then don't let him," You say firmly. "And you go out there and you win."

***

"I'm all sonic and Timelord. Take that away... what am I? What am I now?"

Donna is reminded of one of the earliest trips she'd ever taken with Ten. Among the very first where she'd realized that he had fallen in love with you. There's faint memories of Pompeii, of the aftermath, when you'd followed The Doctor into the console room after he'd stormed in there asking the same question.

That time you'd answered him with all the gentleness she answers him now, "Take that all away, and you're still a good man."

The few moments that you get alone with Donna give her the opportunity to fill you in on what she'd learned from being inside The Doctor's mind. She tells you about Eleven and Twelve and Thirteen, about the ones who died, about The Flux. You hear all of it.

What makes the ache unbearable is the fact that when Ten died, he died alone. And that's the worst part.

Because you'd broken your promise that he'd never be alone again. Despite the fact he'd forced you out, you'd failed him.

And now here you stood.

"Hey," Donna's hand rests on your shoulder as your eyes flicker over to the Doctor, who now stands mere feet in front of the Toymaker. "You'll be with him soon enough."

Seconds after she says it, the air is pierced by a scream as the galvanizing beam activates, and it is shot straight through The Doctor. Mel's hand is going white from how hard you are gripping it.

"I played one game with the first Doctor, the second game with the second Doctor, and I will play the next game with the next Doctor!" The Toymaker exclaims boldly.

You don't realize you're the one screaming until the beam turns off.

He falls to his knees. The last time he'd done that that you had seen was when you walked out of the TARDIS. Defeat. Resignation.

You wait for the regeneration energy to appear. You're about to lose this face, again, and there's not a single thing you can do about it. Not until Donna's voice speaks up again and shouts, "He's not dying alone!"

"You can do what you like to me," You're speaking before you can stop yourself. "But I'm going to be with him. I keep my word. And I won't fail him again."

Mel nods her confirmation to both remarks. You steel your expression as you pursue Donna and Mel toward the Doctor. You cannot be falling apart right now. The ache is not allowed to consume you when it is him who is about to die, to change, to become another man.

Everything in the world around you disappears when you meet those eyes. Those kind, sad eyes that have always looked at you with such reverence and devotion. Those are the eyes of a man who you would burn the galaxies and all within it if it gives him some peace.

The words are on his tongue, so ready to be said. The ache has made the weight of keeping those words to himself unbearable.

He knows though. In that moment, he knows. He will love you eternally. No matter the face.

"It's okay," You say confidently. "It's okay."

"It's not dying."

"But you're going to be someone else." Mel interjects. The Doctor's eyes travel between the three of you. His former companion, his best friend, and his love. "It doesn't matter who. 'Cause every single one of you is fantastic."

He meets your eyes head on, and you rest a singular hand between his hearts.

"Here we go again," He murmurs. "Allonsy."

***

There are two of them. Two Doctors. The older one, the newer one, wears something you've never seen on The Doctor. He wears the mark of acceptance. Or peace.

Probably both.

But the way he looks at you? Oh, the way he looks at you. It's like he knows something that you and the younger Doctor don't know. When The younger Doctor and Donna approach the newest Doctor after the Toymaker is defeated, you stay behind to let them have their moment.

Until Fifteen looks back and motions you forward the second Fourteen's head falls into the crook of his neck. He already knows. He already knows, and he’s asking you to come step in. To be his sanctuary.

You suck in a breath and approach, bridging the gap between The Doctor and Donna to tenderly run your hand up his spine. He can’t see you. He can’t see you, but you can see him, and his entire being trembles at your touch.

“How many people died?” Fourteen asks again. You swallow the knot in your throat and meet the older Doctors dark gaze, to which he winks at you and gently turns his younger self around so that way his face is buried in your neck instead.

“They’re right.” You whisper, threading your fingers through the hair at his nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. The older Doctor presses a finger to his lips and tugs on Donna’s arm to give the two of you a moment of privacy. “It’s not your fault. None of this, none of the ones who died, are your fault. You want to know why?”

He allows you to lift his head from the crook of your neck. Your fingers trace the curve of his jaw until you’re cupping it in your hands, and the urge to kiss him until the ache disappears has never been stronger.

The Doctor asks with such a hesitation that is so unlike him, "Why?"

And it's then that you realize: For all the time this lonely harbinger of death and destruction has existed, when was the last time he stopped? When was the last time he lived?

"Because we choose to. We choose you. There were so many of us, so many of us who wanted something better then the simplistic life we get here on Earth."

The Doctor shakes his head. "Humans are not and have never been simple-" You press a finger to his lips and quirk a brow, playfully daring him to continue.

"You come and urge us away in that brilliant little box of yours with promises of a better life. An exciting life. Regardless of the dangers to ourselves, we always take it, because of you. We take you in all that you are even when the Oncoming Storm dares to rear his ugly head. Ancient. Timeless. Infinite," You tenderly run a thumb under his eye. "You love so much... but don't let yourself be loved in return. You don't let yourself be thanked. That's why. We love you because you're selfless, because you're you."

The Doctor hates how wrong you are. He wants to believe those things about himself, but he is by nature a selfish man.

"You are too good to me." He whispers in your ear, lips brushing your temple. You hum thoughtfully and reach under his vest to playfully squeeze his hips.

"Because you're deserving of goodness too, my love."

In the doorway behind you both, The older Doctor smiles. This is exactly the thing, the people, that his younger self needs to heal from all that damage. All that pain and loneliness.

And eventually, he too will wear the mark of peace that this new body has been granted.

***

"Do you know why I think this face came back? So you could stop. So you could come home."

The Doctor has been absently sipping at his drink for the greater part of thirty minutes as he basks in the sunlight and the joy from the group gathered around the table. Mel is just barely leaning into him, enough for her warmth to seep through the fabric of his shirt, and Donna is grinning brightly as Rose tells the story of when The Doctor took her to Mars.

In the distance, Wilf's shotgun goes off as he misses yet another mole attempting to emerge from its burrow.

It is the most peace he's had in millennia.

"Hey," Donna's voice softly calls from his left as she nudges his side with her elbow. "Where did you go?" Ten had this blank look of devastation and haunting that he wore quite often when she'd ask him a question about his past, or about where he'd come from. He lived in his memories. Memories about Gallifrey. About his companions.

This time though, it's you.

Before he can properly reply to Donna, there's a voice shouting from inside the house. His brow furrows. All of the family is outside. So who-

"Donna! For God's sake, why does your house have little to no counter space? There's only four of you! Where am I supposed to put this food?"

The Doctor sucks in a sharp breath. "Is that-"

"Don't worry, I didn't say a word," Donna assures. "But yes. Now go."

She says it with such demand that he has no choice but to trust her and stands to his feet. The Doctor wiggles his toes in the damp, warm grass and takes his empty glass inside to refill it.

There you are. Right there, in all your splendor, muttering curse words under your breath as you work to create space for the desert you'd brought at Donna's request. He's at a loss for words.

That's a first.

"Donna, if you're just standing there gaping-" You whip around and lift an accusatory finger, eyes wide as The Doctor's gaze flickers down and back up to yours playfully. "Doctor."

"Hi."

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd have flown away by now."

Be brave, Doc. Be brave.

Your eyes follow the path of his hands as one comes to rest on your jaw, then the other, until you find yourself drawn impossibly close and only mere inches from his lips. "Between you, Donna and my older self... Think I figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

The Doctor's fingers tangle in your hair then and tip your head upwards. "Why I was coming home," He whispers. "The long way around."

The sigh of relief that escapes from both of you as the ache finally, finally leaves makes all of the pain worth it. All the heartache. The loneliness.

It's all worth it if he gets this.

"I love you." The Doctor murmurs as you pull apart. The smile that rewards him could rival the brightness of Gallifrey's suns, and he thinks he might be able to do this kind of life after all if it means he gets to see that smile. Forever.

"I love you too." You reply, resting a single hand on his chest. "The ache..."

"What?"

"The ache." You breathe. "It's gone. Guess I must've needed a Doctor to fix me up."

Donna turns her head to gaze at the open kitchen doors as laughter pours through, and The Doctor emerges with you carried on his back. You take your place in his lap easily enough once he sits down.

Yeah. The amnesia.. the missing years, the adventures... It had all been worth it.

Those bleeding hearts that have spent millennia broken still beat, messy stitches holding as they take their rest within their cage.

Healed. Fixed.

No longer aching.

#fourteenth doctor x reader #fourteen x reader #doctor who imagines #doctor who oneshots #doctor who spoilers #doctor who

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dsireland86 · 5 months ago

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I Fucked Up

Had a quick idea about the picture above. I've seen this photo so many times, and it always leaves a sad impression on me. Hopefully now it won't. ☺️

Tags: @foliosgirl @xxkittenkissesxx @thefallennightmare @lma1986 @philomenie @concreteemo @reyadawn

It was just a fight, right? You'd be back once the dust settled, and you had cooled down some. You always did.

Folio stood there in the glow of the red exit light, eyes still glued to the door after it had slammed shut moments ago. You walked out, finally finished with the lame ass justifications and excuses he'd been giving you since last night. It was just a party, you told her. It was just a fan. There were no feelings attached at all, but that only seemed to make the situation worse. She said she saw enough, heard enough, and now.... finally felt enough.

It's not like he slept with the girl. Didn't even come close to it. It's just that between the weed, the alcohol, and the mood, Folio allowed the girl, who'd been overly friendly since she and her friends showed up at the after show party, to do a little more than he expected her to do.

Noah and Jolly always told him he was a little naive when it came to women. But that's why you loved him, why the two of you connected the moment you met. She wasn't like all the other girls, and you weren't like all the other guys.

Folio fucked up. Bad. Panic rose in his chest, and his mouth suddenly went dry. His hands that still held his drum sticks shook with fear over the idea of losing you. What he did last night with that girl as she sat comfortably on his lap; the kissing, the thigh grabbing, the way she ran her hand over the one and only thing that belonged to you, squeezing and massaging it in hopes to achieve the result from him that she wanted, but couldn't... because it wasn't you. Only you knew how to make him cum in your hand.

Folio was losing you. Fast, and he couldn't function properly to figure out what to do next. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of not having you as his. You were his world, his stability, the love of his life.

Pulling the little black box out of his pocket, Folio wiped the escaped tear away, staring hard at the box as if would tell him what he should do, but he heard only silence. That's when the emotional anger took over. Balling his hand into a tight fist, Folio threw a hard punch at the wall, putting a large dent with a small hole in it. "Fuck!" He looked down at his knuckles already bleeding.

"You know, that's coming out of your paycheck."

Folio turned around to see Matt standing behind him, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, Matt. I shouldn't have done that." Folio apologized, running his good hand through his wet hair to get it out of his eyes.

Matt shrugged, moving away from the wall towards Folio. "Yeah, whatever. The guy running this place is a fucking dick anyway." He grabbed a napkin off the snack table on his way over, taking Folio's hand and applying it to his bloody knuckles.

"I fucked up, Matt. I fucked up so bad. There's no way she'll marry me now if she feels like she can't trust me." Matt could hear the panic and fear in Folio’s voice. Honestly, even he was a little surprised by Nick's behavior last night, but was willing to believe his friend's admission more than she was at this point.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Folio. She has a tendency of surprising people. Remember when she first started hanging out with us, and Nicholas accidentally dropped his entire cup of coffee all over her brand new white leggings because of the cat he saw that was about to get hit. Dude, Noah and I thought she was going to freak the hell out, but instead, she took off running with Nicholas after that damn cat. In the end, they were laughing hysterically."

Folio laughed at the memory. It was the same day he asked her out on their first date. He'd walked into the bathroom while she changed, but instead of yelling at him to leave, she told him to stay since he'd already seen her underwear. That's when he kissed her for the first time.

"What about when we went bowling, and Stephen dropped the 11 lb bowling ball on her foot?" Folio wrinkled his nose remembering how bruised her foot got after that. "A few moments of choice words under breath and two shots of spiced rum later, she made sure that Stephen didn't feel bad about it and eventually the two of them were so drunk, they were singing their own karaoke versions of Bad Omens songs." "Holy shit, that was so horrible."

Matt and Folio shared a few moments of a good laugh. Folio found himself a little more hopeful that maybe this could turn out better than he thought. Maybe.

Matt patted Nick on the shoulder and removed the napkin from his knuckles. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but slight bruising was already starting to show.

"That's going to definitely make playing a lot harder." Folio shrugged. "My punishment." Matt raised an eyebrow. "Your ass is grass if it fucks up my front of house." Folio chuckled. "Anyway, Noah’s with her. He took her to the roof of the bus and is just sitting with her." Folio sighed, but the tension returned.

Noah hopped down the ladder, his long legs reaching the ground a lot sooner than Folio’s would have. "What the hell happened to you?" Folio looked down at his knuckles. "The wall and I had a fight," he answered pathetically. Noah scoffed. "Who won?" Folio held up his hand, showing Noah the bruising and partially dried blood. "Apparently, the wall." Noah chuckled.

"She's hurt, man. Her heart," Noah shook his head. "She's really trying to understand what happened and not be upset with you. She loves you more than anything else, and she knows you love her too. That's why none of it makes sense to her." Folio nodded, indicating he understood. "What do I do, Noah? How do I fix this?" Noah took a deep breath, sighing. "If I were you, I'd be completely transparent. Tell her exactly how you feel, whether you think it's important or not. Right now, she's in protective mode. Her guard is up, and it's going to take a lot of talking and understanding to help her get past this. But," and Noah laid his hand on Folio's shoulder, "she's vulnerable and is willing to do whatever it takes to keep you, Nick. You're her world. You mean everything to her. That's why this whole thing hurts her so badly. She just needs to know she's safe." Folio nodded again as Noah patted him on the back.

She looked like a shadow sitting all alone up there in the dark. The soft breeze of the night ripped through her hair, causing some of it to flutter in her face. Folio couldn't see it, but he already knew how beautiful she looked. "Now, that's a view," he said, sitting down next to her in the spot where Noah just was. He looked out into the darkness, at the bright lights of the city that lit up the night like the sun. She didn't respond to him in any way, just continued to sit there in silence. From the lights of the city, Folio could now vaguely see the outline of her face, those same features that he would gaze at often while laying next to her in their bed. Her button nose, her pouty pink lips, her soft cheeks, they made his heart flutter, and he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss each one. But Folio knew better. She needed her space.

They sat in silence for some time. Folio placed his hands alongside him, stretching out his legs. The slight breeze brought a chill, and he saw her shiver. "Are you cold?" he asked, not expecting her to answer, but she slowly nodded. His heart began to race. "Do you want my hoodie? I know you," "Yes, please," she said quickly, cutting him off. Folio almost slipped off the bus from shock. Regaining his balance, he quickly removed his hoodie and slipped it over her, hearing a satisfying sigh. "Better?" "Better," she whispered.

Feeling overwhelmed with fear, Folio knew he had to address the situation head-on before it was too late. "I fucked up. I know I did, and I'm sorry. I never, ever meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt us. I was just caught up in the fucking moment and I, shit, I just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so fucking sorry for hurting you, for breaking your trust in me, for making think or feel the wrong things.... fuck, I'm sorry." Folio hung his head, placing both hands on either side of his head. He couldn't hold back the little bit of tears that escaped and dripped onto his black jeans. His shoulders shook from the pain he was feeling inside, knowing that nothing he said or did was going to fix what was broken. It was over, and he knew it.

She sat quietly, listening to Folio pour out his heart to her. His apology after apology hit her heart each time like an arrow, piercing the thin layer of anger and pride that had already begun to grow. She knew, without a doubt, that Nick was sorry for what happened, and if she was being completely honest with herself, she was blowing the whole thing a little bit out of proportion. Folio had managed to stop it before it went too far, even though Noah had to step in and help a little. He never touched the girl inappropriately even though she'd managed to run her grubby paws over the one and only thing that could make her weak as fuck and bring out the porn star side of her. Just the thought of someone else trying to stake a claim on what belonged to her infuriated her. Truth was, she wasn't as mad and upset at Folio anymore now that he'd been honest with her and admitted he'd messed up. She guessed maybe that was the only thing her heart needed; to hear Folio apologize and admit he was wrong.

"Thank you." Folio stilled at her words. "What?" he asked, raising his head and staring at her, confused. "Thank you," she repeated, this time turning her head to look at him. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach at just the sight of her beautiful face. God, he was so fucking lucky. "Thank you? For what?" Folio sniffed, sitting up straight as she climbed into his lap. What the hell was happening? She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, placing her hands on either side of his face. Folio kissed the pads of her thumbs as she ran the back and forth over his lips. "I'm so confused, baby. What are," but his words were cut off by the pressure of her lips against his. The hunger and need Nick felt in just that one kiss was enough to set his world on fire and his nerves ablaze. He fucking wanted her, needed her like the air he breathed. She grinded against him slowly, up and down with her pussy centered right on top of his cock. Whatever was happening, Folio wasn't about to stop it.

"I just have one question, and then we're never talking about it again." The seriousness in her eyes was paralyzing. "Alright. What is it?" Folio asked, swallowing hard. "Would you have fucked her?" "No!" "Why not?" Folio grabbed her hips and pulled her closer into him, loving the slight whimper of a cry he heard in response. "Because she wasn't you, sweetheart, and you're the only one my dick belongs to." His eyes darted between hers, long and hard, until finally she smiled, and after one look at his lips, she kissed him again. Folio allowed her to take full control, using him for whatever she needed him for, because no matter what, he knew she loved him. Her fingers unhurriedly found his belt buckle, and he helped her undo it the second he felt her tug on it. She undid his jeans and pulled them along with his boxers down, lifting his ass up just enough for her to get them to his ankles, where he was able to toss them off.

"Mine," she said, taking Folio’s semi-hard cock into her hands. She wrapped her hand tightly around him and began her magical work of bringing him to the edge of sanity with just the use of her hand. "Oh, my god baby," Folio moaned, leaning back on his hands and throwing his head back, sighing at the feeling. Her fingers pinched his fully hard tip while her thumb spread the pre-cum that seeped from the tiny hole it worked open. This was his Achilles heel. Whether she was using her fingers or her mouth, only she knew it was the quickest and fastest way to make him cum. But that thought was ripped away the moment she removed her hand from him. The sudden loss made him whimper.

Innocently, she stared at him, searching his eyes for something. "What, sweetheart, what are you looking for?" He used a hand to caress the side of her face. She didn't answer, just continued to stare as she pushed her shorts and panties to the side. Holding two fingers up to Folio’s mouth, she told him to spit, to which he willingly obeyed. Using his spit as lubricant, which utterly wrecked Folio, making him wonder how in the fuck he deserved a woman like the one that was about fuck him on the roof of his bands tour bus, she aligned his hard cock against her heated aching pussy and slide herself onto him, biting her bottom lip as he pushed himself in, stretching her like it was first time, again.

"Goddamn, sweetheart, holy fuck!" She never broke eye contact with Folio, even as her pace quickened a little. "Fuck, ughh god baby you feel fucking amazing," he moaned quietly, holding her tightly against him so he could feel every inch of her soaking wet walls. "You're so wet, baby," he panted, already feeling the effects of her tight pussy clenched around his throbbing dick as she continued grinding, nice and slow, on him. "You're hiding something from me. What?" Her question startled him, but it didn't surprise him. Folio knew she could always read him like a book. She stilled with him still buried inside her. "Reach inside the pocket," he told her, eyeing his hoodie she was still wearing. She did as she was told but froze the moment her hand hit the box. "Pull it out." Her gaze was heavily laced with apprehension. "It's okay, just pull it out," Folio encouraged her. She did. The little black box sat perfectly in the palm of her hand.

"Nick," she gulped, her voice trembling. "Open it." Tears filled her eyes, but she bravely opened the box and gasped at the small yet stunning silver diamond ring. "Marry me, please." Folio licked his lips nervously, unable to keep his own tears away. The way she gazed at him made Folio think she was about to say no. She looked from him, to the ring, and then back to Nick. "Okay." Folio swallowed, clenching his jaw. " You will?" He was afraid he didn't hear her right." But she nodded her head. "Yes! I'll marry you, Nick." Without realizing it, Folio released the breath he'd been holding. Taking the small ring from out of the box, he slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand, bringing it to his lips where he kissed it, then placed it against his chest. Without another word, she began moving against him again, this time harder and faster, pulling Folio towards the edge quickly.

"God you fuck me so good baby." Folio whispered the harder she grinded her pussy against him. "That sweet little pussy belongs to this dick, doesn't it?" She nodded quickly. "Holy shit baby, yeah, right there, don't stop. Oh fuck." Folio squeezed his eyes shut, his entire face twisting in a mixture of pleasure and pain as the pressure of release became strong. "Fuck me harder baby girl, you're gonna make me cum!" He clenched her hips tightly, moving her back and forth on him to get her a little deeper. Her lips found his, devouring him as she tasted and the inside of his mouth with her tongue. He pulled her top lip between his and sucked right before pressing his tongue against hers and fighting for dominance. "Fuck yeah baby, right there, shit!" She grabbed his face between her hands and locked him in a deep dark stare. "Cum for me, baby. Cum inside me." Her soft tone and warm whispers was all Folio needed. "Ughh, god- fuck!" Folio bit down on one of his good knuckles, spilling his release inside her and coating her inner walls with his seed. They were both out of breath, panting and hearts racing. She stared at the ring on her finger, unable to stop smiling. "You like it?" Folio asked, finally catching his breath. She looked up at him with a smile. "I love it," she replied, looking back down. Folio could tell she was fighting more tears. " Hey, come here, sweetheart." He pulled her into his chest, wrapping her up tightly with his arms; the place where she always felt the safest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you." She looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you. I love you, and I forgive you. It's over now. Let's move on." Folio agreed as she laid back into him, still looking at the ring.

"I owe you," Folio said, catching her as she jumped down off the ladder. She grinned, thinking about what Folio did whenever he owed her. He always made up for it in more ways than one. "You bet your ass you do," softly slapping him in the chest. "I might have a few ideas that I know will please my fiancé." Her face lit up with the word. "Fiancé!" Jolly's voice rang out. Folio held up her left hand to show him. "About fucking time, dude!" Jolly exclaimed, giving Folio a hand slap with a hug. "Happy for you, man." "Thanks, Jolly." Folio focused his eyes on her, smiling at the happiness that graced her face. He never thought his fuck up would've led to this, but it did. And now he was the happiest he'd ever been with the only girl he loved.

#nick folio #nick folio x reader #nick folio one shots #nick folio fanfiction #bad omens cult #bad omens band #bad omens #bad omens fan fiction

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veryberryjelly · 1 year ago

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chamonix

pairing : dick grayson x reader

prompt : christmas shopping

𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲

with a lot of family and friends, christmas shopping could be one of the most hectic and chaotic things ever.

especially when the only day you were free to do it was a saturday.

when the world decided to crowd shopping malls and walk slowly to infuriate people.

but your trip so far hadn't been too stressful, until you were forced to separate from dick to buy his gift and for him to go and buy yours.

you had made the plan before you even left the house to buy family and friends gifts together, get lunch and then separate and that was exactly what you had done, and it was how you ended up walking through the mall in utter turmoil, unsure of what to get the most important person in your life.

you would think after being together for two and a half years that you wouldn't struggle every time you had to get him a gift but you did.

every time.

3 birthdays and 2 holiday seasons and every time you struggled.

you had been trying your best to think of anything you could get him that he would actually like, because you knew you could give him a sweater or something and he would say he liked it because it was you.

but you wanted to actually give him something he could like without including sympathy in the decision.

and because dick always got you an incredibly thoughtful gift you wanted to get him something just as thoughtful and that he would like just as much as you liked the things he had given you.

after 30 minutes of struggling you finally picked something out for him, setting it under the other things you had bought so he couldn't get a look at it through the top of the bag.

---

you had been nervous about the gift you had gotten dick since you bought it, but now that you were finally going to give it to him, you were even more nervous about it.

you two had made a lot of plans for christmas day.

you were going to spend the morning with each other and then head to the tower for lunch with everyone else.

after waking up and making coffee & tea, you settled comfortably on your couch with each others gifts set on the coffee table.

dick presented you with a box which you unwrapped to find three baking books you had had your eye on for a while, two of which were signed by the author which you thought was amazing.

you were already making plans to bake tomorrow morning, if not to thank dick with it, then to show your appreciation for the books.

you held on tightly to the hardbacks when dick started pulling his gift from the bag.

at the mall you had only bought him a thermal fleece sweater, but at the bottom of the bag was his actual gift.

" what is this ?" he asked, more stunned than confused.

" that is two tickets for 6 days at a cabin in Chamonix. thought i could finally teach you how to ski " you explained, a nervous smile on your lips.

you hoped he liked it but there was always the possibility he would hate it.

he didnt say anything, instead quietly moved your books from your lap as to not damage them and leapt onto you, causing you to laugh as he pushed you back against the couch.

his face buried in the crook of your neck as he peppered kisses onto your bare skin.

" i love it, thank you... you didnt have to do this, baby " he said, pulling back from your neck to look at you.

" this isn't only for you. i'm coming too, and i get to embarrass you with all of the photos "

----------

@jambo-rat

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spooky-bunnys · 1 year ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY HANMA!

(Name) smiled happily at his finally finished project. He had been working on it for weeks. It was a purple scarf with skulls on the end. He'd been working on it since his fiancee had gone off on his newest photography trip. He hated how much Shuji had been leaving recently. But (Name)'s happy that Shuji's photo's were getting more popular.

(Name) packed the scarf in a box with a bow. He was so happy he had finished the scarf just in time. He picked up a smaller box and smiled softly at it. Inside the box was a special surprise. One he's been saving for today. His special person's birthday. He met is fiancee when he was almost 17. He remembers how he quite literally ran into him.

(Name) had ran away from home. Getting tired of being a mental and physical punching bag. He'd ran away before but was always found. But thanks to a certain someone he finally managed to get away. He's stuck to Shuji ever since. He had fallen head over heels for the lanky teen that day. They've come a very long way. Considering it took (Name) what felt like forever to get the male to 'settle' down.

(Name) shook his head and quickly finished wrapping the gifts. He checked the timeand smiled widely. Shuji was supposed to get home this morning. So they had planned to meet up at their favorite Cafè. He only had about 20 minutes until it was time to meet up. So (Name) quickly made his way outside. After grabbing the gifts and a jacket (Name) started towards the Cafè.

Luckily the Cafè was only a few minutes from the house (Name) owned. He also technically owned the Cafè they were meeting at. It was a gift from his childhood friends. (Name) waved happily at people he met on the walk. The people waving back with small smiles. Everyone knowing the bubbly (hair color) male. He was a favorite around here. Always nice and kind.

When the Cafè came into view (Name) smiled wider. Speeding up his walk to a slight sprint. Wanting desperately to see his fiancee after missing him dearly. When (Name) reached the Cafè he waved at the customers in the outside seats. Gaining smiles and waves in return. As soon as he entered he looked around trying to find Shuji. But what gained his attention was a group of giggling girls surrounding a certain booth towards the back.

(Name) slightly frowned and made his way over. Hoping it wasn't what he thought it was. Sadly it seemed like luck wasn't on his side. As there sat his fiancee surrouned by giggling girls. One girl in particularly hanging off him. Almost sitting in his lap. Shuji wasn't even pushing her away. Instead he was flirting with the many girls and flashing them a smile (Name) loved so much. (Name) felt his heart break staring at the scene.

(Name) hated how flirty his fiancee was. No matter how many times Shuji had reassured (Name) he was all he wanted and needed. It was stuff like this that made (Name) believe that was a lie. (Name)'s eyes filled with tears. It was then a girled had noticed the staring md crying male. Pointing it out to the others who turned to see who it was. When purple eyes met tear filled (color) eyes, it was like hell had froze over and time had stopped. The smile fell from the taller males face and he almost immediately jumped up.

(Name) shook his head and held up a hand before the male could come near him. (Name) threw the gift boxes at the male's face. Then he quickly took off the engagement ring throwing it at the frozen male. (Name) turned around but before he left he turned to the heartbroken looking male. "Hanma Shuji we are FUCKING DONE!" (Name) then quickly marched out of the Cafè. (Name) could barely see where he was going through the tears but ignored the calling of his name.

(Name) felt as if his heart was ripped out and stomped on repeatively. There was only two places he could go at a time like this. Knowing that either place he went the others would join in. So (Name) quickly made his way to the one place he knew was nearest. His favorite pet shop.

Chifuyu looked almost bored at the scene in front of him. His two boyfriends agruing over which animal was cuter. A black cat or a black and yellow cat. Chifuyu sighed loudly, which had gone unnoticed by the aruging males. "Oi! Chifuyu which one is cuter?!" His boyfriend Baji Keisuke demanded. His other boyfriend Hanemiya Kazatora quickly interupted before Chifuyu could answer. "No! Leave Chifuyu alone!"

Chifuyu groaned and rubbed his temple. So ready for this day to be over. He opened his mouth to speak but was interupted by the bell ringing. Meaning they had a customer and to behave (mainly his childish boyfriends). "Hello and welcome to-" "FUYU!" Chifuyu was interupted by a sobbing (Name) practically tackling him to the ground. His eyes widened and his quickly went into as his boyfriends calld it 'Mother Hen' mode.

"(Name) oh my god whats wrong?" (Name) didn't say anything just sobbed louder and held Chifuyu tighter. Chifuyu held (Name) tightly before sending a look behind him. The two males behind him nodded and immediately got to work on closing the store and calling the others in the (Name) protection squad. It didn't take long for their back door to be kicked open.

Mikey walked in with Takemichi over his shoulder and a annoyed looking Draken behind him. Upon seeing the still sobbing (Name), Mikey let down Takemichi. Who immediately joined in on trying to sooth (Name). Mikey and Draken joined Baji and Kazatora. The four males watched their boyfriends trying to sooth their childhood bestfriend with soft smiles. It didn't take the two long to calm (Name) down.

"(Name) hun you have to tell us what happened. We haven't seen you like this in years. Whats wrong (nickname)?" It was like a dam had broken. (Name) started crying loudly explaining what had happened. How Shuji had been distant ever since he started getting noticed for his pictures. That everytime they went somewhere Shuji ignored him to flirt with girls and made him feel so insecure and ugly.

The older males beind the trio frowned. It there was one person the two throuples loved dearly it was (Name). He was like the child they all adopted. He was the youngest and went through too much in their opinion. Now add salt to injury their baby (Name) was hurt by the one person who saved him when they couldn't. They all shared looks before subtly nodding and sneakily leaving the shop. They were going Hanma Hunting.

Hanma couldn't get the look on (Name)'s face out of his head. He was frozen. He picked up the gifts and ring with trembling hands. Almost afraid to touch them. He didn't realise when he made it outside the Cafè. It was like everything was frozen. He couldn't hear anything aside from his heart beat. He had opened the big box and his heart broke. He had been complaining about how it was getting cooler.

So his precious (Name) had made him a scarf with skulls in his favorite color. But what shattered him was the gift in the small box. It was a ring that had belonged to (Name)'s grandfather. But he had changes done to it. It was a golden skull ring. But its eyes instead of being diamonds, they were amethysts. This ring had been (Name)'s most prized possession. His grandfather was everything to him. (Name) was willing to give him of all people his grandfathers ring.

Hanma finally let the tears fall. He had done so many stupid things in his lfe. But meeting (Name) had been the best thing to happen to him. (Name) had brought the light he'd been missing into his life and all he does it fuck up. He's made mistake after mistake. But now he had probably ruined and lost the best thing to enter his life. Hanma covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly.

"Oi. Hanma." Hanma peeked between his fingers and found four angry males standing above him. "We need to have a little chat~", Mikey explained with a scary look on his face. Hanma didn't answer but stared at the four males. If these four came for him that could only mean one thing. (Name) had gone to the mother hen friends. Oh he was absolutely fucked. Hanma groaned louder before getting yanked out of his seat.

Back with the others, (Name) had accidentally cried himself to sleep on Takemichi's chest. The slightly taller male sighed and ran his fingers through (Name)'s hair. He looked to his ither best friend. Finding him pacing with a very angry look on his face. "After everything. EVERYTHING! (Name) has done for him. This is how that asshole treats him!? I swear to everything when I see that fucker its on sight. Imma fucking-" Chifuyu made choking hand gestures. Making Takemichi sweatdrop nervously.

"Chifuyu its okay. (Name) is safe with us. Although I hate how upset he was. I know how much he loves Hanma, but I can't help but get annoyed over how he treats (Name)." Chifuyu growled making punching and more choking gestures. Takemichi shook his head chuckling softly. He looked down at the sleeping male and frowned deeper. He just wanted the best for (Name). Seeing him this broken made him hurt so badly.

(Name) and Hanma ended up together in every future. So they'll end up together in this one too right? He hopes so. His train of thoughts was disturbed by the back door getting kicked open again. Making Chifuyu groan loudly and waking up (Name) in the process. Takemichi saw his two boyfriends followed by Chifuyu's boyfriends drag a bag behind them. Wait. Thats not a bag. Its Hanma?

Takemichi and Chifuyu groaned and face-palmed. Of course their boyfriends would do something like this. (Name) rubbed his eyes slowly. His mind not recognizing whats in front of him. It took him a few minutes before he did recognized the scene in front of him. "Shuji!" (Name) practically tripped ove himself rushing to his side. Trying to figure out what to do. He just carefully grabbed his face and frowned seeing the bruises and dry blood. (Name)'s head snapped to the four taller males who all but avoided eye contact.

"What the hell?!" (Name) was upset. He didn't even give them time to answer before he (somehow) knocked each of them in the head. Now all four were holding their heads sitting on the ground as (Name) lectured them. Chifuyu and Takemichi just laughed at their boyfriends. They were all too busy to notice the groaning body that had slowly sat up.

The first thing that greated him was Takemichi and Chifuyu holding each other dying with laughter. Baji, Kazatora, Mikey, and Draken all sat on the floor with bumps on their head getting lectured. (Name) stood in front of the seated men, hands on his hips, and absolutely tearing them a new one. Whoch was very attractive in his eyes. "(Name)?" (Name) froze at the sound of the voice.

(Name) took a deep breath before turning around and gave the beat up male a slight glare. "Shu-Hanma." The said male flinched at the correction. "Listen-" (Name) cut him off. "No. You listen. I'm tired of you ignoring me. I'm tired of you flirting with any girl who runs up to you. Dammit Hanma! I love you so fucking muh and I'm tired of being the door mat!" The male looked down sadly. "I love you too. I have for years. I didn't mean to push you away or make you feel like your a door mat."

Everyone watched the two silently. "(Name) I'll do anythig to keep you with me. I don't deserve you, but you make me a way better person. You lit up my dark world. You're so special to me and I don't know what I'd do without you. Please (Name) come back to me..." (Name) frowned slightly and ook a dep breath. "Last chance. You fuck up again and they'll be burying you in a different country." Hanma laughed and went to hug (Name) but was shoved away by the males surrounding him.

"He's not kidding." "Oh...."

#male reader #x male reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x male reader #hanma shuji #hanma shuji x male reader #hanma #hanma x male reader #shuji hanma

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missmarveledsblog · 3 months ago

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The girl next door (tommy miller x reader) part one

Summary : tommy miller decides life on road ain't all it crack up to be like he used to it maybe because finds himself absolutely taken with joels next door neighbour

Warnings : tommy miller ( cheesy flirting skills) , fluffy , alludes to smut , mutual pinning , joel done with their shit 😌 ( no maria in this fic also no outbreak either) grammatical errors because I barely sleep and drink to much caffeine but like doesn't everyone )👀

Life on the road used to be the best , the freedom to go where ever not be held down too long , getting to see new faces and places was the life or so it was for a long while even joining the army to hold onto the high of it all and now it wasn't so cool and amazing it was lonely as fuck . tommy miller was suddenly ready to leave the road well to the road it was time for him to settle down in a way shit he wasn't thinking of doing what his brother did no .. well maybe in the future but the settled part being in one place and not expecting to keep moving all time was what he needed . so his bag on his bag he hit the road one last time heading to what he hope was new start of his life.

pulling up to his brother driveway was something he never wanted to do he hated joel wife , despised the woman who never was happy with how his brother broke his back to provide for them all it was actually how he and joel stopped talking for years but he had to hand it to his big brother the new house well it was a beauty like ones they used to pass on the way to school as kids . joel would always say he'd build a nice house for them like that now he held that promise for his girls . biting his tongue ready to suck up to the demon lady as he pulled the bag on his shoulder , looking around it was a nice neighborhood too way better than run down one they grew up in . barely raising his hand to the door it flew open joel standing with big smile on his usual grumpy face pulling his brother in for a big hug and into the house.

" it's good see you, beer? " he asked easily.

" look at this place , shit i'll take a beer .. where are my nieces" tommy looked around taking in the photo's none of the she devil mainly of the girls and joel some of joel and another woman that tommy could only hope for a better outcome . " your lovely mrs ?" he gritted trying to not sound bitter and failing miserably .

" girls are at friends for weekend so be back sunday ... mrs is someone else travelling the world or some shit last five years" joel rolled his eyes as two walked into the kitchen joel gesturing for him to sit as he grabbed two cold ones from the fridge.

" what about the girls?" tommy asked.

" apparently she never wanted to be a mom , hurt but they got over it , we moved in here i'd say six months after we've been happiest we've ever been" joel shrugged .

before they could continue the conversation the front door opened and sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

" hey miller i got a special delivery " the voice called instantly tommy could tell it was a woman soft and sweet a vast difference of the shrill and pitchy mess joel ex had. " oh shit i didn't know you had company" she stood wide eyes holding box in her hands as she almost tried to sus the stranger out .

" darling this is my little brother tommy , tommy this is y/n" .

" well done big brother and younger too " tommy smirked standing to shake her hand only for joel face palm and y/n break out laughing.

" i'm his friend and neighbour is all , told you miller people think we're a couple or your my sugar daddy " she snorted putting the box on the counter only joel to playfully push her out of the way before handing her a beer. " he wishes though " she added .

" i really don't kiddo but keep thinking that" he rolled his eyes .

" i don't do the whole old man thing sorry " she shot back in disbelief tommy watched his brother being well a human playing along with the teasing his young and well hot ass neighbour . she was something , perfect blend of sugar and spice and sassy in every way . " so are you the one that was in the army? " she asked looking directly shit why was her looking at him making him suddenly lost for words .

" sure am sugar well i was now i'm looking for a job hopefully my big brother can help with that one" .

" yeah start monday , already sorted it with the boss" joel rolled his eyes .

" well cheer to baby miller getting the job " y/n held her beer up .

" i'm easily what ten years older sugar who you calling a baby" .

" your new favourite neighbour easily ... shit i gotta go was good meeting you baby miller and good to see you haven't died of old age joel " she rushed out beer still in her hand .

" off limits" was all joel said before the two continued to catch up yet tommy couldn't help think of joel pretty neighbour hell it ain't no harm in looking right ?.

.....

It was all he could do was look , six month since meeting y/n it's all he could do was look , talk to her as if she was a friend . that day she was rushing out was well cause she was rushing to her date with this asshole josh . now standing out his brothers back garden it was almost like torture watching how her pretty smiles were directed up at someone who clearly didn't deserve them . he didn't get a woman like y/n but tommy did . tommy got when she got excited over little things it was cute and sweet and yet josh thought it was childish and she needed to grow up . tommy new she loved the sweeter things in life how she like baked good like cookies and brownies but yet josh always got her savory shit she pretended to like . even now he watched josh pick up something heading towards her til tommy rushed and stopped him .

" woah buddy if you wanna kiss your girlfriend i wouldn't eat that" he smiled trying to be civil , trying not to be a dick .

" look i know my girl man" was all he said before eating the threat heading over to her kissing her wasn't long til she felt itchy and her face felt hot when tommy walked back over instantly taking her into the house as the idiot followed after knowing she was getting worse but she definitely wouldn't want a big show of it all .

" sugar sit here" was all he said taking the epipen and putting in her arm and taking the lotion putting it on her now burning skin . she didn't know if it was the reaction or the fact it was tommy miller being so close. " i told you .. i tried to tell you idiot you could of killed her" .

" i didn't know honestly babe" josh gasped looking to her.

" six months you think you'd learn she allergic to kiwi before kissing her after eating stupid kiwi salad" tommy muttered .

" it's honest mistake i know more about her than you do " josh spat .

" hey what's going on ?" joel walked in already sensing the oncoming fight the moment the two set foot on his property. he didn't like josh but he hoped it would mean tommy moved on , he knows or so he thought he knew what his brother was like . he had never in all his life seen his brother so hung up on a woman nor had he seen the woman returned the sentiment but she was just doing what joel asked . now both were miserable and well he had a moran in his kitchen .

" you think you know her ... what's her favourite colour?" tommy asked ignoring the other two .

" easily purple or pink like the flowers i get her" josh smiled as she winced

" actually she love yellow like sunflowers her favourite flower... where does she love to go" tommy asked probably handing him the answer .

" beach?" josh sounded less confident.

" oh you idiot" joel sighed.

" you could of said anyplace that carried books giving its her favourite hobby man do you know anything " .

" hey josh i think it time for you to go and maybe we shouldn't see each other" she said softly. " i mean lets be real you don't know me or like me for me" she added sadly .

" oh fuck this not worth it " was all he said before leaving as her eyes fell to her lap.

" hey i'm tired i'm just gonna sit this one out" was all she got out standing uneasy .

" i'll bring you over" joel wrapped his arm out.

" see you tomorrow baby miller" she said quietly no playful lilt to her voice one he was so used to as he watched the two leave.

" shit that was like a car crash" he turned to see ellie and sarah standing by the back door . " i mean yay josh is gone he was boring fuck but shit you had a chance there"

" can you go a sentence without swearing ... but she is right i mean you look at her like a love sick puppy it's honestly..." sarah smiled .

" sad" ellie cut in .

" i was going to say adorable ".

" nah it's sad but your dad said she's off limits he's probably scared i'll fuck it up , i seem to fuck everything i touch up" tommy laughed dryly.

" nah your not fuck up , your the best uncle we've ever had" ellie pointed out .

" i'm your only uncle" he deadpanned.

" your not a fuck up , since when did you listen to our dad ?" sarah asked slightly confused.

" since i was afraid of fucking it up i mean yeah at start i thought it was something to get out of my system but more i got to know her well i was a goner " he smiled sadly.

" he was a goner since the first time he met her" joel walked into the kitchen . " she home safe sleeping , i know what i said but i take it back ok " .

" so he can get the girl " ellie asked almost vibrating with happiness matching her older sister.

" how am i gonna get the girl ?" tommy looked at his family

" with our help of course" joel smiled .

" what changed your tune ?"

" because their sickening to look at and i don't want another josh around , fucking boring asshole" joel smirked.

" this is gonna be good " ellie cheered .

part two

#tommy miller x reader #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us hbo #joel miller #tommy miller fanfic #the last of us #tlou tommy #tommy miller tlou #sarah miller #tlou #ellie williams #tlou hbo #fluffy fluff

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sungbeam · 2 years ago

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𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

boo seungkwan x gn!reader

1.3k words, established relationship au, childhood friends 2 lovers, proposal au, fluff, super soft

a/n: for the love of our beloved boo 💖 im still obsessed w this photo of him

Boo Seungkwan asked you to marry him beneath the shade of an orange tree.

The two of you had only been about ten years old, but back then, ten years old was everything. You were two peas in a pod, forever and always. He had been pushing you on the tire swing attached to one of the sturdier, low-hanging branches, as he always did. You kicked your legs up, a grin splitting your face.

"Why are only older people allowed to get married?" he asked later that day, as the sun set across the pasture. It was one of those days where the sun's sinking broiled across the sky in vibrant rivers of orange and yellow, before bruising into deep shades of purple. You had your backs against the trunk of the orange tree, your knees pressed to your chest, and Seungkwan's hand just touching yours on the damp earth.

You gave a small shrug. "Dunno. Why do you ask?"

From the other side of his body, he raised his hand and showed you a coil of flower stems, intertwined into a miniature ring. He held it in between two pinched fingers, floating in the space between your bodies. "Wanna get married?"

Around fifteen years later, Seungkwan pulled his car up the long, winding dirt road up to the orange grove. You sat in the passenger seat, your chin settled on your arms over the open window as you gazed out at the pasture that had filled your childhood with joyous memories. In the distance, you could already make out the largest, oldest orange tree at the far end of the field, its branches plump with globes of ripe orange fruit. And, of course, the old tire swing still hung from one of its arms, drifting gently in the cool breeze.

Seungkwan parked the car where the road ended. He had been planning this picnic for a long time coming; you and he hadn't been back to this place for years now, having been occupied with your own constantly moving adult lives. And yet, he had managed to keep ahold of you—thank god, he had.

As he killed the engine to his car, he smoothed down the white button up he wore. Outwardly, his movements were natural—inwardly, the box in his pocket seemed to burn right through his skin.

"It'll be golden hour soon," he said to you softly, a smile gracing his face as he watched the strands of your hair dance across your forehead as you gazed out. He knew you felt it, too—the nostalgia. That creeping, sweeping sensation trekking down his nerves until he felt warm and fuzzy. Or maybe his chest hurt from youth long gone. But there was no time like the present to remedy that.

You lifted yourself from the window, that wistful expression still etched into your face. You met his eyes, and he nearly melted. He would never not be enamored by your every movement, your every stare. "Well, we better get going then, love."

Blanket, picnic basket—all the necessary items were withdrawn from the trunk. While you held the folded square blanket under your arm and Seungkwan with the basket, the two of you ventured into the green-gold sea of grass toward the edges of the orange grove, entwined hands swinging between your bodies.

"Wow, it's beautiful here," you said, voice barely audible. You'd hate to disturb the pure tranquility in the air.

Seungkwan gave a nod, allowing himself to get sucked into the landscape. He tilted his head back, inhaling deeply. "It is. Isn't that the rock you tripped over when we were, like, seven?" He chuckled, pointing to a rock fixture to the side of the path.

You made a face at the rock as you passed, then bumped his shoulder with yours. "Hey! I had banged-up knees for weeks!"

"Aish, what're you complaining about when I pushed you everywhere in that wheelchair?" He made a feigned noise of disappointment while shaking his head.

That made you smile. "You refused to let me use Chan's crutches."

"He probably broke them," he rolled his eyes. "I wasn't about to let you hurt yourself more from wrecked crutches."

"I'm telling Chan you said that."

"I dare you," he quipped, nose flicking up into the air. "I'm not afraid of him."

You giggled, and the sound made his heart pitter-patter like he was a teenager in love again. Then again, he wasn't so far off from then. It was strange how after all this time of being in love with you, he hadn't gotten used to the feeling. Everyday, you gave his heart a warm thrill. You were a reminder of how beautiful it was to be alive and by your side.

When you reached the foot of the orange tree, you and Seungkwan swiftly laid out the blanket, then set everything atop it. Before digging into anything, however, you walked over to the tire swing and tested the integrity of the rope, the rubber. You swept the tire seat clean from cobwebs and dirt and dust, delicately lowering yourself onto the inner ring.

Seungkwan didn't even need to be asked.

He came up behind you and grabbed either side of the tire, pulling it back a little, then letting it fly down the slight incline. "Wow, I didn't think it'd actually still hold."

"Woooo!" You cheered as you swung in the setting sun.

Seungkwan had definitely been right earlier—golden hour had approached swiftly.

He fidgeted as he continued to gently push the swing into motion for you. He had a plan—of course, he had a plan.

And when the two of you sat atop the blanket a handful of minutes later, your knees were pressed to your chest and Seungkwan's hand lingered close to yours.

He swallowed the thundering of his heart, his eyes set on the burning sunset in the distance as if even the sky were telling him that it was now or never. "Remember when I asked you that one time why only older people get married, or something like that?"

You passed him a curious, sideways smile. "Yeah. I still don't know the answer."

"Well—" he stammered, the hand on his other side struggling to dig the box out of his pocket as subtly as possible, "—do you think we're old enough yet?"

"Old enough? To get married?" You and Seungkwan had had lots of discussions about marriage before, but never had he brought up this one instance again. "I mean… I think we are. I think we're old enough to have experienced enough of life ourselves to determine when we're ready to share it with another."

Seungkwan closed his eyes as a small laugh fell from his lips. "Why are you so good at articulating these things, hm?"

You beamed, leaning forward onto your knees to peer at him with your cheek pressed to your kneecaps. "Maybe I've thought about it a lot."

Yours and his eyes met then, as the sun gave its final send off.

Seungkwan internally cheered as his fingers caught onto the ring from the pried-open jaws of the ring box.

He cleared his throat; why was it getting congested? Why now why now why now? "Then Yn Ln—" he forced stability into his voice, then presented the ring, held it between you two, "—will you marry me?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The ring—white gold band, diamond center and surrounded in petals of clear-cut stone like a blooming flower—glistened in the fading daylight. You exhaled your answer, inhaled it, breathed it out again: "Yes. Yes. Yes!"

And as Seungkwan fumbled to slide the ring onto your finger with shaky hands; as you clung onto him until he fell back onto the blanket; as the sky dimmed to periwinkle evening; you and Seungkwan were reminded of a beautiful life beneath the shade of an orange tree.

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @mingiholic @ja4hyvn @vatterie @yogurteume @mythicalamphitrite @ana-is-losing-her-mind @super-btstrash-posts @otchae @luv4vernon @ashxxkook @thesunsfullmoon @hoohoohope @polarisjisung @dior-15 @ethereal-engene @yvnjin-s @noa-record @pearlygraysky @beautywine @kflixnet

#kflixnet #caratwritersclub #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen oneshot #seventeen drabble #seungkwan drabble #seungkwan imagine #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan oneshot #seungkwan scenarios

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thegildedbee · 7 months ago

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Journey: May 30 Prompt from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3.

(I'm a bit distant at this point from May, I know! . . . and there's one more prompt still to go, but then I'll finally be caught up with everyone else :-) ..................................................... As the train moves through the wintered fields, stations shuttered long ago flicker past, punctuated bits of expired time. An hour out from London, they begin to slow on the approach to Swindon, coming to a stop in a four-minute flurry of going and coming. Gathered round the door are a dozen or so lads in football kit with red dragons across their chests, waiting for the woman and the little boy who had been a few seats down from John to step off from the carriage. They scramble aboard, noisily pleased with having won their match, bringing in a blast of cold air that reaches in and chills John underneath his neck. They muck about as they jostle each other, eventually more or less coordinating their sprawls amongst extra rows of seats beyond what's necessary, some of them popping up to take selfies and shoot videos.

A faint smile whispers and shuts in an instant across John’s face at their exuberance, and he plugs his earphones into his mobile. He dithers about what to listen to, finally settling on a playlist that comes up after he types “welsh music” into the search bar, and then closes his eyes and slackens against the back of his seat as the train pulls away from the station and they resume their journey.

He’s vaguely bemused by young people's social media, especially their attachment to filming their lives; quite different from people his age, who've never been much fussed about having a camera to hand. He does regret, though, that he doesn’t have many photos of Sherlock; he always felt he needed to be surreptitious about taking shots, as if doing it in plain view would disturb their balancing act as flatmates. There are two amongst the small number that he likes very much: one of Sherlock facing the window while playing his violin, sunlight bringing out coppery glints in his dark curls; a second of him laid out on the sofa, allegedly in his mind palace, but actually taking a kip like an ordinary mortal. He doesn’t think Sherlock knew that he had a small set of photos – they were transferred to his laptop and sequestered several levels down inside a folder titled “Household Chores”– but since the git seemed to think that whatever was John’s, was his as well, he wouldn’t be surprised if somehow Sherlock had come across them one day when he was poking his nose about where he shouldn’t.

That thought begets another (didSherlockevertakeanypicturesofJohn?) although he decides to duck out from under that one straight off and leave it behind.

As the soft, plaintive reverberations of a pavane-like harp play inside his head, he recalls with chagrin how he jollied Sherlock into attending the media events that occurred in that last span of their time together. Clients had wanted to thank Sherlock for his successful efforts on their behalf: the rub was that they wanted to do so in front of the press. There was an auction house director for whom he’d retrieved a stolen painting worth nearly two million quid, and the big cheese banker who had been kidnapped, and then rescued by the detective.

The amount of interest Sherlock had in attending these: nil.

But he eventually complied, as he usually did when John asked him to do something; that hadn’t meant, however, that he’d play nicely. He had been cuttingly deductive, peevishly stating at the first event that the gift box held out to him contained diamond cufflinks – adding dismissively, “all my cuffs have buttons!” – and offering a similar pronouncement at the second, giving the box a shake and sharing the reveal – “tie pin!" – adding dismissively: “I don’t wear ties.”

John had intervened, correcting and redirecting Sherlock to concede to propriety and conform to convention, saying pointedly to the auction house director: “He means thank you,” to which Sherlock had snarked, “Do I?” to be countered by John pushing back: "Just say it.” In the second event he just gave it up as a bad job, and . . . shushed him.

The regular way of their world, right? Sherlock being an arse, John trying to save his arse.

As time had passed, however, John had begun to think that his attitude had been flirting at condescension, in a way that hadn’t been there at the start of their work together. When had he shifted to focusing on Sherlock as being deficient as a human being in social situations, as opposed to seeing Sherlock’s idiosyncrasies as indicative of degrees of comfort (or not) with those he perceived as outsiders?

To be fair, Sherlock’s disdain for the gifts was defensible: he didn’t sport the posh affectation of cufflinks for every day; nor had he ever been seen to wear a tie. If it was “the thought that counts,” then the thought appeared to be that, beyond his utility, Sherlock-as-individual was a human-as-null-placeholder.

In being thrust into the spotlight, abetted by John, Sherlock had been diverted from his own circumspect path, onto the one controlled by the ravening press, where it was they who decided on the right of way, whether there was safe passage to be had, and, if so, at what cost.

What if, in running interference in a way that placed John close to the side of propriety and conformity, he’d instead put his thumb on the scale for Sherlock?

It might have gone perhaps something like this: [Sherlock speaks] [John: subtle nudge, subtle nudge] [John (sotto voce): “What a wanker, eh?”] [Sherlock smiles at John] [John smiles at Sherlock] [John and Sherlock are pleased with themselves, and each other, two-of-a-kind people who laugh together at crime scenes, without giving a hang about proper decorum] [Sherlock feigns politeness] [Social order is maintained . . . a bit].

And, actually, for whose benefit were these thank-you events? Looking back with a skeptical eye, John sees them now as highlighting the givers: it was the poncy auction house director and the illustrious banker who were preening in front of the cameras – Sherlock was a pretext, surplus to requirements. Neither of the worthies needed to stage a press availability to thank Sherlock: appreciation could have been conveyed privately.

The simp of an art dealer, smarmily posing beside the “masterpiece by Turner,” with Sherlock off to the other side, while the public relations cameraman snapped images suitable for public distribution. Turning that skeptical eye on the whole scenario, the painting would now command likely a doubled sold-at-auction price, given the publicity and the story surrounding it having juiced up the intangibles that make up any artwork’s value on the open market.

The self-important banker, posed on the stairs within the embrace of his loving family – several steps higher than the detective, turfing him out onto the pavement. The journos gossiping that Mr. Something-or-Other-in-the-City was ready to climb the greasy pole, to one day get himself slotted in as Chancellor of the Exchequer, a launching pad for Prime Minister, as Major, Brown, and Sunak had done. Among the side effects of the kidnapping as media spectacle had been the boost it had given to the financier’s perceived significance, valor, and . . . name recognition.

John’s mind is expletive-strewn as he speculates how it was that these Sherlockian triumphs were choreographed by the hand of the consulting criminal, who likely pulled off a doubled win: had he inveigled the auction house to allow its painting to be stolen, and the aspiring government minister to allow himself to be kidnapped? (And therefore pocketed a tidy fee for the planning and execution of these gambits?) These events set in motion by him toward achieving the objective of setting up Sherlock to be sucked into the publicity maelstrom, as the “hero detective” became giddily glorified by the press? The bastard had probably even conspired with the unscrupulous publishing baron, Magnussen, to stage-manage the journalistic hue and cry to his specifications.

The ramping up of the press frenzy was the piece de resistance: all the fawning adulation naming Sherlock as a hero pivoted on using the Met as a foil, painting them as hapless and ineffectual, turning the table upside down by portraying them as the true amateurs, and Sherlock as a professional disguised as an amateur. Sherlock's overnight overnight celebrity ensured that his detractors at Scotland Yard would become ever more enraged at Sherlock’s existence, increasing their seething resentment and desire to take him down. The deerstalker was the Yard’s I.O.U.

John allows that he may be on the verge of losing himself in the land of the paranoid, but he wonders if Moriarty even stage-managed the thank-you events himself, through a word in the ear of those in charge, ensuring the planting of certain details. To wit, Moriarty, in his Vivienne Westwoods and beyond-bespokes: his shirts were fastened with cufflinks, his always-tied-up self flaunted tie pins. Moriarty knew that eventually Sherlock would wonder if these two data points were taunts that meant Moriarty was lurking just beyond view. And Moriarty would have felt as blissed-out at Sherlock’s sartorial humiliation as his target would have felt beleaguered, cursed as he was forevermore to be crowned by the misbegotten deerstalker in press photos.

He suspects now that Moriarty had drilled down into John’s psychology with a cleverness equal to his emotional profiling of the public, the press, and the Met, and had foreseen that he could steer John into unknowingly working with him, prompting him into facilitating Sherlock being fed into the maw of the beast by providing a platform that tapped into John’s desire to see Sherlock get his due in public.

As twisted as the maggot was, he seemed to know more about John’s and Sherlock’s emotional landscapes than perhaps they did themselves.

What had Moriarty known about John and Sherlock, the each of them? What had Moriarty known about the two of them together? And when? And why had they been blindsided?

............................... p.s. The shooting script at the BBC for S2E3 uses the term "auction house" at one point, and I've used that tiny blip for my between-the-lines jumping off point use of "canon" here, in case anyone wonders :-)

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@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

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#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year ago

Text

Action! Chapter 2

Now settled into his role, Orion, or rather Optimus, is finally ready to get the ball rolling with his opening scene just around the corner.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The director must have really been aiming for realism with this production. Orion, no, Optimus Prime sat at his desk as he had for the past two deca-cycles. Not once had he been given the chance to break character comfortably. He couldn’t be sure his personal quarters weren’t being filmed since that was where his opening shot had taken place, so he opted to keep to his persona just in case. While he felt slightly more comfortable without the extras around him, it still wasn’t exactly a peaceful environment.

Despite that, Alpha Trion had obviously seen to every tiny detail with the set. Orion had done his fair share of snooping while doing his best to look deliberate. With so little information about current events, he wanted to get a little extra data. Thankfully, Optimus Prime’s, or perhaps Orion’s quarters, were filled with small indicators of personality. Letters from Optimus’s sons and absent Consort that had been received and read, but never answered. Small trinkets from when his character had not been a Prime. Photos hidden in the back of the closet behind a box that showed a time when his character had seemingly been a better mech. Optimus Prime in those photos looked younger, happier even. He bore a smile on his unmasked face as he held a newly forged Bumblebee in his arms, Smokescreen grinning gleefully as he looked down at his younger brother.

Those photos made Orion smile, especially the ones that showed Optimus’s sheer joy as he drank with Megatron and what looked to be his other close friends before his rise to his station. Optimus’s origins in the novel were not exactly explained, largely because the mech had done everything in his power to cut himself off from his past and cover his tracks. A smart political move to ensure his friends and family could not be used against him, but a poor way to connect to the people. But from what hints were dropped in the story and based upon the fact that there was a police issued pistol in a small box hidden underneath the berth, Orion had his theories. Optimus Prime had evidently once been involved with law enforcement, and it seemed that his sense of justice had likely been perverted, possibly through seeing all the corruption of the higher castes.

Everything he found gave Orion more ammunition to use to improve his performance. Knowing the Prime had once been part of the police force ensured that he could adequately use his knowledge of the novel’s laws in order to back up his claims if need be. Not to mention, he could also likely hint at a darker past, one where his character possibly saw indescribable horrors while on the job, a potential contributor to his eventual fall to darkness. Additionally, it seemed the Prime still carried a fondness for his former station and likely held a secret love for the mecha he had long pushed away, considering his keepsakes.

A regretful and damaged villain. Being Optimus Prime was going to be a sheer delight.

Well, that is whenever he could begin truly playing his role. Thus far all he’d been able to do was work through the mountain of datapads that had built up, and then after completing those, he had spent a ridiculous amount of time reviewing already active programs and laws. Again he found himself praising the director’s optic for detail as he looked over fully fledged and well documented articles. But he couldn’t help but internally cringe at a great many of the active laws and regulations. They were largely and rather obviously meant to screw over the lower castes.

Since he was just trying to look like he was busy, Orion had quickly begun the long and arduous process of adjusting things. He was very thankful for his training prior to arriving at the set and what little he picked up while thinking about joining the Archives as he tore through countless protocols and restructured them to his liking. Being a Prime had its perks. Even if it was all for show, considering Alpha Trion’s dedication to making things realistic, Orion wouldn’t have put it past him to make things an absolute slag pit if his character were anyone else.

Despite the enjoyment he found in picking apart the hyper realistic documentation, at the end of the two deca-cycles, he was weary.

He always had a penchant for working himself half to death, and whatever mods he had been given were certainly not helping his poor habit. His newly adjusted frame just… didn’t get tired like his old one did. He hardly noticed the passage of time as he delved into paperwork, finding himself pondering a possible future where he had chosen to join the Archives. Considering his office, once overflowing with work, was now fully cleared and organized, he reckoned he would have been good at it.

He hardly saw anyone as he worked. The servants refused to, or perhaps were too afraid, to talk to him. They played their parts perfectly, and Orion internally praised them even as he started to feel the effects of loneliness. He just had to be patient. His time to shine would come soon.

“My Lord, your Council is on their way. Would you like to await their arrival in the Throne room?” Orion, no, that wasn’t right. Optimus Prime sat up at his desk as a servant carefully entered. They had learned that so long as they remained quiet, Optimus would not snap at them. His character certainly could have, but Optimus felt it was unneeded, especially considering the character he was hoping to portray was both cunning and complex. Random bursts of anger at employees not doing anything didn’t give off that impression.

“That would be acceptable.” Optimus stood up slowly, allowing his battle mask to slide into place. His character was well known for only ever revealing his face when within his inner palace, never in the Throne room or in front of any cameras. It was likely a holdover from his time in law enforcement.

“Your attendants are ready to assist you in your preparations, my Lord.” The servant bowed, their expression carefully controlled. Optimus nodded subtly to them, hoping it conveyed his appreciation and awe for their acting. How Alpha Trion got so many talented extras was beyond him. It had taken a good chunk of a cycle for him to track down and memorize the names of his most relevant servants so that he could quietly prepare them gift baskets. He really hadn't expected Alpha Trion to give him proper funds, but he opted to not question the situation and used a small portion of his wealth to get them something nice. He hadn’t gotten any messages in return, but considering nothing had been sent back, he assumed his gifts had been taken with a degree of appreciation.

That had been a deca-cycle and a half ago. Since then, his servants had been surprisingly docile, or perhaps less skittish. He didn’t know how to coin their behavior.

“As is expected of them.” He quipped as he came around toward the door. The servant bowed and said nothing more as Optimus exited, only to then be met by six curious faces. The mecha before him were of the Primacy, their religious shrouds said as much. However, instead of shaking or doing something else of the sort, they instead looked at him oddly before gesturing for him to follow.

Strange, but then again, the priests in the novel were known to be rather odd. Very little was actually documented about them, and they only appeared to assist his character in dressing for activities of importance or to guide him through religious rites. Maybe this was part of their script.

“Prime, please stand here.” The priests directed him into a room covered in detailed murals, gesturing for him to stand on a raised round platform a foot or so off the ground in the center of the chamber. Optimus paused, taking in the sheer grandeur of the room before he obeyed. The walls were almost pure ivory in coloration, all covered in glyphs he could only read if he looked closely. Gold trim graced every detail of the space, and he was fairly certain there were portraits of prior Primes painted on the walls in some places.

He’d said it a million times, but by Primus, Alpha Trion was not playing games when it came to detail.

“Begin your work, priest.” Was all he ordered in response, his tone cold but slightly off kilter as he struggled to keep focus in light of the detail in the space. If he had the chance, he would love to spend a whole cycle, or perhaps several, simply viewing the walls of the chamber. There was so much history and so many hidden clues to be found in every piece. The set designers must have been absolute masters of their craft to pull all this off.

He couldn’t help himself as he hastily examined the chamber, looking for the telltale mark of Knockout’s work. The designer was known to leave a little sigil somewhere on all of the sets he was involved in. Optimus could only assume he had to have been involved in the production of his current set, considering the sheer amount of intricacy.

“By your will.” The priests chanted before more streamed into the room from small tunnels previously hidden along certain points in the walls. Light shone from a window directly above him, and by the Allspark, Optimus really felt like a Prime as the priests laid expensive organic cloth around his shoulders, turning it into an elegant cape covered in symbols that fell from his back. The overhead light must have been Breakdown’s work, it really sold the entire scene in Optimus’s opinion. The light shone on the cloth and caused the glyphs that were being painted onto him to glow slightly. He hadn’t noticed since he had practically lived in his office the whole time, but the gold accents he woke with had largely faded.

The priests restoring them made him a bit giddy if he was truthful. Now he truly looked the part of the mighty and tyrannical Prime. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face, despite it mostly being covered by his mask, as the nearest priest placed something rather heavy on his back. Optimus struggled to see it, but from what he gathered, it was some sort of… flair piece made of gold? It added an aura of religious fanaticism to his persona with its structure, and quite frankly, Optimus enjoyed it.

A dramatic villain was by far the most enjoyable to watch on screen.

“May Primus guide your steps.” The priests bowed respectfully, and Optimus took the opportunity to step off the dias and turn toward the exit. He memorized the maps of the palace his first cycle there. He would be foolish not to.

“At ease.” He called back, pulling on his character’s supposed past in law enforcement to make a statement. He did his best to have his voice dip into something more tired, a weary mech, so very done with life. He wanted to giggle as he noticed the priests standing up, confusion etched onto their features as they watched him leave.

He was absolutely owning his part so far.

If he weren’t on set he would absolutely be making an expression worthy of how he felt in his spark, but he took a deep vent, hoping it added to the drama as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. The weight of the cape was neither uncomfortable nor foreign, despite its origin. The weight on his back from the accenting piece was also rather nice as he strode down the halls, not waiting a moment but keeping his pace steady as he made his way toward where the map he memorized dictated the Throne room to be.

Guardsmecha quickly joined him, abandoning whatever posts they held previously in order to escort him. They, too, gave him strange looks, ones he refused to acknowledge. Perhaps their scripts indicated that they were to act as though he were suspicious. It would make sense. According to the lore, he had been in stasis for a whole vorn, and now he had been working nonstop for a full two deca-cycles.

Thinking about it, that may have been a mistake. A mech fresh out of stasis should have still been in a medical wing somewhere, going through therapy and examinations. Optimus hopping right up without so much as a word to anyone but his servants and getting right to work was likely… concerning. The novel never went into much detail about his character’s work ethic, just that his laws were unjust and his actions cruel in the extreme. Optimus could probably play it off if he just didn’t acknowledge the situation. Maybe the director would cut anything that hinted at anything too incriminating.

He still didn’t know how much filming his predecessor managed to be a part of before his accident. He would hate to screw something up due to ignorance.

“You are dismissed.” He called out to his guards as he at last reached the doors to the Throne room. All the halls in the palace were largely the same, albeit with different murals and stained-glass windows depending on the wing of the building. It would be easy to mistake this room for another. Optimus really hoped he wasn’t about to walk into the energon purifying room or something.

“My Lord, it is our sworn duty to protect you.” One guardsmech put forward hesitantly. Optimus raised an optical ridge in response, quickly causing the mech to shift uncomfortably. He contemplated the right response before settling on portraying a Prime with enough ego to drown out the nearest star. It seemed on par for a mech such as Optimus.

“I am fully capable of defending myself, guardsmech. I require no guardians.” The mech shrank in on himself, likely expecting a hit. Optimus abstained from acting on the unspoken cue. He didn’t have a written script, but hurting a guard so early into his time on set seemed a bit much. His character was highly intelligent and cunning, and while not necessarily showcased in the novels, he wanted to spin it so that Optimus Prime was at least given a degree of respect for his efforts amongst the audience.

A villain needed to know when outright violence was the answer and when cunning was key.

“If you are so concerned, give me your weapon, and I shall sully the blade with the energon of any who dare step too close.” He glared, his field flaring briefly to sell his point. Of course, his field would not be visible on camera, but the gentle urging he sent out would hopefully get his wishes across to the extra before him. Nonverbal communication was essential for any good actor. One couldn’t always rely on the script.

He held out a servo expectantly, his gaze frigid but his field as warm as he could manage without it affecting his body language. The guardsmech froze, as did the others. They shared a series of startled looks before the mech in question at last unstrapped his sword from where it hung at his hip and dropped to a knee, presenting it formally.

“Be on your way, guardsmech, and know this.” Optimus accepted the blade, strapping it to his own hip with practiced ease, as if he were still back in Crystal City training with his teacher. He looked down at the fearful guardsmech before bending down to grip the mech’s face. The mech froze in horror, his frame going completely still and his venting slowing to the point of it being concerning as Optimus forced the mech to meet his gaze.

“Never again dare assume that I am so weak as to require your protection. I am your Prime, I am Primus’s chosen vessel. No mere mortal could ever dream of withstanding anything powerful enough to damage me.” His words came out in a hiss that still managed to maintain a vague remnant of a sing songy undertone. He internally cheered at his performance as his words rang in his audials. Ad libbing was one of his specialties in school and by the Thirteen, his new voice mod really sold the bit.

The guardsmech looked a klik away from crying when Optimus let go and returned to his proper height. However, despite his words, his field still extended kindly to the extras around him. It was his version of telling them good job, since words were not exactly an option at the present moment. They seemed to take it well enough, at least he certainly hoped so, since their fields flared in brief bursts of mixed confusion and awe with a hint of fear.

The fear was weird, but then again, Ratchet had once said in an interview that field usage on set was considered rather rude. Maybe he had crossed a line.

“Of course, forgive me, my Lord.” The guardsmech bowed and shakily stepped away. Silently, Optimus sent a message through his HUD to give the guardsmecha some gift cards. He didn’t know their designations yet, so for the time being, they could use his little gift to maybe get a drink off set somewhere. Being up in someone’s face was a rather frightening thing for any extra after all. He certainly had a few instances where he nearly broke down while training at the academy. The mech looked rather young too…

He shook his helm, clearing his mind as he readied himself. He had no clue who would already be there and who wouldn’t. Without access to the special effects team, he would need to start setting up his own effects once this was over. But for now, entering normally would be fine. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the audience.

“Announcing Optimus Prime, Primus’s Chosen.” The announcer listed his designation and title as he strode into the room, internally sighing in relief at having entered the correct area and not embarrassing himself by waltzing into some other space, Primus forbid a closet or something of the like. He had no clue how he would explain that in such a scenario.

“Hail.” The small collection of already present bots stood from their chairs, bowing slightly with a servo over where their spark chambers were hidden behind layers of protective armor as he entered. Striding toward the seat he assumed was for his character in light of the very obvious Matrix of Leadership engraving on it, Optimus observed those present.

Once he was seated, those gathered did the same once more. The first mech he laid optics on very nearly had Optimus wheezing if not for his training prior to arriving on set. Ratchet was right there. Not just the character, the actual mech. He looked absolutely stunning playing the part of the Prime’s personal physician. He thought that his idol had long given up on acting, but it seemed Alpha Trion’s production was too good to turn away from. The elder actor was performing brilliantly, his disposition exactly like the character depicted in the novel. A scowl was settled on his face, accented by the gold flairs that had been painted onto him. He looked less than pleased with the situation as a whole, and he did not even bother to hide his disdain as Optimus met his gaze.

Pros really were made of sterner stuff. Not only was Ratchet’s acting top tier, but his field was also held so close to himself as to be akin to a second layer of armor. The work of a real master, refusing any and all contact with fellow actors in order to really fall into character. Optimus would be fragged if he didn’t get an autograph once they had a chance to speak somewhere without cameras. Maybe he could just invite him to speak over some tea while in character. It wasn’t part of the script, but then again, it seemed Alpha Trion’s optic for realism dictated that events would play out in proper order and over the course of time indicated in the novels. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to speak to his co-star.

“Ratchet, I had not expected you to heed my summons.” Optimus commented frigidly. Ratchet, still maintaining his immaculate characterization, almost snarled in response.

“I was half tempted to do just as you anticipated Prime. I have more important things to do than sit around and be a pretty doll.” The physician glowered with the rage of a thousand suns, and Optimus had to fight to keep still as he internally cheered. Ratchet was an absolute master of his craft, and it was evident in every small motion he made.

“But considering I was forbidden to tend to your high and mighty majesty during your time in stasis, I elected to turn up and see if the rumors were true.” Ratchet reached out for a sizable pile of documents, shutting down any further conversation just as quickly as Optimus initiated it.

Absolutely brilliant. Ratchet’s character had been largely forbidden to do anything of worth, and was kept around as a formality more often than not. In the novel, this drove the doctor half mad due to how many bots needed him down in the clinics. He despised doing nothing aside from appearing for the sake of formality. A large portion of his anger toward Optimus’s character stemmed from the simple fact that the Prime held all of Ratchet’s students and staff in the palm of his servo, their lives hanging by a thread. For Ratchet to manage to showcase all of his character’s anger in such a short scene was nothing short of phenomenal.

“It is good to see you functional again, my Lord.” Ultra Magnus sat at the far end of the table, as far as physically possible from Optimus. He had reading glasses on and his tone was anything but welcoming, unsurprising considering his character was a former war hero forced into the role of glorified maid in order to keep him from speaking out. Being a secretary was by no means the worst job out there, but it was a far cry from his former position, and Magnus’s character could not risk the potential harm that would befall his soldiers should he fail to obey.

Optimus had to reset his optics a few times in order to confirm that the actor playing Magnus’s character was indeed the Ultra Magnus he knew. Why a director had chosen to act was beyond him, but he was doing a fantastic job, so who was Optimus to judge? He nodded to himself softly, hoping somehow that the other actor felt his approval.

“Soundwave, you come on the behalf of the senate, I assume.” It wasn’t even a question. Optimus knew full and well that Soundwave, the mech sitting closest to him on his left, was an inside mech. He didn’t want to be there, and was forced to serve as the senate’s mouthpiece in order to ensure that Megatron didn’t find himself killed in some horrible and one hundred percent unfortunate accident.

It was odd that the actor playing the character wasn’t in his usual monster role, but Optimus internally shrugged and moved on. Soundwave was always a quiet mech on camera, and it seemed this role suited him fine.

“Affirmative. The Senate wishes to confirm Optimus Prime still functions.” Soundwave remained still as a statue, an act of dedication to his role that had Optimus wishing he could give a thumbs up in awe. However, he fought with his spark until the urge died and looked to the only other mech in the room.

“Jazz. I imagine you are rather disappointed I didn’t offline while in stasis.” Optimus taunted with a hint of a dark laugh in his tone. Sweet as candied energon, his vocalizer produced what might as well have been a song as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table and his servos clasped together in a grim mimicry of a prayer.

“Right on point, Prime. Would have been nice, but you’ve always been a real glitch about dying.” Jazz flipped a knife as he propped his pedes on the table. Unlike everyone else in the room, he had no decorative pieces on his frame. He looked like an average civilian. He was, to Optimus’s knowledge, the only mech his character had no real sway over. Jazz was there because he had to be for the safety of those who were against Optimus’s character.

If he recalled correctly, it said somewhere in the novel that Jazz remained for so long on the faint hope that his old friend would return and cease his cruelty. A tragic story, really, but one Optimus could use to improve his performance.

“Your commentary is irrelevant. Where are my heirs and my High Protector?” Those at the table remained silent as a servant hurried forward with a bow. Optimus raised an optical ridge and leaned back in his chair, giving off the aura of an unimpressed and agitable leader as the mech hurried to speak.

“The Primecended are going to be arriving late, my Lord. Primajor Smokescreen has been slowed by delays in transportation from Protihex. Priminor Bumblebee was…” The servant trailed off, shifting from pede to pede as they continued.

“You have never called for the Priminor before, so his position was not monitored… and it is possible he assumed you did not require his presence.” The room fell deathly silent as Optimus weighed his options. The way the film was running seemed to suggest that so long as all the main plot points were reached, the actors could act as naturally as they wished while remaining in character. Optimus had free reign to act as he saw fit.

In this case, he had just the right idea.

“That sparkling has been left to run wild for too long. Living a life of luxury due to my efforts. How very ungrateful of him.” Standing slowly, Optimus loomed over the servant and grasped their wrist, making sure to make it seem as though his grip was crushing while remaining soft so as to not damage them.

“He is my heir. He will learn to heed my summons. Bring him here in the next joor, or I will get him myself. I am sure we all don’t want that to happen, do we?” He increased his grip ever so slightly, cracking his knuckle on the servo not visible to the onlookers, in order to make it seem as though he’d damaged the servant. Then, to sell the scene further, he threw the mech to the ground as carefully as he could manage while still seeming harsh.

“Find him and tell him that I will tolerate no further acts of defiance.” The servant wiped away tears as they scrambled to their pedes and fled. Those gathered at the table stared at Optimus in hatred, as was to be expected. Optimus in turn nodded to himself before sitting back down. He didn’t want his co-stars thinking he’d actually hurt the extra playing the servant role, so he hastily began to crack his knuckles while extending his field comfortingly, hoping they connected the dots.

Their expressions grew more terrified than comforted, but he chalked that up to them remaining in character.

“Once my Council has finished gathering, I wish to know all that has happened in my absence. I would not have my empire tainted by impurities-” Optimus began, fully intending to monologue in true evil villain fashion. However, before he could, the door to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash. Ratchet startled a degree, Jazz didn’t flinch, Magnus sighed, and Soundwave remained still as always.

Optimus sat up straighter, his finials perking up as he pulled back his field and stared at the mech trudging in. He was tall and probably once had a fantastic silver finish. Now he was covered in soot and ash, burn marks, cuts, scars, and every other conceivable form of damage marred his plating. Black smoke escaped his vents, an indicator of a desperate need for system repairs and cleaning as he strode forward, the canon on his arm humming to life from what had to be incredible amounts of stress or anger.

Incredible makeup and prop work. Optimus would need to thank the makeup department when this was all over. The blaster was amazingly realistic. The LEDs inside the prop casing must have been spectacular quality.

“PRIME!”

There it was. Music to his audials. Finally, Optimus’s time to shine. He knew this scene by spark.

“Why Megatron, I would have expected more decorum from my High Protector. And yet here you are, dirtying my carpets with grime from the lower levels. How very distasteful.” Megatron seethed, his optics flicking between red and blue in a frenzy. Optimus smiled beneath his mask as he stood again, his optics purposefully locked onto the seething mech across from him.

This was his moment, the grand confrontation and the scene where Optimus Prime was introduced to the readers. Optimus would need to make this good. He hadn’t had decent prep time due to his failure to plan ahead, but he could still make a spectacular introduction.

“Well then, come take a seat. Let us begin.” He smirked and gestured toward a chair. Megatron practically shook with rage. The actor was spectacular in his heroic role, just as he always was.

Optimus would need his autograph as well.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #megatron #alternate universe #ultra magnus #jazz #soundwave #actor au #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #optimus is an oblivious idiot #hes too wrapped up in his role to see the obvious indicators that this is very real #in the words of my friend #“he has plot armor because he believes he has plot armor.”#but look! second chapter yall!#I actually did more for an au :D

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unnamed-blob · 9 months ago

Text

How the cookie crumbles

⇢ Pairing: Ghostface | Jed Olsen/Meg Thomas

⇢ Length: Oneshot

⇢ Synopsis: Meg didn't start liking cookies until she started dating Jed. The notion persists to her time in the Fog.

⇢ A/N: Based off of slash's delicious JedMeg comic! I actually didn't plan to post this at first (don't consider it one of my best works), but there are more people sucked into the JedMeg niche hyperfixation than I expected- so, have at it lol

⇢ Background info: Jed Olsen and Meg Thomas were quite the adorable couple, what started as a convenient alibi (on Jed's side) turned into a genuine care for her and the coldblooded killer found himself smitten. However, Jed went missing one day, intentionally vanishing to allow himself to shed his civilian disguise and terrorize new victims. Meg though, remains worried about her missing boyfriend, constantly searching for new clues and terrified of what may have happened to him. Shortly thereafter, the two of them are dragged into the Fog by the Entity, Ghostface hiding his true identity, as Meg remains none the wiser.

Meg straightened her legs out in front of her, tilting her toes upward to stretch the aching muscles after a well done jog. She tilted sideways, free falling for a fraction of a second before she plopped against Jed’s side, wriggling to comfortably rest her head on his shoulder. She finally settled with a satisfied exhale, delightfully boneless against the photographer next to her as her gaze drifted upwards. The sky was washed in a flurry of colors, blooming pinks and vibrant reds, oranges swaddling the yellow sun as it began to peak over the rustling branches above.

The redhead shifted her gaze upwards, resting it on Jed’s face as he focused intently on the camera held between his hands; a frown tugging his mouth downwards, a crease in his brows as he considered the gallery of photos with intent focus, a glint in his eyes and his chest puffing out when he’d come across one he was particularly proud of. A bright, pastel pink box nestled against his leg on the bench on his opposing side, the scent of warm and freshly baked cookies tickling at her nose.

No matter how Meg would force a light hearted grimace at the sight of it, each time without fail, complaining about the calories she just burned off- it’d be smugly resting in his lap when she’d jog up to their meeting bench, the brunette flashing her a prideful smirk as she’d roll her eyes.

(And well, they were freshly baked, and he’d gone through such trouble, it’d be a waste not to after they were already here-)

She blinked, feeling her lips stretched into a grin, closing her eyes to nuzzle her nose into Jed’s jacket. It’d be comical to imagine how past her would have reacted, a nimble, red-headed runner with her hair tied in a high ponytail grimacing at the current sight.

Her? Going for a nerd of all people? Jed surely wasn’t the most physically active of men and his slouched posture made Meg wince at the phantom ache.

She’d been stubborn back then. Had found solace in running until she could barely gather enough air in her chest, until all she could hear and feel was her blood pounding in her head, where her problems couldn't snag their claws in or drill incessantly into the back of her head. She’d assumed only a fellow athlete could understand her in that aspect, could grasp her hand and walk hand in hand on the ground crumbling under her feet when Meg wanted to dart away.

Yeah, she’d learned fairly quick jocks weren’t the best guys to go for. The last one had been an upperclassman with an ego large enough to fill the entire football field, and that relationship had ended promptly when Meg had slammed her knee into his crown jewels when he’d tried to wrestle her clothes off in the men's locker room. She’d left without a glance back and remained firmly, happily single.

Meg blinked back to the present, gaze flashing upwards to Jed again as he jostled her, shifting in his seat as he cursed at the failed photograph and jammed his fingers on the buttons with more force than necessary. She snorted at his reaction, at the bared teeth on the usually oh so composed, dweeby journalist, that could hardly squash a bug without yelping in fear. He stilled, tilting his head to look down at her, raising a brow in question as he fought to keep the sour expression on his face.

“I think you're the nicest guy I’ve ever dated,” Meg admitted, smiling up at him as she wormed her arm under his, curling like a koala around her hostaged appendage. Jed stared down at her silently. He blinked, lowering the camera to rest his elbows on his knees.

“That’s sad.” He replied, brows wavering downwards to something between concern and pity. Meg barked out a laugh, throwing her head back as her shoulders shook.

For all the mousy, nervous energy he gave off- shifting constantly, fingers twitching- he truly knew how to bite at times. Ah well, they do say not to judge a book by its cover.

⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡

There were no early mornings in the Fog, no nights or dusk or dawn either, but the habit remained ingrained in Meg and she found herself picking her way through the brambles and bushes while the chatter around the campfire faded into the distance.

There were no stomped pathways, so Meg settled for a brisk walk, looping around logs and branches, taking any direction at random. She didn’t have to worry about getting lost or knowing how to pick her way back when she’d end up back at the campfire one way or another. The redhead paused to glance around, casting a look up at the tall, dark branches within the endless trees.

There were no birdsong, no light that could filter through the constant cloudy sky, no chittering animals. The woods were too silent, and all Meg could hear was the dead leaves rustling under her feet.

She straightened, brushing off the wrongness of it all and heading onwards. It’d be nice to find some way out of here through the woods- came the brief, indulgent thought- but things were never that easy, and the Entity would never release its playthings by such a simple means. She braced a palm to balance as she scrambled up a fallen tree trunk, faltering at the top at the sight of an open clearing.

Meg blinked, squinting to make sure she wasn’t imagining it or it wouldn't vaporize into thin air in front of her eyes, a cruel mirage by the Entity. When it remained stubbornly in place, she cautiously hopped down, slowly stepping closer, pausing at every moment to eye her surroundings.

That was new. Despite her numerous walks within the woods- both as a warm up before the day of trials and to gather her thoughts at the end of the day (or after a particularly stressful round with a bone white, desolate, stretched out masked killer), she’d never come across a clearing. Not to mention she should have been able to see it from a distance just moments ago-

Meg slowly stopped at the edge of it, just under the trees lining the sides of it as she turned to glance in all directions, holding her breath as she strained her ears for any abnormal sounds. When her lungs began to protest for air she released it in one fell swoop, pausing to catch her breath before she carefully crept forwards. She lifted her leg, pressed one foot into the clearing, pausing for- something, anything.

Nothing.

Meg slowly stepped further in, glancing in every direction. She waited for the ground to swallow her whole, for the Entity’s claw to descend from above , for-

She snorted to herself, placing her hands on her hips as she grinned wryly to herself. Look at her, all paranoid after countless murder trials. She scuffed a foot against the drooping grass blades, watching them rustle then fall still. She was too pent up, she needed to antagonize a few killers to get rid of some of that steam.

Meg shifted, ready to move on before she froze at the burst of color in the corner of her vision. She turned, squinting to the brightly colored object several steps away, jarringly out of place within the desolate forest. The redhead tilted her head, padding closer, cautiously as if it’d leap out at her. She slowed as she neared, finally recognizing it as a box, with familiar printed letters across the top of it and-

Meg froze, stiffly faltering in place as she stared down at the box of baked sweets, the smell slamming into her nose and forcing her to blink her rapidly wetting eyes as a phantom of a man smiled against her ear, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he pressed it into her hands.

“A reward after all of your hard work,” he’d respond with a casual shrug, brushing off all of her attempts to pay him back or get him to stop. “I’d be a jerk of a boyfriend if I-”

“Do you like it?”

Meg whirled around, already dropping low to the ground in preparation for a deathly swipe, eyes darting to the clothed figure leaning against a tree on the cusp of the clearing, arms casually crossed over his chest.

She blinked at him, torn between too many howling emotions- fear: waiting for him to draw his knife and strike her down, alongside a rapid, beating warmth in her chest: Jed, pressed so close to her side she could feel him for for the first time in- who knows how long, and grief: clawing at her throat, at her insides, tearing open her chest to gnash its teeth around her heart and tear it apart. “I’ll be back soon,” he’d said, brushing his lips against her forehead, and his side of the bed had remained cold since-

She blinked, narrowing her eyes at Ghostface. The killer remained in place, silent, steady, merely watching her without a single twitch. There was no ambience to focus on, nothing other than the sound of Meg’s heartbeat in her ears.

She opened her mouth. She’d been silent too long, been trapped within her head, she needed to focus on the tense situation, the stalemate-

“What?”- by the Fog, Meg wanted to slap herself. A journalist for a boyfriend (ex- a cruel voice in her ear whispered with glee and she squashed it under her palm) and this is how she dumbly responds.

Ghostface tilted his head, jutting his chin in her direction. “The sweets.-”

Meg glanced down, blinking in surprise to find it in her palms, nails digging into the flimsy cardboard, crouched over it protectively, like a mother to her cubs.

“-It’s hard to get anything in the Fog, much less that specifically. Do you like them?”

Ah.. Meg had heard whispers and groans of agony around the campfire that Ghostface had gotten harsher as of late, gunning for mori’s instead of hooks, each trial against him a definite death. Perhaps the Entity had chosen to reward his recent brutality, reveling in the spilled blood and pain.

Why he’d choose to waste it on a box of sweets of all things- much less give it to her- was completely unknown to Meg.

“I don’t.” She replied, curt and forced. They were overwhelmingly sweet- and overpriced to boot- (she’d always been frugal, always chosen to spend her money wisely on what was necessary, never herself. It had been Jed’s first gift, because he knew she’d shove a necklace or bracelet right back into his hands and force him to return it. He couldn’t return cookies. And she’d tried to convince the both of them that they were awful, they weren't worth the price- but he was too quick to notice how she’d light up at the taste, finish every crumb-)

Ghostface tilted his head at her. The silence pressed down on her, forcing Meg to roll her shoulders in discomfort.

“Are you sure?” Meg stiffened at the strange tone the killer exuded, a watchful eye snapping to him, legs bunching under her in preparation to run.

“Yes,” she snapped back. She should throw it for extra measure, just to hone it in- but her nails dug further into it at the thought, the sharp edges digging uncomfortably into her palms.

She stared down at the pastel box trapped under her, forcing back tears as her shoulders fell. She just- please, she just wanted Jed back-

She wanted to meet him early in the morning, resting against him on their bench as he’d complain about getting up so early but meet her without fail. She wanted to hook her chin over his shoulder, watch him filter out his shots through half lidded eyes.

She’d go toe to toe with every killer, she’d step into the Entity’s cruel embrace of her own will, she’d take every mori- please she just wanted Jed back.

Meg blinked back to the too still, too quiet forest, dark and drooping, a mimicry provided by the Entity, enrichment in their container. She stiffly raised her head, desperately scanning for Ghostface. She’d left her backside exposed, her neck vulnerable, too lost in her own head to hear anything- to the sight of an empty forest.

She slowly straightened, balancing on wobbling knees to crane her neck and scan in every direction for extra security. Nothing. No one. Not even the trees rustled to reply to her. Meg stumbled on her next step, dragging her feet that were replaced with lead, snagging her foot on every branch as she scrambled away from the clearing- back to the campfire, back to people where she could force a grin and fill her head with mindless chatter.

She panted for breath, covered in cold sweat as she finally halted several paces away from the clearing, turning back to look at it. It remained impassive, innocent, gave her no answers.

She shifted, cautiously turning back around (she didn’t care anymore, even if there were other killers lingering in these woods, at least she’d be back at the campfire quicker then)- before a flash of pink startled her at the edge of her vision. Meg snapped her head downwards, finding the rectangular box firmly clasped to her chest, fingers aching from how tightly wrapped they were around it.

She blinked, staring down at it, before she turned away and stumbled back to the campfire.

. . . How did the Entity just happen to gift her favorite cookies?-

#jedmeg #ghostmeg #dbd #male yandere #yandere ghostface #slasher x final girl #dead by daylight #dbd writing #dbd fanfic #ghostface #dbd ghostface #meg thomas #jed olsen #slashers #slashers writing #slashers fanfic #killer x survivor #yandere scenarios #hurt no comfort

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foxholewriting · 4 months ago

Text

Orphan Heart

Crux/Male Reader - Mystery/UA sorta - Words/ 1,042

Pronouns - He/Him ; Pet Name(s) - None

Mention - Talk of dead parents (Or parents that never existed)

This isn't fully canon accurate, that is okay! Unless the creator asks me to change or delete this I won't change a thing, this is sorta an AU/theory series

-----------------------------

Half past 2am, it’s been three weeks since Y/N had ended up in a messed up version of home and he had barely settled down. Determined to find a way home or even find a way to make this place less deadly, both with souring results. Black and Crux were to be avoided or for now kept at a distance, was it hard for Y/N to do that? Maybe. But he knew the only reason he was even here was because of them or at least Crux, it was hard to get any sort of information from anyone it was as if he suddenly appeared in the universe and there was never a trace of him before.

If what Crux said was right and every universe or timeline or dimension had one of Y/N that means there either should be someone already here that's some form of him or at least an idea of what the hell was happening. The libraries weren’t very helpful, either books were in languages Y/N had never seen or the information was too complex. Talking to anyone about leaving this place got him weird stares or more questions that he didn’t want to answer, why did they want to stay?

“Should be around here.” Y/N mumbled as he held a crumpled piece of paper, the writing was like chicken scratch and words overlapped but it said to meet at the tree. He figured if he died he died, if he learned anything was that he had no control over this world or his own fate. He didn’t have the heart to tell Grete on the off chance something did happen to him and he never comes back that she’d feel guilty for not stopping him or worse try to get Crux to stop him.

Navigating the tree was weird, it felt overwhelming like he knew everything and nothing at the same time. He stepped closer making sure to avoid being seen and taking extra caution to not be near the scientist, something about him made Y/N skin crawl.

Lost in thought on what this random meeting could be around he fell over a metal box, tucked away inside the rusty metal was baby photos of Y/N but they felt wrong. Everything was wrong with them, he touched the plastic material and even that felt wrong. It was him as a baby in the photos but he didn’t recognize the people around him, but in one photo they were kissing his cheek and another celebrating his first birthday they all looked eerie. An aged letter sat at the very bottom of the box, he plucked it up and unfolded it.

“Dear Y/N,

Our sweet baby boy, I hope you don’t miss us nearly as much as we miss you. Maybe you won’t even remember us if this goes well, maybe you’ll find a safe family and you’ll be protected. We can only hope, but in case you do remember us then we are sorry. We are sorry we couldn’t protect you, we are sorry that you are probably lost and confused, maybe even hurt but remember to keep that book we gave you. That will protect you.

In case you don’t remember us, why are you here? You shouldn’t be here, you should be at home any home but here. Don’t be fooled by the tree or the people or the ones that watch you”

The letter ended there, the bottom half was torn off and the back was smeared with black ink, Y/N checked the metal box no book or anything else was in there, just this half torn paper that gave him little to work off of and baby photos with people he’s never met. The air suddenly felt thicker, even more than usual for being near the tree and Y/N learned fast enough to get the hell out of the area when he felt that feeling. Sprinting away before whatever it was decided to pull it’s next move, once tucked away behind a dumpster he tucked the half letters and photos away in his pocket before the long walk back to Grete’s house.

Small beeps and buzzes came from the phone, which Y/N ignored for the last few days Black and Crux seem extra persistent to get a hold of him which only drove him to ignore them harder. Almost dying wasn’t in his cards again after Black seemed to be pretty determined to put himself and Y/N into life ending situations, but Crux was different. Y/N has seen him around but did his best to avoid him, he was looking for his own answer and didn’t want to be wrapped up in what nonsense that he could be dragged into by Crux or Black or any other creature that walked this dimension.

When he returned home the house was empty but thankfully he had remembered to grab the key Grete gave him when he first moved in. The house felt warm unlike everything in this dimension; it felt like it wouldn’t kill Y/N with one wrong move. The room had slowly been changed over the past few weeks, different things he found, news articles on missing citizens, notes he rummaged for in the scientist’s trash and other miscellaneous things scattered across the surfaces. The letter, photos, and the meeting notes were added to the pile he decided later he’d look through everything he had to piece together a new lead but as if this moment the only thing he could think about was the letter.

Who was watching him, was this planned way before the accident? Was Crux wrong about saying this was an accident, was this all meant to happen but doesn’t that mean that Y/N didn’t die and was still alive? He shook his head and sat down at his desk to write more notes. There wasn’t a defined answer for any of this but maybe he was a step closer with these photos, he made mental notes to take the photos down to the library and maybe he could find photos of these people if anything he could match handwriting to other things he may find.

-----------------------------

@doubledeadstudio

Sorry for the influx of my confusion in the inbox hope my little fic shows that i'm not that crazy

#male reader #x male reader #reanimated heart #reanimated heart vn #reanimated heart x male reader #male! reader #crux x male reader #crux x male! reader

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ggukkiedae · 1 year ago

Note

For miya I would like Jack in the box listing party and Miya giving jungkook a tour of Australia in more depth.

hi bub! this took quite a while, but i'm back to writing again and slowly filling out requests! for now, here's the jitb listening party, but you can look forward to the australia tour with jungkookie soon! hope you enjoy this for now~

dialogue written in italics are spoken in english!

The sounds of the music blasting reached her ears before the elevator doors could even open.

“God,” Yoonmi muttered to herself, “I can’t believe that uni made me late for a work event for the first time ever.”

She carefully smoothed out the front of her leather romper over her black button down, an outfit Jungkook had dramatically insisted on because he helped Hoseok pick the romper out for her, and stepped out of the elevator doors right before they closed once again.

Almost immediately, her eyes spotted her members all gathered together in the photo booth, seemingly scanning the room for her. Right, she had sent them her location so they could see when she arrived.

People laughed at her rushed greetings and made way for her as soon as they could hear the heels of her boots coming in their direction. Everyone knew where she was headed, and no one would be stopping her even if they wanted to.

A set of sunglasses-covered eyes met hers, but even the tinted lenses couldn’t hide the way they lit up.

“Makdungie!” Hoseok yelled out, opening his arms for a hug. “You’re here! How was traffic?”

A laugh slipped through her lips as she walked forward to give Hoseok a hug, trying to pour everything she wanted to say into the tight squeeze. You look nice. I missed you. The listening party is doing great. Sorry I missed the actual listening part of the listening party. You’re working so hard. I’m proud of you. All these thoughts, yet only some words came out. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was okay, but my professor held me back.”

He pushed her sunglasses up her head and did the same to his own. “What matters is you’re here. Come on, it’s your turn to take pictures with me.”

Hoseok swung an arm around her shoulders, squishing their cheeks together for their first photo. The audible ranting of Taehyung from the side about Hoseok’s audacity to steal her before she could say hi to any of the other members made the smile on her face grow even wider out of amusement. After a few changes of poses, all of them gathered together into the frame, taking a photo altogether and being sure to send a soft copy to Yoongi immediately.

It was after the photo when the entire situation sunk in. There were so many people in the room with her, and the sheer thought of having to start up conversations began to overwhelm her. It was a long day at university, fixing up certain documents she needed for the following semester.

“Stick with me,” Jungkook handed her a champagne flute and offered his arm for her to take, “and drink this. Something to warm you from the inside might help you loosen up.”

A grateful sigh came out of her, “Thanks. Can we go close to the stage? I think Hobi oppa’s dancer friends are about to pop off.”

“Say no more.”

The two maknaes excitedly walked over to the center, pleased to find dancers taking over the floor. Pretty soon, they found themselves grooving along with their motions, Taehyung and Namjoon even joining them for a bit.

A glass of beer made its way into her hand, followed by a knowing wink from Jimin. She laughed and quickly downed its contents, settling on the floor of the stage, looking directly at Hoseok as he interacted with his guests as well as danced for a while.

She noticed a glow emanating from him. No, it wasn’t a reflection of the spotlight or the other flashing lights surrounding them. Hoseok just seemed to be glowing, whether it be in satisfaction, happiness, growth, or all of the above, she wasn’t sure. It was just a nice glow that she was happy to see given how stressed out he was in the past month specifically.

Her stares didn’t go unnoticed as the object of her thoughts turned towards her, a confused look crossing his face before he smiled and sat next to her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“You’re absolutely glowing,” there was no hesitation in her voice, “and it’s an amazing look on you, oppa.”

He bumped her shoulder, “Thanks, Yoonmi. And thanks for coming by even though today drained you.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she smiled at him, pleased to see his smile change to the one she only saw him use around family.

Hoseok got up, dusting his hand on his pants and offering her the drink in his hand. “Come on. If you’re up for it, I’m pretty sure Jessi nuna and Eunwoo were looking for you. Jack-Coke, by the way.”

She laughed at his choice of drink matching his album, thankfully taking the drink and placing her free hand on his outstretched one. “I think I’ve got a bit of energy left as long as you guys stay with me.”

“Always.”

She definitely had more energy than she thought. Needless to say multiple videos of her vibing surfaced the internet, being a topic of conversation for a while.

taglist: @sunflower-0180 @seaoffangirling @yourwonderbelle @1-800-enhypennabi @kamiiyou @strwberrydinosaur @uraveragefangirlsposts @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @toriluvsfics @billboard-singer @stopeatread (taglist/s open! just drop an ask or a dm <3)

#yoonmi.request #yoonmi.drabble #yoonmi.homi #bts 8th member #bts female member #bts female addition #miya #yoonmi #kim yoonmi

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that-one-random-writer · 2 years ago

Text

Chasing you Chapter 9 {Complete}

Summary: Jake retires from the military honorably. He steps into a new roll, ready to settle down in his hometown of Texas. He is placed on your shift. Your current relationship is stable until the dust settles, revealing cracks in the foundation.

Warning-police work it gets gory at times and horrible so be aware 18+ smut eventually.

Chapter1. Next chapter. Masterlist

The house was cold, and there was nothing left of this home. The walls had happy photos of times before your diagnosis. You looked at all the memories of Disneyland trips, vacations to beaches. You looked at the next photo, you were in a doctors room. James kissing your forehead. You watched james' smile slowly drop through treatment photos.

There it was, you held the bell, the ringing sounded, people clapping, you could hear it. You had been listed in full remission, and James' face had a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Glass shattered across the floor. You grabbed another frame, throwing it across the room. You ran to the bedroom packing your things. You filled your car with everything you own. Each box solidified the fact that this relationship was over. You grabbed your keys, and you took off the home key off the key ring. You made sure everything was in your car. You laid the last picture down next to a note.

'I'm leaving. You're no longer the person I fell in love with.'

You owed him no other explanation, you didn't tell him where you went it didn't matter. You were free. You locked the house leaving the key under the mat. You didn't want to deal with men for a while. You didn't want to live through this back and forth push and pull of men. You wanted time to yourself with your bestfriend.

"Ken..." You trailed through the phone.

He was sitting in his living room. "Yes?"

"I dont, I don't have anywhere to go." You spoke softly. I'm not quite able to get the sentence out right.

"Did you... is he gone?" Kennedy's jaw slacked in shock.

"Yeah. I packed everything this morning." You were numb. You lost feeling everywhere.

"Get your fine, single ass over here... is exactly what Seresin is going to say when you call him."

"Ken, I'm really not in the mood. I just packed my entire house. Can I stay with you?"

"Um... can we finally talk about how hot the pool party was and have a drink? Hold on, I gotta make a call. Come over, we will sleep and then have a loser got lost party just me and you." Kennedy hung up the phone.

"Seresin, I don't have much time, man. Monroe, she's done with him. Give her some time. She's coming to my place. Just call me your certified wingman."

"Yeah, a damn good one, too." Jake laid back in his tub. The phone call ended.

"It has been a week, Marilyn." Kennedy sits beside you on the couch. He wraps his arm around you like he has every night since the breakup. He held you close. "Look, this is hard, I know, but you have to start healing. You have cried every day. I need you to get up from this couch. Honey, look at me." Kennedy placed a hand on your cheek. "You are incredible. You never deserved the way he treated you. Can you please for me try to get out of this? I'm tired of watching you slowly drown." He kissed your temple and stood up. "We're going out. You're ready for it."

"No, I'm not ready." Your voice never lifts from a whisper. The pain is excruciating. You broke up with a man you were still in love with. It is a very strange circumstance. Just because you are in love doesn't mean you're happy. You saw it, Ken saw it. The entire shift saw the relationship crumble, holding on to a single thread in a sea that is no longer filled with smiles and bonding. You were drowning. You knew it, everyone did. The hardest thing to admit is that no matter how hard you tried, you could never make the wrong person the right person for you.

"Get your ass up now. Go get a shower and get a hot outfit on we're going out whether you like it or not." Kennedy leads you to the bedroom and leaves allowing you privacy. You grab the first outfit you see and get in the shower, the water feeling so familiar to your cheeks, feeling like the many warm tears spilling over.

You get dressed and walk out to the living room.

"Hey Adam Sandler, I said, going out, not to the gym." Kennedy lifted a brow at your clothes. "Go change."

Your eyes fell the ground. "It's all packed in my car still."

"Hey, you know what..." He trailed and walked to his closet. "You are the same size as my sister." He grabbed a little black and beige dress and a pair of beige platform thigh-high boots.

"I know she wouldn't mind if you borrowed her freakem dress." You kept your face in a straight look as he held up the items. He raised his brow. "Babe... party?" He swung the items in front of you.

Your face broke. A smile is finally fresh on your face. "You know I love a party."

Ken opened your door for you. You stepped out at Ultra, the local bar.

The music vibrated through to the outside air. The music got louder as you passed the threshold. Kennedy ordered for you. He brought you a drink, and you both sat down at a booth. The lights were dim. The people around all happy faces, it was infectious. Your lips naturally fell into a smile. Ken checked his phone and laid it face down on the table.

"Okay, so you never told me what happened about the speaker in the kitchen..." Kennedy said, taking a sip.

"It was nothing. Just some flirting." Your cheeks glazed with a blush.

"Shirt thrown across the room? That's a little more than just flirting. I saw the way he was looking at you in the pool." Ken checked his phone again.

"Okay, I was drunk. we didn't kiss. He just did the thing you know. The thing..." You gave him the look.

"The leaning against the wall gets just close enough to leave you weak in the knees. Oh, I know the thing. Read it in my romance novels, which saved my closeted ass a few times in high school. Got girls talking about how hot I was, and it rumored that I was sleeping with girls without me having to sleep with girls." Kennedy sipped his drink speaking only loud enough for you to hear.

"Yup, that thing. The morning we left work I fucking daydreamed about that shit. I was a mess. I just couldnt be with James when I couldnt get this other man out of my mind and after everything that happened, I just flipped out. I started breaking picture frames, packing and just left. Its like I had been waiting for the right time to leave and it never came. I finally looked back and said why the fuck am I here." You finally opened up to Kennedy.

"Yeah and now you've got hot ass Seresin on speed dial. Call him and go to him. Be free my little bird." Kennedy smiled ecstatic that you were finally away from James.

"I don't want to rush. I don't really know him. I know how gorgeous his body is and how his eyes they just..." you paused groaning.

"Babe, 9 o clock." Kennedy smirked. He put his phone back down he had already sent where you both were sitting to Seresin, unknown to you of course.

You sipped your drink looking around the room in the direction he just mentioned. There he was walking in, Jake seresin. His hand slipped to his aviators pulling them off slipping them in his collar with ease. Your eyes locked with his, the room slowed around you. You haven't seen him since the breakup. You took time off work, you had almost forgot the power this man held. The way women looked at him swooning, men sizing him up next to their girlfriends, the room seemed to be his. "Monroe, as I live and breath."

His hand rested on the table as he leaned down. "We've missed you... I've missed you." He sat down next to you.

The room got smaller as he rested his arm over the booth behind your shoulder. You were happy to see him, as much as you wanted to take your time, his body and presence in a room were tempting.

A man you've never seen before walked behind him and sat down next to Kennedy.

"Kennedy, this is Tyler Kraft. He is one of my military buddies. His call sign was cheese. That's what all of us called him." Seresin chuckled and smirked at Kennedy.

"I told him you had a pool." His voice changing like there was more that you didn't know between those harmless words.

"We can all have a few drinks, and if you're down for a party, we can all head back to your place. I'll supply the drinks if you supply the pool."

Kennedy's eyes widened just enough for you to notice. "Y-yeah that's fine." He was caught off guard with a plan change. A plan you had no idea about.

"It's nice to meet you tyler. I'm Monroe. I work with these too." You smiled politely. A new face intrigued you.

"Cop too? I hope you two are giving hangman hell for us." He flashed a smile that held a jewel attached to his tooth.

You giggled politely. The tooth jewel gave you an idea of what was going on, something about the way Kennedy was acting told you he had no idea what was going on.

"Hangman?" You paused, looking up at Seresin. "I'm about to now... with a name like that. " You laughed, looking over at Tyler.

You directed your attention back to Seresin. "You want to go with me to get our first round hangman?"

"Yeah. Good idea." He nodded, offering his hand.

You stood up without his help walking to the bar. You were shield from the pair you left at the table by a sea of people. "Jake, who is that?" You said between gritted teeth protection of your friend boiling in your blood.

"He's a friend of mine. I figured I'd introduce him to Kennedy." Seresin smirked, pride filling his voice in more ways then one.

"Why?" It seethed through your lips.

"Because a closet is lonely. I'm not going to say anything to anyone at work. If I was going to I would have called him out at the pool party." He said quietly leaning to whisper in your ear.

"How long have you known?" Your shoulders softened feeling a little trust seep in.

"I was suspicious the whole time, but the pool party confirmed it. He doesn't know that I know... until now, I guess." He shrugged his shoulders.

Realization set in that he set them up on a date. "They can't be in public on a date... Jake you're an idiot." You quietly yelled.

"OK calm down. I already gave Tyler the run down, and that's why I suggested we go back to his house for a pool party. Have a little faith. I got this. Now what do you want to drink? I'm buying for you tonight."

"Pineapple upside-down and a shot of tequila." You didn't even worry about fighting him on the payment of a drink. You stood on the foot rest of a nearby bar stool.

"What are you doing?" Seresin asked. His brows stitched together.

You saw the way Kennedy was sitting facing Tyler. His body language was very clearly a sign of interest. "Checking on him. They look happy." You smiled looking down at Seresin.

He grabbed your waist and helped you down back to the ground. His hand lingered on the small of your back. "I told you. Now stop worrying and have fun. You deserve it." He grabbed the drinks and you grabbed the ones for tyler and Ken.

All worrying had been swept away. You mind completely cleared of James, and your friend from being outed. You looked at Seresin in a new light. He was protecting your best friend and giving him something he desperately wanted.

A/N tumblr ate my post so we're trying this again!

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