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joeyalohadream · 4 months ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where Bucky gets a call that Gale has been in an accident or something, goes to pick him up, Gale isn’t even badly hurt but Bucky still loses his mind and Gale ends up comforting him lol (if u can’t tell im a sucker for hurt gale and hurt/comfort in general lol) .

Also i saw u posting that u feel like u ramble/write too much and i just wanted to say, im so obsessed with ur writing that i eat up anything u write like if u were to post ur shopping list i would probably read it and love it so PLS ALWAYS WRITE TOO MUCH. Thank u for sharing w us ❤️‍🩹

Hi! So sorry this took me so long!

aaaand thank you so much, anon! Your kind words made me feel all warm and fuzzy! (p.s. my shopping list is cat food and wine LOL). I'm glad you enjoy my rambling!

Here is the fic I wrote for your request! 4,047 words of a bit of angst and fluff and some sweetness. Hope you like it!

If you'd rather read a word count like that on AO3, find it here!

It’s six o’clock and John is hungry.

His day had been a good one, but a long one. Flying right seat to several cadets on their second week of actual flying. Witnessing the joy, the reverence the young pilots had experienced behind the yolk had brought back memories of a time when flying had been his favorite thing in the world. Back before it was tainted by terror and death and dread.

It eases something within him to know that he can still find the beauty in it after years of growing to hate something that had once been the thing that made him feel alive.

But it’s Friday night now and his feet will be firmly on the ground for the weekend. A weekend that was supposed to start with a homecooked meal, lovingly prepared by Gale.

With Gale in school and John working full-time, they spend most of their week like passing ships. Evenings are typically a rushed affair of leftovers or a meet-up at the diner half way between the base and Gale’s campus.

Friday nights are John’s favorite though. Gale is out of class by three and home by four. He spends the two hour stretch of time between then and John’s arrival at six cooking the most delicious meals John has ever tasted. A skill he’d developed while trying, and mostly succeeding, in putting some meat back on to their bones after they came home.

But it’s six o’clock and there is no dinner waiting for him. The lights are all off and Gale’s truck is not in the driveway.

He walks through the house, turning on a lamp here, flipping a switch there and tries to temper the feeling of dread that starts prickling under his skin.

After everything they’d been through, it had taken them both a significant amount of time to quell the unrealistic expectation that something was wrong whenever they weren’t within sight of each other.

Neither of them had fully managed to overcome it. Gale calls his office at least twice a week from the payphone at school between classes just to say hello.

John pours himself a glass of water and takes a sip, leaning against the freshly painted cabinets. The soft green hue offers a peaceful warmth in the small kitchen. It had been their project last weekend.

Gale sometimes stays late after his lecture to help some of the younger students that struggle with the concepts. His genius.

But he doesn’t do that on Fridays because Friday nights are their nights.

So why isn’t he here?

He pushes off the counter and takes two steps to the icebox. Opening it reveals the steaks that Gale had prepped for tonight. He contemplates getting them out and trying his hand at making the meal but shuts the door and the thought down immediately.

Despite spending his time practically draped over Gale’s back, chin hooked over his shoulder on the Friday evenings he is home in time to watch him cook, John hadn’t managed to pick up the skill.

Instead of studying the technique, he studies Gale’s confident movements as he chops and tenderizes and slices and measures and stirs. Gale’s hands create nourishment for them while his own hands typically trace the soft skin a Gale’s still too flat belly, the delicate curve of his trim waist, sometimes drifting to skim his pert rear if Gale lets him get away with it.

The thoughts bring a smile to his face. But looking at the clock on the wall that tells him Gale is now over two hours late wipes it away.

He walks back to the front door and out onto the porch to stare down the long driveway that leads up to their home, willing headlights to turn onto it. But time ticks by and the sun is dipping lower on the horizon and Gale still isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

John knows the route Gale takes to and from campus. He’d driven him several times back before they’d acquired a second truck. He fingers the keys in his pocket, wondering how much Gale would rib him for driving the hour to his school when it turns out he just lost track of time.

But it’s Friday night and Gale doesn’t lose track of time, especially when time is leading to them spending their evening wrapped around each other.

John flinches as the silence of the evening is interrupted by the sound of their telephone ringing in the kitchen. Relief floods him a moment later and he slams the screen door open and takes long strides back into the house.

“You better have a good explanation for why I’m not eating a big, juicy steak right now,” he says into the receiver, a smile already pulling at his lips as he waits for Gale’s exasperated tone to filter back through to him.

But there’s silence for a beat and then a throat is cleared and then John’s heart starts to pound a little faster.

“Um, hello,” a voice that is distinctly not Gale comes through the connection. “Is this John Egan?”

“Yes,” John replies, switching the phone to his other hand, hoping it’s less wet. It’s not. “Who’s this?”

“I’m a nurse at Lakeside Memorial,” she supplies and John’s knees go weak. “I’m calling because your friend, Gale Cleven, was brought in about an hour ago. He was in an accident.”

Words won’t form, but some unintelligible noise escapes his mouth in response. For a moment, he’s not in their softly lit, freshly painted kitchen. He’s in a phone booth in London and it’s the worst moment of his life.

He went down swingin’.

The cord stretches its length as his legs decide to stop functioning and he slides down to the floor, back pressed against the green cabinet doors.

“Mr. Egan, are you still there?”

Is he? Or is he back on the bombed-out streets of a city he never should have gone to?

“I’m here,” he grinds out as he closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. Pictures Gale in front of him, one hand planted on his chest, the other cradling his cheek. Breathe, darlin’, he’d say. He’s said it to him countless times since they’d reunited back in the Stalag. He’s said it to him in their bedroom, in their yard, in this kitchen. He needs to know if he’ll ever hear him say it again. “Is he okay?”

“I can’t give out medical information over the phone,” the nurse tells him, and John tightens his grip on the phone, anger rising, but she continues before he can spew it over the line. “But Mr. Cleven asked me to call you himself.”

He takes a deep breath, the slightest bit of relief mixing with the dread coiling itself around his heart.

“You understand?” The nurse’s voice is back in his ear. She couldn’t tell him how he was, but she told him enough to let him know that he was well enough to be talking and that’s enough for him to know that Gale is still here. He nods and then remembers he’s alone.

“Yes, I understand,” he says. “Lakeside Memorial?”

“That’s correct,” she confirms, sounding patient. John imagines she makes these calls every day. He wouldn’t like that job. “Come in through the emergency room doors and we’ll get you sorted.”

“Thank you,” his voice wobbles a bit too much, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. There’s a click over the line that tells him she’s hung up, so he lets the phone drop and then presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and presses hard. He chokes on his next inhale and feels his shoulders shake.

But Gale needs him. He’s hurt and he wants John to come to him and he needs to get up off this floor, right now.

The room sways a bit as he gets to his feet, head feeling fuzzy. He thinks maybe he hasn’t been breathing correctly since the nurse’s voice came through the phone instead of Gale’s.

Breathe, darlin’.

In through his nose, out through his mouth. It helps a bit.

----

Physically, He slides into the driver’s seat of their new pick-up truck and starts the engine. That phone call left him with only questions and his hands sweat as they grip the leather of the steering wheel. His foot feels numb as he presses it to the gas in order to go find answers.

Mentally, he’s sliding into his seat on a train car that’s leading him to a destination with no answers to be had, no sweet smile or soft laughter or dazzling blue eyes waiting for him. No joy, only pain. No Gale. Because he went down swingin’.

The crushing sadness that had invaded every nerve in his system after he’d walked out of that phone booth all those years ago suddenly feels like it never went away. Like he could wake up and realize that this year of domestic bliss hadn’t happened. Like Gale wasn’t his and Gale wasn’t here, and Gale wasn’t anywhere. He shakes his head, as if he could physically knock the horrible images out of his mind.

Headlights shine through his windshield, streetlamps coming on along the road as the sun continues setting. He knows the way to the emergency room. It’s on the way to Gale’s campus. His body operates on auto pilot to get him there, his head is in the clouds or in the dirt or somewhere else entirely.

He needs Gale to be okay. It’s hard to breathe again.

Gale would be so angry at him for driving like this. Gale will be so angry with him for driving like this.

----

It takes him a moment to realize why every head in the room turns to him when he walks through the door. His hands shake as he straightens out his uniform jacket and runs fingers through his curls, realizing he forgot his cap. Not very officer-like to be out in public without the proper uniform.

To his surprise, it takes barely a word from him for a young orderly to lead him to Gale. No argument about how he’s not family, even though he is Gale’s only family. No odd looks about why it isn’t Gale’s wife or mother or father coming to see him.

He thinks his feet might be numb and he finds that odd, but they still put in the work and follow the man in scrubs to a row of curtained off exam rooms. Further relief crackles in his chest when he realizes they’re headed for one specific curtain. Gale isn’t in surgery or in a private room. He’s in the same kind of place John had sat a few months ago when he’d needed stiches on his thumb.

Maybe he’s okay.

Please be okay.

His heart rate increases as the orderly gestures him forward and then turns to leave. He takes a steadying breath, ducks around the fabric and is greeted with two sky-blue eyes and a sheepish looking smile directed his way.

“You’re here,” Gale breathes out, the sound of utter relief in his voice. John stares at him. He thinks the numbness in his feet might be creeping up into the rest of his body. “John?”

The small smile Gale had thrown him upon his arrival is wiped away as concern twists his features and John wants to laugh but all he can do is stare for some reason. He’s staring intently at the younger man, watches as his brows furrows and he shifts on the plastic wrapped table he’s sitting on.

“John,” Gale tries again, a wince pulling his features down for a moment. “You with me?”

The curtain draws open. The shrill sound of the metal rings grating against the pole makes John cringe and snap his gaze away from Gale to take in the sight of a white-haired nurse with a friendly smile, kind eyes and a clipboard in her hand.

“Is this the friend you mentioned?” She addresses Gale, walking over to where he’s sitting awkwardly hunched on the exam table. “The one you served with?”

John swallows and straightens his shoulders as the nurse’s eyes find his. He hears Gale clear his throat and mutter a quiet, “yes, ma’am.”

His hands are sweating where they hang uselessly at his sides. He can breathe easier than he managed to on the drive over, now that he has Gale in his sights, but his heartbeat is too fast, rabbiting away in chest like its being chased by a predator. His eyes flit from the nurse to Gale and back again and he knows he should speak, but his tongue feels heavy, and his mouth is dry, and he feels like maybe he should be the one sitting on the exam table.

“Nurse Amy,” Gale comes to his rescue. “This is John Egan. John, this is Nurse Amy. She’s the one that called you after making sure I was alright.”

Gale is looking at him with understanding and patience, concern and a little bit of what looks like desperation. His beautiful face is all bruised up, small cuts around his temple. Just like Regensburg. There’s blood on the collar of his shirt, not a lot, but it’s Gale’s and it’s not supposed to be on the outside of him, not ever again.

John’s breath hitches and Gale leans forward, eyes softening. “Which I am, John. I’m alright.”

He hears the nurse make a tutting sound, but he can’t take his eyes off Gale again. Ever again, maybe.

“X-rays came back, Mr. Cleven,” she says, all business. “You were correct in your self-assessment. No broken bones.” John watches as Gale nods as her, but his eyes immediately drift back to John. “But you do have a slight hairline fracture in your wrist, so we’ll need to wrap it.”

“Fine,” Gale clips out, polite but impatient. “Can you just give us a few minutes? Need to talk to my friend here about the truck.”

“I’ll be back in ten to wrap that wrist up for you, try to keep it still,” she agrees and then she’s gone and they’re alone.

“I don’t care about the damn truck,” John finally finds his voice, even if it sounds rough to his own ears.

“I know that,” Gale cocks his head a bit, his own voice sounds a little off now that John’s ears aren’t ringing as badly as before. “What’d you want me to tell her? Get out so I can have a moment alone with my fella?”

John wants to laugh; he loves it when Gale teases him. But a choking sound comes out instead and he shakes his head and just breathes. Gale starts to slide off the table and it makes John stumble forward, hands outstretched.

“Wait,” he says as he reaches Gale’s knees. He looks him over again, hating the evidence of any kind of violence on a man as sweet and gentle as Gale. “Just, stay there. Don’t move.”

“John, I’m fine,” Gale reaches out with his left hand, his right laying motionless across his lap. John’s eyes trace over the abraded skin and the already swollen looking joint. “Can you say the same?”

John pulls a face but can’t contradict the man sitting in front of him. He needs to pull himself together. Gale is here, he’s not blown to bits over Germany or lost behind enemy lines. But any kind of unknown right now is too much for John. He places a hand over one of Gale’s knees, lets his thumb start a back-and-forth motion, lets the repetitiveness of it soothe them both.

“You’re in the emergency room,” John points out. “People that are ‘fine’ don’t really get brought here.”

“Wasn’t my choice,” Gale grumbles, looking petulant and John kind of wants to shake him a bit. “You looked worse than me when you walked in here. Are you okay?”

“Tell me about all this?” He motions to Gale’s face, frowning and ignoring how Gale looks annoyed at him for brushing past his own question.

“Just got a bit banged up,” Gale tells him. John squeezes his knee and eases a bit at the eye roll it gets him. “Hit my head on the window when I hit the tree.”

“You hit a tree?”

“So that I wouldn’t hit the dog that ran out in front of me.”

And John wants to reprimand him. Wants to remind him that it’s a golden rule on the road not to swerve and cause more damage just to avoid an animal. But he also knows that the man in front of him would rather suffer these consequences than to ever take the life of someone’s pet. It’s one of the thousands of things he loves about him.

“Of course,” he returns, finally allowing a small smile to graze his own lips. It wobbles a bit at the look of relief it brings out in Gale’s eyes. “You’re really okay?”

“Mild concussion and a bruised jaw and you heard about the wrist. Everything else is superficial, I promise.” Gale tries to soothe, but all John can think of is how much worse this could have been. He closes his eyes, his breathing picks up a bit and then there’s a warm pressure on his chest and a matching one on his cheek.

“Breathe, darlin’,” Gale’s low voice whispers out between them and John shudders, letting his weight fall forward a bit against the strength behind Gale’s hand. “Just breathe. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

It takes him a few moments to grasp it, to accept it. Gale is hurt. But he’s okay. He’s going to be okay. The dueling sensations of relief and fear war inside of him to brew a nasty storm that leaves him feeling exhausted.

“This one really freaked you out, huh?” A thumb strokes over his cheek and John leans into the sensation. “I’m sorry, John.”

“God, baby,” John lets out on an exhale, opening his eyes and finding those beautiful blues looking right back at him. “I think I’m gonna have to homeschool you from now on. Can’t let you outta my sight.”

Soft huffs of laughter ripple from Gale and he looks up at him, amusement dancing across his face. “You an expert in advanced physics, Major?”

“You might just have to switch your major, Major.”

Gale grins at him and shakes his head and it feels so good to make him happy. It’s John’s favorite thing in the world.

“How about we settle for you driving me around again for a while? Just like old times,” Gale asks. “I might’ve totaled the truck.”

John nods an affirmative, ignoring the way the mention of their truck makes his pulse spike unpleasantly again. Gale removes his hand from his face, a grimace pulling at his brows as he lowers the injured limb back to lap.

“She told you to keep that still,” John chides, feeling foolish for not remembering sooner. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

Gale smiles up at him, a little innocent, a little playful.

“Whatever you want, John.”

This time the spike in his pulse is a pleasant one as he imagines all of the ways he can take of this man in the coming days.

“I’m holding you to that,” John tells him. It’s his turn now to reach out and cradle a bruised jaw, he frowns again at the bruising painted across the delicate skin and lets his thumb caress it for a moment. Gale’s eyes fall shut.

“It’s almost been ten minutes, Bucky.”

“I know, Buck.” He leans down and presses his lips to Gale’s forehead, lets them linger for a moment. Then another. Noses his blond hair and breathes him in. Overly bright blue eyes watch him step a respectable distance away to await Nurse Amy’s return.

He feels unsteady, but less like he might shake apart. Gale smiles at him from the table and he feels a little better.

----

Nearly an hour later, Gale’s wrist has been splinted and wrapped, he’s holding a bottle of painkillers that John knows he’ll have to fight to get him to take and he’s clumsily signed the abundance of paperwork with his left hand. It’s completely dark when they exit the emergency room, walking close enough together that their shoulders brush as they move.

A few steps from the truck, Gale stops in his tracks and John halts to match him, worry ratcheting back up.

“It’s Friday night,” Gale mutters, sounding a little frail. John pictures them savoring steaks and roasted vegetables and a pie after dinner and understands where his thoughts have strayed. After living in such a state of hypervigilance with stakes too high to contemplate for years of their lives, they now take the time to enjoy every slow moment of peace they can get together. Missing one feels monumental sometimes. John will just have to make this weekend one to remember.

“Hey,” John reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow and the next day. And every day after that.”

Gale gives him a small smile, nods and lets John usher him to the truck, waiting patiently for John to open the passenger door for him. He stops again, one leg in the truck and looks back at John, brows pulled down in a frown.

“Are you sure you’re good to drive?”

John can’t help but laugh. “What? Are you going to drive us home, Mr. Concussion?”

“It’s only a mild one,” Gale grumbles. John rolls his eyes and pushes Gale up and into his seat, shutting the door on him before he can protest.

When he gets himself behind the wheel, Gale’s hand covers his before he can put the key into the ignition.

“Buck,” John starts, but one look at the concern in Gale’s eyes stops him from complaining.

“Think maybe, you started panicking when that nurse called ya.” There’s understanding in Gale’s gaze and John swallows heavily, images of a phone booth blurring with their soft green cabinets. “And I don’t know if you’ve really stopped yet. I hate the thought of you driving over here like that.”

And John understands where he’s coming from. They both have their bad days. They’re growing less frequent all the time, but they’ve been a witness to nightmares, to bouts of sadness and rage and fear and panic. He hates to see Gale like that, and John knows the feeling is mutual. The thought of it happening while one of them is alone is a reality they have to live with.

“I had to, Buck,” John points out. He doesn’t bother denying the allegation. “The only way I was going to be okay was to make sure you were okay.”

Gale ducks his head slightly for a moment, still not used to being the most important person in anybody’s world. But John’s been slowly teaching him how to accept it and he can’t help but smile when tired blue eyes lift back up to meet his.

“Slide your sweet self over here and let me feel ya while I drive,” Johns lifts his arm and rests it along the back of the bench seat. “That’ll be enough to keep my head on straight while I get us home.”

A moment of contemplation later, Gale slides over until his shoulder is tucked under John’s armpit. He rests his uninjured hand on John’s thigh, fingers gripping the fabric of his trousers and John smiles into his hair before reaching around him to start the truck.

“Take the back roads?” Gale looks up at him through his lashes and John’s heart rate finally settles into a normal rhythm now that it’s reason for beating is resting against him.

“You read my mind, sweetheart,” John presses his lips to the top of his head and turns onto the unlit road leading away from town, away from prying eyes.

Gale turns his body slightly on the seat and makes himself comfortable, settles with his head pillowed on John’s chest, arm draped over his waist. John lets his arm rest around his back, holding him close and planning on never letting him go.

#clegan #bucky x buck #clegan fic request #tender buckies #mota fanfic #mota fic #JoeyAlohaWrites

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ficsbyuzi · 6 months ago

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All the ways lead to you - part 1

Characters: Aemond Targaryen, Inara Maegyr (Original female character) in a Modern HOTD AU

Warnings : FICTIONAL PLOTLINE. Established relationship. Me swooning over Aemond Targaryen and writing this🤭 Inara being a sweet and awesome girl.

Note: This post and that a mutual of mine (@/elegantsplendour) remarked that this fic series has 'Succession' vibes. I wasn't aware of the show when I wrote this last year, and I still haven't watched it. Any resemblance to its plot is purely coincidental. Everything that is going to be re-posted here, comes from my delulu mind.

Inara's thoughts and a little background about her are in italics.

Word count - 1.2k

"You know me, mom, I can't just start working in some random hospital as a junior doctor," Inara spoke to her mother on phone, cradling it between her ear and shoulder as she watered her kitchen plants on a Saturday afternoon, “I am trying to find a job where I can practice both medicine and my art.”

"Where on earth will you find such a job, Inara?" Her mom questioned disapprovingly. "You will soon be a licensed doctor and able to practice medicine. You should start with a clinician job and save up for your MD tuition."

"Let me at least try, Mum. Maybe I can join some makeup manufacturing labs or intern with those big-shot skincare providers."

Inara heard her mom sigh and tut in response to her plans, a reaction she was quite used to by now. Yet, the conviction in her voice didn't falter as she continued, "I will definitely enroll in an MD program. Don't worry.”

As long as Inara could remember, she had always loved makeup. Even as a child, she would rummage through her mom's makeup kits and spend hours in front of the mirror, painting her own face and sometimes her mother's.

Her parents always wished to see her in the white coat of a doctor - a dream she shared with them. Cracking the medical entrance exams straight out of high school was a cakewalk, her sharp intellect paving the way for her.

Despite plenty of medical schools in Essos, the allure of studying abroad was too strong and liberating. The prestige of the renowned Citadel Medical School in Westeros had captured her attention long ago, and securing a seat there felt like destiny fulfilled.

While medical school required her to focus entirely on classes and books, her creative side yearned for exploration. Her love for makeup never faded, and after dedicating half her life to studying, she decided to follow her heart. A heart that always danced between two worlds, two passions, yearning to embrace both simultaneously.

As soon as she adjusted to her new life on a foreign land, she enrolled into a weekend certification course near her medical school. And, thus began her journey towards becoming a rare combination of a licensed medical practitioner and a trained makeup artist.

Days blurred into nights as she balanced the demands of medical studies with the pursuit of her passion.

Six years flew by in a whirlwind of learning and she was now nearing the end of her curriculum. After the sixth and last month of her hospital training and formal graduation, she would be a licensed medical practitioner. Thanks to her dedication to both medicine and makeup, she now stood as a certified makeup artist, with an expertise in skin care and prosthetics.

After freelancing a bridal makeup assignment a couple of months ago, she decided to take a detour from a predictable route towards advanced degrees or clinical positions straight after college. She planned to give herself a year of exploration into other career options before enrolling into an MD in Dermatology. And so she made up her mind on freelancing or finding a job that could extend her stay in Westeros, thereby allowing her to save up for her MD.

"Anyway, you've been so busy with everything else, you haven't even thought about finding someone. You're not getting any younger!" Her mom steered the course of the conversation to the topic she dreaded the most.

Oh boy, here it comes!

The inevitable discussion about her biological clock and society's expectations for single women was about to begin.

"Mom, please, I'm twenty four, not forty four!"

"Yes, and about time you started thinking of settling down!"

Rolling her eyes, Inara let out a sharp sigh.

"I have chores to do, mum. I gotta go," she cut the conversation short, trying her best to hide her rising impatience, “Bye! Love you!”

"Fine, But please think about what I said. Love you. ”

After ending the call, Inara continued staring at her phone's home screen. Smiling faces of her family stared back.

Her mom’s words still lingered in her mind, as she made herself a cup of chamomile tea and settled herself infront of her laptop.

She sipped her tea, smiling and recalling her mom's statement about doing tons of different things at a time. She had always loved to hustle. And, she loved how chimeric her career goals were. It wasn't an easy road, but she was determined to make it work somehow. Career satisfaction had always been her first priority; finding someone to date or marry, wasn't.

Inara's attention snapped back to her laptop screen, her eyes widening as she noticed the fourth and fifth unread emails from the top. Both arrived around the same time from the job search website she had signed up for.

The subject of the first email read:

Requirement of an assistant make-up artist on an upcoming TV Show.

The second one read:

Requirement of a physician / medical officer(s) on a TV production.

Universe works in the strangest of ways. All you have to do is ask.

She quickly opened both emails in separate tabs. They were from the human resources department of a television production house in King’s Landing. A period drama based on mythological history was in pre-production, and the HR team was hiring people on contract basis.

As someone who rarely watched television,or movies, she chuckled at the thought of working on a TV production house. Nevertheless, she decided to give it a try. With a few quick clicks, she accessed the links for both the positions and uploaded her resume. As she crafted cover letters for each position, wishful thoughts surfaced again. She let out another exhilarating chuckle, as a wave of nervous excitement crawled down her spine.

How fun and cool it would be, if I could somehow do both the jobs simultaneously.

A week later, as Inara was on her way home from the hospital where she interned, her phone rang. Seeing a number with the King’s Landing code, she gasped.

With her heart alight with anticipation, she answered the call. Clearing her throat, she adopted her sweetest and most professional tone before greeting the caller.

"Hi, Dr. Maegyr, this is Stannis calling from the HR department at Red Keep Productions. We've shortlisted your resume for the opening we posted about. Will you be available for an interview next week?"

"Hello, Mr. Stannis. Sure, I...I will be available!" She tried her best to mask the excitement in her voice. "Uh, I applied for two positions. May I know which one I have been shortlisted for?"

"Dr. Maegyr, your profile is one of the most interesting we've received so far. You have been called to interview for both positions. I can't say with certainty right now if you'll be hired for one or both roles as that will be decided based on your performance in the interviews." She could sense his smile through the phone.

"Thank you," she mouthed, looking up, her amber eyes sparkling with gratitude.

---x----

Part 2

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abbystromboli · 1 month ago

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ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕪𝕛𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 - 𝔻.𝕄 (𝕡𝟙)

AN: so when I was younger I wrote this and posted it. Now I rewrote it bc it SUCKED when I first wrote it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor reader (year six!)

note: Y/n is Harry's only sister <3

genre: fluff!

Draco Lucius cutsie patootsie malfoy: green

y/n Lillian Potter: orange

others: blue

warnings: this is the first chapter so its really just for the plot, nothing big here! maybe swearing. lmk if theres anything I missed!

Summery: when Ron and Harry and Y/n get bored and decide to prank Malfoy via. polyjuice potion and Malfoy accidentally says something incriminating about his romantic life, things between Him and y/n take a turn away from the norm...

"get your asses out here... I can't believe I let you guys convince me to do this..." you mutter, slumping against a cold tile wall in moaning myrtles bathroom. you'd just finished taking your dosage of polyjuice potion, turned into the pug-faced form of pansy Parkinson, and are starting to question your decision to help your brother Harry and his best friend Ron prank their least favorite sixth year, Draco Malfoy. Personally, you don't have any problem with the guy, other than his constant asshole-ery, his bullying of your brother, and the way he disrespects muggleborns, as long as he stays in his lane, you stay in yours. Nevertheless, Here you were. No going back now.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

"pureblood" Ron muttered to the painting of a snake that sat at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and as it swung open, so did Harrys mouth, about to inquire as to how Ron knew the password, but he was interrupted by Ron,

"I kind of.... well, fucked a Slytherin, just a little bit! it was super low key and.... and.... oh for gods sake harry don't look at me that way... Y/N I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING AND IF YOU TELL HERMIONIE I'LL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN!"

the Slytherin snake hissed down at them, clearly annoyed at their delay at entering. stepping in they were greeted by Daphne Greengrass, who muttered something about Draco throwing some sort of fit and being in his room.

"wow" you murmured, walking into the massive dorm that Draco's father had acquired for him by donating an insane amount of gold to Hogwarts. your thought was cut off thought, by Draco groaning from a sofa in the corner.

"where the fuck where you guys? you seriously aren't even concerned at my condition?!?" although you hadn't ever felt any sympathy towards Draco, something about the idea of him being sick stressed you out.

"what? you didn't get a full eight hours of beauty sleep?" snapped Harry before he could stop himself.

"Goyle. get your idiot self out of here right now, you looked just like Harry Potter when you said that." spat Draco, his insanely pale self burning red in anger. Harry slowly got up, clearly shocked on how he'd just been cheated out of his own prank within the first minute. It caught you off guard, the way he said Harry Potter instead of the usual "Pottah" that you constantly heard Draco yelling at your brother whenever the Gryffindors and Slytherins shared classes. Anyways, you were glad he didn't have any problem with you, he definitely didn't seem like a fun person to have a feud with.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

after a long rant about how he thought that only Purebloods should be admitted to Hogwarts, you could barely stifle a gasp, seeing that even though the hour was only half over, Ron's hair was turning ginger again. Nudging him, you whispered your concern into his ear, quickly making him stand up and mutter something to the effect of "I gotta shit."

once Ron had waddled out, Draco turned his attention to you for the first time.

"that prat probably ate something those Weasley twins are selling. Now, I wanted to talk to you about... you know, my condition" your breath hitched, you hoped that it was an ailment that you could help him with, because if not, your cover would be blown.

"oh yeah, anything new?" you ask, praying to Godrick that he'd say something that'd make you know what his sickness was. fortunately, he did say something pretty easy to decipher, although it make you sick to your stomach with guilt that you'd done something wrong.

"I swear to Salazar, if that...that... Potter girl has the audacity to talk to me, look me in the eyes, breath my air, or be in the same room as me one more time, I'm Avada Kadavraing myself."

"Remind me again why she upsets you so much, Draco?" you asked, earning a quizzical glare from Draco.

"Pansy. we've been through this, don't make me repeat myself again. I bet you love seeing me suffer through this, don't you? But you wont be earning more satisfaction from me talking about it anymore. Im not giving you that joy anymore."

Determined to get the information as to why you are so unbearable to him, you decide to dive more into Pansy's personality. Grabbing his arm with a jerk, you raise your voice.

"Draco Mother fucking Malfoy. you tell me right now, or I'll spike your goblet, and no one will ever find your body."

" My god Pans, why do you always resort to threatening me?!?! my father its going to hear about it if you do that ever again, anyways... I guess its just..." your breath hitched with anticipation, even though you dreaded hearing what Draco hated about you, it had taken so much prying to get this answer that you couldn't help but be excited for his answer.

"her hair, her eyes, her voice, her entire demeanor really, the way she stands apart from Potter, (I mean, I didn't know they were siblings until Mcgonagall shouted her name at our sorting) She spends so much time with guys, too much. I doubt that her friendships with Longbottom and the Weasley Twins are actually platonic... at least I don't see how at least one of those whores couldn't love her... I fucking swear, if they try anything with her, Ill pull the same stunt I did with Mcglaggen in fifth year"

Your breath hitched. Damn. Last year Cormac Mclaggen had made, well... unreciprocated advances on you. You'd been so pressured that you'd agreed to go on a date with him to Hogshead, just to shut him up. By some grace, (Which you now knew to be Draco,) he had been struck by so many jinxes from all angles (probably the work of Draco's Slytherin friend group) that he wasn't able to leave the hospital wing for a month.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

it had taken a while to get out of his dorm, once he opened up about how much he couldn't stand you, he went on a roll, micromanaging everything from your hair to your bloodline. Finally you left, and with very little time to spare, as the polyjuice potion was already wearing off.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy has a crush on me.... why?" these where the thoughts that you fell asleep to that night, after having a laugh with Harry and Ron about how stupid Malfoy was (in which you conveniently left out the fact that he had accidentally told you that he fancied you.)

the next morning, after breakfast, You and the Golden Trio headed to Herbology, the only class other than potions that you shared with the Slytherins. You had made up your mind that morning while eating your breakfast that you'd make a definite point to make Malfoy's life a living hell today.

"you all will have to take a partner to help re-pot these astounding plants." announced Professor Sprout, and you immediatley take the opportunity to scootch into the seat next to Malfoy, greeted by an expression on his face that was a mix of hate, admiration, and confusion.

"Potter, shouldn't you be over with your Gryffindors?" he started, in an attempt at a sneer but with his voice softer than usual, even though he was attempting to make it come out as a snide remark. His eyes were wondering over to where Hermione, Ron, and Harry were all looking at you confusedly.

"Can't Malfoy, everyone else is taken!" you chirped with a grin, setting your bag on the ground next to you. The whole class was amazing. The pleasure of seeing his pale face burn red whenever he passed you anything, or if you accidentally touched hands. He did, however make many snide remarks, but you were able to fight back via giving him butterflies in every way possible. It was almost good enough punishment for his six years of being an asshole to you.

after an hour, you were finally dismissed. as you stuffed your belongings into your bag, a hand larger than your own rested on your waist, pulling you in so that you could hear a whisper that was so faint it was barely distinguishable.

"Potter, are you aware of how pissed your brother is? We're going to need to do this again, soon," you looked up into his gray eyes, and smiled to yourself at how amused he looked. Sure, he was using pissing harry off as an excuse, but I dont really care, do I?

#draco #draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco x y/n #draco lucius malfoy #draco x reader #harry potter fandom

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theoperativeif · 8 months ago

Text

Admiral Elia Short Story

Below is one of the first short stories I ever wrote for The Operative for my patreon. It is about an early event in Elia Anderson's career, at this time the Empreza was a small cruiser. Its namesake would years later be adopted by the Admiral's new flagship. I hope you lovely readers enjoy it. <3

Imperial Year 195, Deep in Commonwealth Space

The blue of the Farris Nebula glimmered through the bridge screens of the Jay-class light cruiser, the UEG Empreza, bathing the dark interior in its brilliance. Officers stood in rigid silence, the quiet, notable clicks from the sensor operator cutting through the silence. The young man slowly adjusted the computer's settings, the glow of the screen further lighting up his face.

He looked scared, Captain Anderson noted from behind him. She made a mental note to encourage growth in him. It had been thirty weeks since they had been dispatched into Commonwealth space, and they had nothing to show for it yet. Neither had the three other light cruisers. Elia couldn’t see them on the sensors but she knew they were there, just as she was, waiting.

Several hours after their trap was set, something appeared. A convoy, most likely from the nearby farming planet of Frumentum. Slowly, one after the other, the ships' unique signatures appeared. The front half of the signature denoted the ship class, followed by its version, and then the unique part of the signature, true only to this ship.

Click.

“Piranha-class escort destroyer number five,” the operator noted, another click indicating its distinct signature was recorded. “That brings the escort to a total of six ships.”

Elia frowned, leaning forward and tapping the display of the sixth ship. “What is that?” she asked. Her parents had drilled nearly every commonly used ship class signature into her, many late nights spent over authentic military data from her father’s time in command. This one, she didn’t recognize.

Click. Click. Click.

The young man looked over the database for several minutes before finally marking it as new. New class, new version, and new ship. But it didn’t matter; she would make sure to ruin this new prize.

“Let's name it target zero,” Elia said, her eyes slowly working their way over the initial scans of the ship as she pondered the ship's complement. “Weapons,” Elia said, glancing over at Weapons Officer Orlov, “get me a solution for the Mark Twos on that big whale in the back, regular sevens for our regular targets.” The doctrine under a pack ambush was very simple; being the farthest ship in the formation, they would take the back two targets, both of them hopefully being transports bringing in war materials.

“Captain.”

“Yes?” Elia looked back at the young man, who was frowning at the screen.

“The back transport, it’s different from the rest. Look at the signature right there.” Elia squinted at the long signature, noticing the gap, thin as a piece of paper but still there. “Modified civilian liner, most likely a converted troop transport,” Elia mused, gesturing to Orlov. “Get me another missile ready for that one.”

Elia waited patiently, her eyes admiring the interior of the Empreza. It was a dark, cramped space; consoles took up most of the room, with long boxes nearly extending all the way to the ceiling. Bright viewscreens were their only sight of what lay beyond the hull plating. Looking down at the young man seated below her, Elia finally addressed him by name.

“Mr. Hyatt, where did you learn your signatures?”

“Onboard the Giuliano, Ma’am.” He looked up at her nervously.

“Ah, Captain Ceres’ craft. A lot less cramped,” Elia said, giving the console the lightest kick to accentuate her point before noting his unease. “You did fine. Stay on those signatures and the sensors. It’s about to kick off.”

“Captain, solutions completed, rockets ready to fire,” Orlov said gruffly, turning a dial before looking to her.

Elia took a long breath, adjusting her uniform slightly before glancing down at the stopwatch clutched in her hand. Beyond old school, but she didn’t care; up on the view screen, a synced countdown was slowly dwindling lower and lower. When it reached zero, the pack would all fire off their rockets then withdraw. Each Jay-class was fast; they would elude any short-term pursuit, and no captain would be crazy enough to pursue a pack off into the darkness.

The countdown hit zero as Elia gestured to Orlov. “Fire.”

Silence followed as the sensors lit up, picking up their missiles launching into view, then more as the other members of their little hunting pack also fired. She watched as the blips soared off, inching closer and closer to the edge of range. At the farthest edge of their range, the convoy slowly plowed along.

Finally, one of the escort ships for the convoy spotted the missiles. The map lit up as streaks of light shot out onto the screen. Flak guns, decoys, and other countermeasures were all fired off, some forming long lines across the screen.

Two of them, a Piranha-class and the newer warship, turned to place themselves between the convoy and the missiles.

"That would cost them," Elia thought, watching as one of the Mark Two missiles was destroyed by hardpoint fire. "Damn."

Watching the second, Elia tensed as that one was also destroyed, but quickly breathed a sigh of relief as the smaller and more nimble Mark Seven missiles dodged around the ships, slamming into a regular freighter as well as the modified transport in the back. The two ships exploded, debris flying outward in all directions.

"Perfect hits," Elia thought as her bridge crew gave a quick cheer.

The extra missile she had launched was also shot down.

“Alright, set course for the rendezvous coordinates, full speed.”

The Empreza lurched as its engines roared to life, the ship making a speedy turn as three blips representing the rest of the pack also appeared, each making a similar move.

The two escorts that had been closest were still moving towards them but at vastly reduced speeds, obviously wary of unnoticed ships still waiting to destroy them. The Piranha-class veered off, leaving Target Zero slowly following before coming to a near stop.

They had hesitated, realizing it was fruitless; if they pursued, the pack would separate them and destroy them from ambush.

“Excellent job on those solutions, Orlov,” Elia said, the man bowing his head before looking over to young Mr. Hyatt.

“Good work, kid.”

The young man beamed with the praise as the Empreza made its escape towards a nearby planet’s ring. And like that, the combat had lasted only a few minutes, such was the way of the pack. It certainly wasn’t her style, but if it worked and kept them all alive, why not?

Planet 30349

Eight hours later…

“A job well done, Captain Ducote,” Elia congratulated the superior officer. He was a man many years her senior, who commanded The Iliad. Ducote was a strange man, one mired in the swamps of rumors and hyperbole. It was said that the only reason he was even out here was due to an encounter with a Governor's wife. Other stories suggested cowardliness. She was partial to the latter, as he had often ordered a withdrawal before combat even began.

“Yes, I suppose it is satisfactory. Three ships destroyed, my compliments to your crew, Anderson,” he said, nodding his head.

The pack was positioned just above the planet's ring; the Iliad had to conduct repairs on its missile launchers, which had been damaged while approaching the ring.

Captains Poulder of the Kulan and Reyes of the Gius were also present on the screen, both waiting to report their ships' status to Ducote.

While they were discussing, Elia excused herself, walking over to Mr. Hyatt with a coffee firmly in her hands. She took in the lovely smell of it before taking a sip. She relied on the stuff; it kept her awake through days of no sleep, and it also kept some of the hunger pains away. There was no time to eat during battle. Speaking of which, she wondered what the cook would whip up for her.

Dismissing the sensor operator, she called for the next shift to take the officer stations. She swayed slightly, her stomach and legs having a competition to see which one could cause her more pain. "Traitorous body parts," she thought, "I would remove them for mutiny." She laughed to herself, glancing over at the communications officer.

“Please have Mr. Elroy prepare me something. I haven’t eaten since...” She stopped herself, trying to remember when she last ate; the days ran together at this point. “Never mind, have him kindly send it to my quarters. Mr. Kelce, you have the bridge.”

Waiting for the confirmation, she turned and walked off the bridge, making her way through the maze of tight corridors to her cabin. Calmly retrieving her key, she opened the door.

Her cabin was not much bigger than the nearby officer rooms, the only exception being she didn’t have to share it with another officer from an opposite shift. She ducked into the doorway, closing and locking the door behind her. Her cabin had a small desk on the right with a computer and a chair, which took up the entire center floor. Her bunk was on the left with a small curtain separating the room in half that could be drawn.

Sighing, she pushed the chair back before sitting on the stiff bed, slowly pulling her boots off before setting them aside for a moment. Her feet objected as she stood up again, grabbing the chair and looking over her messages. Most were general updates from either the other captains in the pack or a general note from The Admiralty they had received when they last connected to a network outpost's signal. Then two messages caught her eye, one in particular making her burst into a wide smile.

But business first. She read over the lines slowly, frowning and then reading them over again.

“Warning for all pack commanders: Several packs destroyed along zones four and five. Use extreme caution if assigned to those zones.

Rachael Hernandez, Rear Admiral”

Fourth Fleet Command

They were in zone six, but right along the border with zone five. Surely Ducote and the others had seen this; she guessed that they had deemed it as not applying to them. Maybe the Commander sought to make a point to his superiors about his delicate position. Forwarding it to the Captains again, Elia finally got to the other message, this one far less formal.

“I think I found a house for us. It's back in the old district, just outside the Nikko Park. When you get back, I can arrange for us to go look at it. My ship should still be in dock when you return, so we will have lots of time together. Maybe go to that restaurant Muldoon is always raving about. I swear he somehow finds some of the best food around. But anyway, I am hoping every day for your safety, my love. I know you can take on the world at your leisure, but my heart can’t handle that every day. So please, be careful.

P.S. I tried some more of that special coffee you like; it still sucks.

Sincerely yours always,

J.R.”

Elia smiled, looking over at the picture on her desk. A thin woman dressed in a stark blue long coat stood with a smile on her face, her lips a brilliant red, and her hazel eyes filling the world with warmth. She would definitely look forward to some time for them soon. She leaned back in her chair until the headrest bumped the wall, closing her eyes, she imagined them walking the paths of the national park, the peace and quiet, the beauty, and more.

“Captain Anderson to the bridge.”

Elia shot from her seat, instantly turning to look at the time. She had dozed off, but it had only been thirty minutes. What could be happening? Putting on her boots before rushing out the door, she passed Mr. Elroy, the tray of food in his hand. She snatched the brand-new cup of coffee off his tray. “Sorry,” she muttered, not hearing his annoyed reply as she rushed to the bridge.

Entering, she quickly noticed the sensor operator was still where she had last seen him; she frowned, also noticing the Captains still all on the screen.

“Mr. Hyatt, you were supposed to be relieved.”

“Yes, Captain, but something was bugging me about that mystery ship, and Chief Mate Kelce said it would be ok.”

She cast a tired glance back towards the Chief Mate who gestured back to the young man. “Go on, what about it?”

The man paused, switching through several screens before freezing, his eyes planted on the screen.

“Well?”

Click. Click.

Elia froze at the familiar sound, quickly looking down. Beyond the debris that made up the ring, a single signal pinged in and out; the barest flicker of a signature made its way towards them, fast.

“Battle stations!” Elia called out, the lights inside quickly turning low and red as the crew rushed to their stations, an alarm blaring.

“Battle stations,” the other Captains echoed without question.

“Signature approaching, could be a transport,” Captain Ducote confirmed, also bent over his sensor operator’s console. “I'm arming missiles, fan out and have countermeasures ready.”

“What does the signature match?” Elia asked, looking at Mr. Hyatt.

“Captain, it's Target Zero. Closing fast, opposite the ring, then us.”

Elia was shocked, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead before looking over to the other Captains still on the screens. They had all been communicating actively; they would be lighting up like lights on that ship's sensors, but there shouldn’t have been a ship anywhere close to here, let alone one they left in the dust. This was all wrong.

“At least it won’t be able to fire until it's past the debris field, maybe we—” Reyes was silenced as his ship's alarms blared, as did the others, as a missile appeared from the debris field, heading straight towards Reyes.

In just a couple of seconds, Reyes's screen shook as his ship was tossed by the explosion, sparks flying up from a console near him. “Fire the moment the solution is locked! Damage report?”

“We took a hit between sections two and—” The screen winked out as suddenly Elia was nearly thrown from her standing position; the Empreza shook and groaned as debris slammed into it.

“Screens,” Elia ordered as the Captains all disappeared, replaced with a view of the carcass of the ship next to them.

Behind it, a large black mass, about two times the size of her ship, barreled through, and then at point-blank range fired an array of missiles and cannon fire into the pack. Elia noted four cannons on it as it passed. It screamed by the three remaining ships, its first barrage of missiles missing by mere feet.

“All weapons to local controls! Get us on that bastard's tail!”

Chaff shimmered in the view screens as well as decoy beacons launched from the ships. The Empreza chased behind Zero while the other two fanned out, their cannons slowly turning towards the ship. Elia watched as her gunners took experimental shots at the craft now barreling away from them.

“Helmsman, I want you to keep us behind him, missile control ready our Mark Twos.”

Elia started her watch as the missiles were prepared, the ship still speeding away from them. Seconds dragged to minutes as the ship quickly outpaced them with shocking speed. It was faster than them; as it neared the outer sensor range, it suddenly began to flicker before vanishing.

Silence blanketed the bridge in its false hope, as everyone stared at their screens, waiting for the return of the alarms. The red lights slowly flashed in the background, bathing Elia’s vision in a tinted form of hell.

“Well, Mr. Hyatt, kindly relay your original idea to me,” Elia said, crossing her arms.

“When we first recorded it, we were keeping constant contact with its signature, but when we engaged them, the signature changed. It was nearly unnoticeable, but our sensors caught it; for barely a second, our Target Zero was a match for an unknown cruiser spotted at the front lines.” He pointed to an after-action report by a heavy cruiser captain who had been engaged by a small but deadly opponent. The heavy cruiser drove it off but not before it had wiped out its destroyer escorts.

“Send that to Captain Ducote, and slow us down,” Elia said, looking uneasily at the screens. If we can break contact, we may be able to make a run for a jump point, she thought.

After a few more tense minutes, Captain Ducote’s face appeared on the screen, his face unreadable. “Anderson, you and Poulder cover the Iliad’s withdrawal. We are making our way to the jump site now; we will wait for you there.”

Elia tensed, waiting just a moment too long. “Yes, Sir.” The screen blinked out as the dot representing the Iliad began to turn, heading for the coordinates to the jump point to take them back to Imperial space. She looked over at the sensor console with a questioning look.

“Uh, I am not reading any damage from here, Captain,” the man replied, looking down.

Click.

It was back already; the dot representing Target Zero was barreling towards them, from out of nowhere, it just seemed to appear there.

“Cannons to local controls again, helm, bring us to an intercept course, weapons, I want solutions this time, Orlov.”

She pulled out her watch, eyes glued to the two dots on the screen now screaming towards each other.

They were both closing so fast that the cannons began firing just as the missile solutions gave the green light.

“Fire and adjust course, take us,” Elia paused, scanning through star charts, her finger settling on a portion of the planetary rings that held larger asteroids and debris. She selected it, watching as the helmsman adjusted the course before she even finished the order. “There.”

The ship shook again, the hull pinging as several shells skimmed off its armor. Then one hit, its fuse detonating so close to the hull that sparks flared outward.

Elia watched as two missiles soared out at the ship. It rolled slowly before making an evasive turn, its turrets trying to take down the missiles. Suddenly, a shot from the Empreza hit home, causing a small but noticeable detonation beneath the hull.

Both missiles, unfortunately, failed to score hits, but it had at least disrupted the ship's course.

At least one hit, then. She watched as Poulder's ship mirrored her ship's course; it soon loosed its own set of missiles which streamed past them. And like that, they were once again in a chase. Zero slowly made its wide turn to try and avoid the additional torpedoes.

Then one hit. Just behind where she assumed the bridge was, there was a large explosion on the screen. The bridge began to cheer, but Elia silenced them. It wasn’t over.

Click.

The dark shape emerged, damage to some of its plating evident, but still under its own power, and still barreling down on them.

“Time to the ring?”

“Thirty minutes.”

The chase to the ring was relatively calm, save for one exchange of missiles. The three ships maintained distance from one another as the ring slowly began to fill the view screen. Even though they had just been sitting above it earlier, it really was a marvel. Everything from debris to asteroids and even moonlets all spun and slowly moved along the enormous planetary ring. It also gave the two running ships time to coordinate; to her surprise, Poulder was receptive to her idea.

“Find me a larger asteroid, one that can fit our profiles.”

After a few seconds, an image of a large asteroid filled the screen. Time to arrival: ten minutes. “Fire off another missile, this time use a MIRV; that should get him to move.”

Elia watched as the missile sped off towards Zero. When it had closed the distance, the missile exploded outward, and eight separate warheads shot out. Target Zero banked hard, the ship barely dodging warheads as it fell further behind. Good.

“Poulder, are you going to be ready?” Elia asked.

“Yes, helm is ready.”

“Let's do it then. Commence maneuver.”

Poulder's ship banked upwards, climbing slightly above the debris. The Empreza, on the other hand, plunged straight past the enormous asteroid before diving hard. Holding onto the railing, Admiral Anderson felt uneasy. Which target would they pick? If they picked her ship…

She gritted her teeth, shaking off doubts; she would still win. Turning and gesturing to Orlov, she gave the orders, “Arm everything we have; if he comes around that corner, I want every goddamn missile to launch and every hardpoint to fire.”

Engines slowed as the Empreza was slowly turned around, facing back up at the empty void above them. Then they waited.

“Seal off nonessential compartments,” Elia said before staring at the dot representing Poulder's ship. It pinged, slowly but surely relaying the enemy's position; it was coming for her, fast.

“Captain,” Chief Kelce said, offering a mask and oxygen supply.

“Thank you,” she said, watching as each crew member donned a similar-looking apparatus. There would be no guarantees of air after this fight.

It took five minutes for the dot to reach where they had been before they began the maneuver.

“Fire!” Elia ordered, the crew responding as one. Missile after missile was let loose, soaring out into empty space. Just for a second, the dot almost seemed to stop, her heart skipping before seeing the black shape plunging over the edge and dipping downward, like falling from a waterfall.

She had them.

Missiles struck home, its turrets unable to react to them all in time. Metal glowed red-hot as explosion after explosion struck the ship, crumpling armor.

“Close and stick with her!” she ordered the Empreza, which flipped over with impressive speed, quickly laying into the side of the black ship. Shot after shot either skipped off like stones on a lake or erupted into tiny little pockets of light before vanishing.

The bridge rocked as return fire was received, warnings blared in deafening howls as the ship groaned and shuddered.

“Damage?” Elia asked, looking down at her own screen, red sections of her ship popping out as several sections were torn open to the cold embrace of space.

“We are venting, sealing off affected sections now,” came the response.

Growling, Elia glanced over at Poulder's position. His ship had circled around, firing off its guns from extreme range. It got closer and closer before letting loose everything it had. Timing was crucial; she had saved two missiles for this.

“Fire,” she said gravely, watching more and more sections of her ship glow red.

After a small delay, the missiles launched from close range, from completely different angles to Poulder’s missiles.

Elia watched as noticeably fewer hardpoints fired up at the new batch of missiles, maybe she had disabled some of them. The missiles struck, all of them. A colossal explosion cascaded throughout Target Zero before ripping the ship in two, sending half spinning off into the debris field.

The bridge bucked like a wild animal. If Elia’s boots hadn’t been planted, she would have been thrown into the air, though her legs shot spikes of pain through her.

Shrapnel shot through the bridge, tearing metal and flesh equally as Target Zero’s carcass delivered one last blow. Alarms went silent as the atmosphere vented, leaving Elia in silence.

She breathed slowly, not feeling any pain. She patted herself down before glancing around. Bodies hung like mannequins, blood pumping out in streams as their hearts fought a losing battle.

Some survivors fought to try and fix damaged oxygen masks, ultimately going still as they lost consciousness.

She didn’t look where the sensor operator, Mr. Hyatt, had just been sitting alive earlier, nor did she look at her weapons officer. Instead, she turned to the terrified helmsman as her comms sprung to life, connecting with those still alive on the bridge. “Take us to the jump point, make sure Poulder and the Kulan follow.” She slowly moved to her chair, finally sitting. For just a moment, her whole body roared, biting and stabbing her all over with pains she didn’t know possible, but she ignored them, silenced them to the best of her ability as she contacted engineering. “Report.”

“Best we can get from her is half power, Captain. We will have to limp there or else risk not being able to jump at all.”

“Acknowledged,” she replied, leaning back for a moment, her back racking her with pain.

The helmsman slowly but surely guided them out of the ring. The dot representing Poulder's ship slowly followed alongside them. Silence reigned for the remainder of the trip to the jump point. The bodies stayed exactly where they were, most sections of her ship had been isolated, pockets of loyal crew working in those confined spaces to keep the Empreza limping. Elia thought of Rounet, oh what she would trade to be out of this silent hell and in her arms.

It took them hours to reach the jump point. Ducote and the Iliad had not waited for them. Instead, the Kulan and Empreza, two wounded but very much alive ships of war, jumped into Imperial space and limped their way to safety. Elia quietly sat on the bridge, copying each and every sensor and comms recording from the ship's computer and storing it on a private drive before slipping the tiny disk into her pocket.

Her weariness and pain gave way to anger as she thought of the Iliad slipping away without a scratch. But Ducote’s cowardice was something she could use, something she would use. Her expression turned into a smile as she stared out into space. Yet another rung on the ladder to climb.

Several Months Later...

Captain Anderson stood quietly in front of the large screen in her living room, her eyes scanning the news slowly passing by before switching to a different channel and lowering the volume to almost a whisper.

“This just in, the Imperial Navy has released statements saying the body of Captain Ducote was found in his office this morning with a single gunshot wound to the head. This comes just days after recordings of a recent incident involving the Captain were leaked to the press. Authorities believe that—”

Elia shut off the screen, sipping a small cup of coffee as the bedroom door opened. Jeanne stepped into the room wearing her blue evening gown, earning an eager glance from Elia, who blushed as her wife noticed the look with a raised eyebrow.

“What was that on the news?” Jeanne asked, smiling warmly before hugging Elia and planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Nothing,” Elia said, looking out the windows towards the twinkling night sky. She had plans for both of them, plans that no one would interfere with.

#if: the operative #the operative #the operative short story #writing #patreon short story #short story #interactive fiction #lore

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xaeethebaee · 5 months ago

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Bombshell!

[A/n: Just a quick disclaimer, I wrote this about a couple of years ago. I thought this would be a good story for those who just want to enjoy a quick read with a pretty simple story. Enjoy.]

These past five months have felt like Heaven on Earth, no thanks to an amazing guy who decided to ask me out on one fateful afternoon. This guy's name is no other than Eren Jaeger who's a part of the Eldian High School football team.

Eren stands six feet tall with a fit and muscular body. His brown and soft hair is long and it is most often tied into a loose man bun. Although, my favorite thing about him is his big green eyes. Every time I look into them, I go into a daze due to the sheer beauty of his orbs. With all that being said, it is no surprise that he is one of the most handsome and popular guys at my school.

I wake up every day surprised that someone like him would even take a chance on me. I am a short black girl who isn't conventionally attractive. I am not the smartest nor the most sociable as I am into weird and nerdy things such as mangas and spelling bees. Seriously, I thought it was all one big joke when he did ask me out. Initially, I turned him down but Eren was quite persistent, and eventually, I gave in.

Here we are now five months later. We're in our World History class and like math, Eren has a comfortable spot next to me. During the lecture, I notice my boyfriend leaning back in his chair with his hoodie covering his handsome face. His body is motionless save for breathing, though it is obvious that he has fallen asleep.

Afraid that he'll get in trouble, I give him a gentle nudge which causes him to grab my arm somewhat roughly. The lids of his eyes open and he gives me an evil glare as if he is thinking of every obscenity and slur to call me. At this point in our relationship, I am no stranger to this type of behavior; therefore, I glare back at him and with a scolding tone, I say:

"I do not want you getting in trouble."

"I don't care if I do. I need to rest up for football practice."

He says, brushing off my concerns before drifting back to sleep.

To say our relationship has been rocky is an understatement. Ever since football season began over two and a half months ago, Eren has become distant. Lately, all he is focused on is his training which involves spending much of his day at the field or in the gym. With all that time spent elsewhere, he rarely responds to my text messages and calls. Eren no longer walks me to class, and we haven't been on a date in two months.

Feeling defeated by his response, I only let out a sigh and I spent the rest of the lecture worried about the state of our relationship.

After the lecture concludes, Eren leaves the classroom without saying a word to me. While heaving out another sigh, I pack up my things and follow behind him to the water fountain. He notices me standing next to him as he sips though, he barely gives me any form of acknowledgment.

"Eren?"

I call to him in a gentle voice. The guy stops drinking and then looks down at me with a blank expression. Feeling vulnerable, I question him.

"Is everything okay?"

"You ask me that almost every hour. What do you want?"

He responds with a harsh tone.

"Nothing. I was just checking on you. You seem a little stressed with football and all."

"Look at me."

Complying with my boyfriend's demand, I look deep into his big green eyes. For a moment, I become lost in them and I remind myself of the good times we had before things started falling apart.

One particular moment was when he drove me to an overlook right on the outskirts of town. It was night so the lights from the buildings illuminated the area giving a beautiful orange glow. While I was entranced by the beauty Eren grabbed a hold of my hand before planting a soft kiss on my cheek.

"You're so beautiful."

He says to me in a soft yet seductive tone. Those words break me out of my trance, causing me to look into his eyes. Subconsciously, I lean forward and our lips eventually meet in a deep and passionate kiss.

"Does it look like I am dying?"

His rough voice breaks me out of my flashback, bringing me back to the present day. Instead of soft eyes, I am looking at the face of an angry man who is ready to strike his woman. Nervous, I shake my head, and he lets out a grunt.

"So I am okay. Now can you stop asking me that stupid question?"

At a loss for words, tears pool in my eyes and I look down in shame and embarrassment.

"Oh look! Eren is being a pissy asshole again and guess who's on the receiving end of it this time?!"

Another voice rings out in the distance. It's a voice that Eren and I are no strangers to. I face the source and it's a tall guy - even taller than Eren - with light brown hair and small intense brown eyes. This guy's name is Jean. A smirk is plastered on his face as he approaches us.

"The hell you want, horseface?"

Eren asks him to which the guy lets out a gruff chuckle.

"Are you still mad that I beat you in kicking that field goal? Come on, it was weeks ago!"

The male says jokingly.

"You cheated!"

Eren defends as I continue to wipe the tears from my face.

"You're just a sore loser. By the way, it's not very nice of you to be mean to your girlfriend. Look at her, she is crying."

The guy retorts before putting his arm over my shoulders. That action causes my boyfriend to swiftly shove him away from me.

"Mind your damn business, horseface!"

He shouts while the horseface guy takes off his backpack. He looks at me then Eren with an amused expression.

"Just yesterday, you were talking about dumping her."

"What?!"

I subconsciously shout then look at Eren who only looks at me. For the first time in a long time, his soft expression returns.

"Don't listen to him."

He says then the guy added:

"Don't act like you did not have an entire date with Historia over the weekend."

"Shut your dirty mouth!"

Eren charges at the guy and then pushes him again. At this point, a crowd has gathered around and the two guys quickly get into a brawl.

I am so confused and at a loss for words at how fast things escalated between them, that I did not attempt to break up the fight. It was no secret that Eren and Jean are enemies though I am more hung up on the fact that Jean dropped a bombshell on me.

Confused, I only watch as both guys trade punches with each other as bystanders do not attempt to get in between them.

After minutes of intense fighting, a bloodied Eren has Jean pinned to the ground and then proceeds to unleash a barrage of punches to the other guy's face. Having enough of the violence, I finally gathered the courage to break up the fight. I grab a hold of the arm that my boyfriend is punching with and I pull him off a Jean.

With frustration and sadness coursing through my veins, I shove Eren to the wall.

"You did what?!"

After a brief moment of silence, Eren finally speaks to me in a soft voice.

"Yes. Historia and I went out last weekend."

Eren reveals, shattering the little hope I had in our relationship.

"What?"

At that moment, teachers arrived to de-escalate the situation. One teacher pulls me away from Eren before roughly grabbing his arm and escorting him away. I am left completely speechless and tears are now flowing down my cheeks.

Feeling humiliated, I proceed into the girl's bathroom and lock myself in one of the stalls where I continue to cry unsure of how to proceed with our relationship.

#attack on titan #eren x reader #eren jaeger #jean kirschstein #eren aot #aot #jean aot #snk

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incorrectbatfam · 2 years ago

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Finals Season

Batfamily Week 2023 day 6: Body Swap | Hugs | “You owe me big time.”

Summary

Steph and Cass switch bodies.

Any other time, this wouldn’t be a big deal. They’d lay low while they figure it out like they always do.

This isn’t any other time, though.

It’s finals season.

Everyone had a thing.

Some cooked. Others composed music or made scientific breakthroughs. Dick swung from chandeliers. Damian drew pets napping in sunbeams. Jason quotes Jane Austen in the mirror. Tim took photos and Duke wrote stories about them. Bruce was Dad.

Cass fought. That was her thing, as decided before she was born. Running along rooftops, swinging through the city, and giving enemies a taste of her batarangs. She stopped bad people from doing their things. It’s fast, it’s nonstop battles where she barely got a breather between the rushes of adrenaline.

Steph had a lot of things—purple, breakfast food, randomly breaking into song. But right now, her big thing was school.

School wasn’t Cass’s thing. David Cain deprived her of anything that would help her remotely succeed in it, and even though the Wayne family helped her recover some of those abilities, she couldn’t compete with the way Steph grinded through college on top of her other responsibilities.

But now, Cass had no choice. It had to be.

(Long story short: magic villain, the usual ordeal. They gave their case to Dick and Jason because of it.)

Steph (in Cass’s body) paced around her apartment panicking on the phone while Cass (in Steph’s body) tried to decipher the hieroglyphic study guide. This test was supposed to be about humans. Why were there pictures of dogs and rats?

“Harper, I’m telling you, there’s nothing left to do but wait,” Steph said from the other room. “The Batcomputer already ran a full analysis—twice. It should wear off in forty-eight hours, which isn’t enough time to make my final.”

Cass turned back to the study guide and squinted.

How was this guy’s name pronounced? Fred? Frude? According to this, he was the first person to analyze psychos.

“I called the office, but they said the last day to reschedule was two weeks ago. How does that even make sense? What if I came down with salmonella the night before?” Steph sighed. “I’ll probably just spam the dean's email again. It worked for my student loans.”

She hung up and flopped onto the couch next to Cass. “You already know the bad news.”

Cass nodded.

“I can’t afford to fail this test,” she groaned. “It’s a required class and it’s supposed to be the easiest.”

Cass looked at the guide. It still didn’t make sense. But then she looked at Steph, head in her hands mumbling to herself.

“I can take it.”

“No, you can’t.”

“When’s the test?”

Steph pulled the syllabus out of her backpack. “Noon, day after tomorrow.”

Cass counted on her fingers. “That’s thirty-six hours.”

Steph looked at her incredulously. “You want to cram a whole semester of Intro Psych in a day and a half?”

She shrugged. “I can try. If you don’t take it, you fail. If I take it, you might fail less.”

Steph bit her lip. “It’s better than nothing.”

Cass beamed. “Where do we start?”

Read the rest on Ao3

@batfamilyweek

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

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meddow · 3 months ago

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Fic Author Q&A

Thank you for tagging me @curator-on-ao3!

1. Why do you write fanfic?

It’s a bit of a combination firstly wanting to share a plot idea I have with others, secondly, wanting to see something happen which I know won’t happen in the original source, and thirdly, it can be a bit of a fun puzzle – I don’t like this canon, how do I fix it.

2. Which of your posted stories do you think about the most, even though the story is “finished”?

Lately, First Solitary Separate Singular Complete. It was the first fic I wrote after a long break and I was a very rusty when writing it, so mostly what I would have do differently.

3. If you could give yourself fic advice from when you first started writing fic, what would that advice be?

There will be times when you feel you’ve lost the ability to write. It will come back. It never strays that far away.

4. What’s your relationship to fic stats?

I do check them and quite often, but just for hits. I like seeing the hit count on my WIP steadily head up and like to interpret that as it has found an audience.

5. Is there a pairing or scenario or friendship you miss writing? If so, why? If not, why not?

I wouldn’t mind revisiting Lix/Randall (The Hour) a bit more. I still occasionally find myself coming up with AUs for them. I had half a Victorian detectives AU plotted out in my head back in the day and I wish I'd had the energy to write it. Anyway, it was six episodes over a decade ago and yet they still reside in my head.

6. What motivates you to write?

Partly it’s a race against time to get things down before my inspiration runs out. Partly is that writing for me is like cooking. It’s lovely cooking for myself, but its extra special getting to share what I’ve created with the world and seeing other people enjoy it

7. Why do you write for the fandom(s) that you write for?

My muse is very much motivated by newspaper articles and non-fiction and basically shit I see in the world which pisses me off, and Star Trek remains the ultimate franchise for being able to discuss contemporary issues with a shielding layer of fiction over the top.

For example (spoilers for the next chapter of The Endurance of Light) the villains I’m writing at the moment have an ideology which is based of a whole bunch of anti-master, anti-vaxxer and anti-science rhetoric I’ve seen around – and I’m getting to show how the ruling class of that planet use that ideology to oppress the masses and keep themselves in power, while finding and exploiting loopholes that benefit themselves. I don't know if I'm weird, but writing that kind of stuff for me is oddly fun.

Strange New Worlds in particular hits that sweet spot as it has a great set up and characters I adore, but never seems to have enough time/a high enough episode order to really explore the characters and I want to fix that.

8. If you’re stuck writing a WIP, what do you do?

Go for a walk. I get all my best ideas either wandering around the local park, or in the shower.

9. What do you wish people knew about comments?

I can’t speak for any author but myself, but I’m happy to answer questions about future developments (or the general direction at least, I won’t give a blow by blow) if someone asks me in a comment. I don’t like tagging my fics with whether it’s a happy ending or not or whether a pairing is endgame or not because I feel that ruins any tension and/or mystery I want to build for everyone, but in the comments, I can put details below a spoiler cut.

10. Maybe there’s a question you wish had been on here. What’s that question (and answer)?

As a person who has aphantasia (the inability to picture things in my mind), I’d love to know what other people see when they’re writing, and how much detail. For me, I feel like for a scene I get enough in my mind to create one blurry film still per scene. There's no movement though. I can’t picture things like facial expressions changing or what characters are doing with their hands. Often I feel like I’m just writing off vibes.

I've seen a lot of people I follow tagged already, is there anyone who has missed out that wants to be?

#writing

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insomniac-jay · 2 months ago

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Ik I joke about Shoei's egregious love life but I'm not kidding aka a masterlist of who, when, and how long Shoei dated a woman*

*this is not all of them

Tsumi Kibuichi: #1. Met in their first year of middle school/junior high and dated up until their sophomore year of college; so they dated for 7 years. It was actually her who broke up with him but he refuses to admit it. Probably the longest he's ever been in a relationship pre therapy.

Selena Gutierrez: #2. Had a few of the same classes together then started dating two weeks after Shoei broke up with Tsumi. Only lasted five months.

Elin Taylor-Blake: #3. Had one class together and started dating literally a day after Shoei broke up with Selena. Didn't even make it to a month.

Senka Kotomi: #4. Debatable if she counts since she was using him as a beard when she was a closeted comphet lesbian. He was very bad at that job since people immediately clocked her tea plus she ended up cheating on him with a girl (which ultimately made her come out).

Mio Iruma: #5. Met at a party not even 24 hours after Senka cheated and ended up sleeping together after said party. Dated for two months before he cheated on her with the next ex.

Sigourney Blackwell: #6. Sigourney had a crush on Shoei for a while and was delighted when she got to meet him at a local bar during spring break. They dated for a mere three days. She wasn't aware he had a girlfriend and when she found out, she ran away from him. She's hated him for it ever since.

Hikaru Sawayama: #7. After being dumped by both Mio and Sigourney, Shoei decided to focus on himself and his career like a normal person who has had six failed relationships up to this point. Unfortunately it would only lead him to his next victim: Hikaru. She was an upcoming jrock star and him an up and coming duelist, perfect fit. Hikaru will be the first to admit that it was a publicity relationship. They dated for a year and a half before breaking up. Unfortunately for Shoei, he ended up catching feelings after they broke up. When he went back to try to ask for a second chance, Hikaru moved on.

Kamala Singh: #8. Kamala, poor girl. She was genuinely in love with and interested in Shoei; but he was only using her as a rebound. They dated for a year. Shoei broke up with her during their one year anniversary by not only not showing up to the party but leaving her a letter that admits she was just a rebound.

Mami Kibuichi: #9. Met in Las Vegas at a casino and hit it off right away. They dated for two and a half years and were actually engaged until Shoei realized that his fiancee was the triplet sister of his very first girlfriend. He broke up with her by not showing up to the engagement party and returned his ring.

Tsubaki Chisaka: #10. This was the closest Shoei ever got to having what he did with Tsumi. When Sabrina Carpenter wrote "Please, Please, Please" she had these two in mind. They privately dated for three years before, once again, Shoei messed it up and broke up with them.

Michiru Noro: #11. The queen of toxicity herself. She broke this man more than his father could've ever dreamed of. They dated for just five days before Michiru called it quits and the whole time she was using him and manipulating him for her own pleasure.

@shinkai14 @yukii0nna

#jay's ygo ocs #oc: shoei

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fleshengine · 5 months ago

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You click the button and hang up. Dead air fills the car, silent as we rumble down the freeway. A minute later you remember and go to plug your phone back in to get the music going to push back those thoughts another half hour until we get home and you can decompose in your room. Before you can hit spotify I poke the button to turn off my little Fiat's stereo. As you start to react,

"You know it's not your fault right?" I say, more as a statement than a question.

"What?"

"It's not your fault, what was done to you, what IS done to you every time you answer your mom." There's an edge to my voice that you haven't really ever heard before in our year of living together and years of being friends. Something almost mean stirs in me.

"Yeah I know, can we turn the mu-"

"I don't think you do dude." I interupt you, I feel terrible about it later. "I think you've convinced yourself that you do these things of your own free will."

"Look, let's talk about this later I'm tired."

"No, if I wait any longer I'll lose my nerve." It's true, I've thought about having this conversation a half dozen times this week alone. "I can't put up with it anymore."

"You don't have to put up with anything, I'm not asking you to."

"I care about you." My voice breaks, I pause, you see something there, a glint behind my eye, I'm holding so much back. "I care about you okay, and I can't take seeing the way that you look after she calls you, or when you ask me to come pick you up from her house."

"You don't have to pick me up..."

"Someone does! Someone has to help get you out of there when you finally can't take it. I don't care about how long the drive is, I care that I can't get there immediately. I know you don't like people feeling responsible for you and that you're your own person and all that but I do. I do feel responsible for you. I feel responsible because as far as I know there isn't anyone else who will wake you up on time for classes in the morning, who will cook you breakfast, who will hold you when you finally convince your mom to let you hang up the phone, when you ask for a ride home after things go south up at her house."

My fingers grip the wheel, only breaking to wipe tears from my eyes. The freeway extends before us, thousands of cars between us and home. The car trundles over a rougher section of pavement as we sit in silence. You don't know what to say, scared from me raising my voice. I'm afraid to keep talking, having run out of the scripts I wrote to myself in the shower.

"Look dude, I feel responsible for you because you have like the same problems I did years ago. I want to help you, in every single way I can because I'm probably not going to be there for you much longer. We've got a year left before I have to try and get my life together and you follow A to their medschool."

"I've gotta step up now because I don't know who will have the time or energy in your future. You'll have them, but med students are notoriously busy. I need you to know that there's love in the world outside romantic partners. Because I love you. I love you and I want to help you fix your problems before you move away and stop talking to me forever. I won't be able to manage if all I get is an update about how terrible your life is every six months."

I've run out of steam. The car's gas gauge ticks down another pip. A chevy merges ahead of us without signalling. I tap the brakes and sigh heavily. It's my normal heavy sigh, you used to ask me if something was wrong every time I did that sigh and every time I told you everything was fine and I just make that noise sometimes. I've since learned it's a self soothing method.

"We can turn on the music, we don't have to keep talking but like... I love you dude, you're one of my best friends and I couldn't ask for a better roommate. Please let me help you in a way that matters one of these days."

I click the button on the stereo, and your phone starts in the middle of a Chappel Roan song. I watch the road, you watch your phone. I get us home, we cry in our rooms.

#vent #I guess #revving the engine #this didn't actually happen it's just how I imagine the conversation going #just thinking about my roommate again #my feelings for him are complicated and multilayered and I think I should talk to my therapist about this #lol that's a good tag I'm gonna use that one in other contexts as a bit

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ddanthedumbass · 1 year ago

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Day off || Lily Evans x fem! Reader

Author note <3

Hiiiiii Lily just has my heart like🙄 im in science class rn (im supposed to b playing blooket but it sucks dics)

THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING GRYFFINDOR X READER LIKE I ONLY DO SLYTHERINS (and my first time doing marauders era)

I always accept corrective criticism, spelling correction, grammar correction, and requests.

I appreciate your support 💞

Sé onr sverdar sitija hvass!

-Arii💕

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You were tired and your eyelids were heavy, but you ran your hand through your H/L H/C hair and turned your attention back to the piece of parchment in front of you, the lamp by its side casting it a warm glow.

You sighed and looked at the pages filled with writing, scribbling, and a few doodles in the corner, all written in black ink.

This is only two pages….. It should be five! You thought, sighing deeply and dipping your quill back into the ink.

Paragraph 4 — Werewolf lore, You wrote on your third piece of parchment, and though you only used two pages, your handwriting was small and if anyone else copied it onto their parchment, it would most likely take up five or six pages.

You scribbled with your quill for a few couple hours before your eyelids felt heavier than ever, like they were made of metal.

One more page… you thought encouragingly to yourself.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“Y/N?”

You groaned and ignored the voice.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!?” YOur eyelids fluttered open and you lifted your head abruptly, causing your vision to temporarily blur and your head to temporarily spin.

“Y/N, why were you sleeping in the common room with your quill?” Lily asked you with a look of concern on her face “Were you staying up to do your homework again?”

You flinched slightly as her tone suddenly went from worried to stern. “Uh” was the only thing you could say.

“Y/N, overworking is not good for you.” Lily said, knitting her eyebrows with a look of mingled concern and distress.

“It’s oka–”

“No, it's not!” Lily cut in, her eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown on her face “What time did you go to sleep, Y/N?”

You thought for a moment, biting your lip “I don’t know..”

Lily huffed and put her hands on her hips “You're not going to class today. I am going to get your absence excused and you will not do anything related to homework, school, or studying.”

YOu stared at Lily with a look of disbelief “But… My essay is due tomorrow and I only have four and a half pages done and I still have to do my essay for professor Slughorn and professor Dippet!”

Lily shook her head “No.”

You sighed and gave up trying to change Lily’s mind, since anyone who’s talked to her would know, if she decided on something, that decision is final and nobody can do anything to make her change her mind. “Okay. Fine.”

Lily’s expression became brighter immediately “Okay!” she said, beaming and pulling you up onto your feet.

You couldn’t help but smile at Lily’s adorableness. “Okay, Evans.” you said, rolling your eyes.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You sat on your bed, your sketchbook in your lap, doodling absentmindedly.

“Y/N!” Lily plopped onto the bed next to you “What are you drawing?”

“Uh,” You looked down at your paper “I’m just doodling… you were gone for a while and I got bored.”

Lily laughed, “It wasn’t that long! It was only like twenty minutes!”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Twenty minutes is a long time when you're sitting on the floor doing nothing!”

Lily pulled a look of fake consideration “Yea, sure.”

You smiled and looked at Lily, your E/C eyes locking with Lily’s green ones for a split second before you looked away, feeling flustered for no reason. Get yourself together, Y/N. You silently chided yourself, ashamed of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“You Okay?” Lily asked you, the smile slowly disappearing from her face, being replaced by a look of concern.

“Yea, I’m fine, just spaced out for a second.” You gave Lily a reassuring smile. “What do you want to do for the whole day without class?”

Lily’s smile reappeared immediately “I planned the whole day earlier!” She said excitedly, practically jumping with enthusiasm.

“How much earlier?”

“When I was walking to Professor Dumbledoor’s classroom.”

You sighed, a smile on your face “I’ll trust you planned well in like, five or less minutes.”

“I did, promise.”

You nodded and rolled your eyes “Okay, what’s the plan?”

Lily grinned and smiled coyly “It’s a surprise!”

“Humph.” You fake-glared at Lily “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

Lily rolled her eyes and grabbed your hand, hauling you up off the bed, causing your sketchbook to fall with a thud off your lap and onto the ground.

“Lilu!” You protested as the sketchbook lay open on the ground, showing a page on which you drew Lily’s smiling face.

Lily also stared at the book before saying: “You drew me in your sketchbook?”

You felt heat rush to your face. “Yes..”

Lily grinned “It’s really good!”

“It’s not that good, it’s just a sketch.” You said, rubbing your burning neck in embarrassment.

Lily laughed and patted your shoulder. “Come on, Y/N! You don’t have to be so modest all the time!”

YOu frowned “I’m not being modest! The sketch is not that good!”

Lily sighed “If you say so,”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You followed Lily through the deserted hallways, passing classrooms with class in session, making you feel a little uncomfortable, since you were so used to being one of the first people in the classroom.

Lily walked out of the door, holding it open for you as you followed her out.

“Where are we going?” You asked, jogging to keep up with Lily.

“It’s a surprise!” Lily said, spinning around once excitedly, smiling at you. “Close your eyes~”

You blinked and stared before closing your eyes. “Make sure I don’t bump into anything.”

“Okay!” Lily said. You felt her hand around yours and she pulled you behind her, walking slowly and carefully.

“You can open your eyes now!” Lily said after a few minutes of walking blindly.

You opened your eyes, the light blinding you at first, but as your eyes adapted to the light, you saw a pretty garden, a big water fountain and many multi-colored flowers, green grass cut neatly and small green shrubs lined up perfectly along the cut grass,

“Wow.” You said, looking at the garden with awe in your eyes.

“I know right!” Lily said excitedly, grinning and hopping up and down on her heels.

You nodded and took a second to admire Lily’s smile then turned your attention back to the colorful garden.

“Come onnnn!” Lily gushed, grabbing your hand again and pulling you to a small bench and sitting down. You sat down next to her.

“Why are we here?” You asked LIly after a few seconds of admiring the scenery.

Lily smiled and turned to you, her emerald green eyes gleaming, “It’s called mindfulness, Y/N.”

“Why mindfulness?”

“I think you need it,”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

Lily smiled. “Close your eyes and listen.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes and listen.”

“Why?”

“Just shut up and do it.”

You closed your eyes and listened to your surroundings, hearing the soft buzz of bees, and leaves rustling in the wind.

“What about it?”

“Just listen,” Lily said quietly “It’s called mindfulness.”

You sighed and listened again, thinking of nothing but the calming sounds around you.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, you felt Lily’s hand on yours. “You can open your eyes now,”

You opened your eyes, feeling refreshed and calm. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Lily rolled her eyes “Do you not trust my mindful exercises?”

“It seemed stupid at first.” You admitted.

“Rude.”

“Whatever.”

Lily laughed and scooted closer to you with a coy smile.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and your heartbeat quickened by six beats.

Lily noticed your blush and grinned “Why are you blushing?~”

You blushed harder “Uhm..”

LIly smirked “Hmm?”

“It’s- it’s just.. Hot out here, you know?”

“You sure?”

“Y-yea..”

“Mmm, It doesn't feel hot,”

“Maybe it’s just me.” You shrug.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

You turned and looked at Lily’s perfect face, her wavy red hair was flying in the soft morning breeze and her freckles were as perfect as ever, sprinkling her nose and cheeks.

“Yes?” You asked, locking your eyes with her’s.

Lily’s eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again in a second, and she smiled.

You tilted your head “Yes?” You repeated, ignoring Lily’s eyes flickering down to your lips from time to time.

“Can I kiss you?” LIly asked finally, looking at her knees, smiling shyly, and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What?” You looked at Lily with a look of surprise. “Can you what?”

Lily looked up at you, her big green eyes sparking, “Can I kiss you?”

You looked at Lily then smiled “Okay, Evans.”

Lily’s face lit up and she smiled, caressing your forearm. “Thank you, Y/N” She whispered, moving her face closer to yours.

You blushed and put your hand softly onto her’s.

Lily put her hand on your hip and pressed her lips on yours, smiling.

The warm taste of chocolatey sweetness filled your mouth. Your hand went up Lily’s waist and to her neck, brushing your hand through her hair.

Lily pulled away after a few seconds, a warm blush sprinkling her freckled cheeks.

You smiled, also blushing lightly. “Wow..”

Lily grinned and stood up, holding her hand out for you and you took it, grinning.

“I’m going to take you somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I told you! It’s a secret”

You rolled your eyes “Whatever.”

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sleekervae · 1 year ago

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Dripping | Remington x Vera

Masterlist

A/N: Happy Friday everybody. My depression streak has reemerged, but I'm trying my best to come out of it though. I wrote and edited this after the first instalment and it's been kinda nice to focus on something new; kind of wanna' treat it as a series of short pieces as opposed to a longer whole. So if you wanna' you can consider this part two.

Warnings: smut, pure and unadulterated smut

When the crew weren't heisting and pocketing jewels, they had to lay low. And the best way for them to lay low was stay stuck in middle-wage, go no where jobs so they wouldn't blow their cover. It would still be a while before they could move the diamonds and get their payout, anyway.

Vera worked ten hours a day, six days a week at a higher-end retail boutique in the city. She loved to pick through the products they'd ship in, as well as listen in on some of the events the upper-class ladies would gossip about. They had no idea that they just added to The Bastards' list of probably targets.

She was the last person to lock up and leave on a dusty weekday evening, changed out of her dress shirt and slacks and comfy in shorts and a band shirt. The back way of the strip was a quieter, not very popular way for tourists to take of course, though Vera had learned long ago it made for a better shortcut for her to catch her bus home. However, on nights like tonight, when the prospect of the bus just didn't sit well with her, Vera was delighted when she stepped into the empty street and spotted Remington and his car.

The headlights cut through the dimming desert horizon, illuminating him from behind. His long black hair fell tousled around his shoulders, matching the worn Iron Maiden muscle-tee he wore so proudly. Remington lit up as soon as he saw her and he hopped off the car hood.

"Hi," she drawled as he walked towards her, "What're you doing here?"

"I got off at the garage early and thought to myself -- you know what?" he replied, his dashing smile plastered to his face, "My girl does so much for me, I should really go and pick her up from work tonight,"

"That's very sweet of you," Vera smiled. He took her by the waist and pulled her in for a kiss, closing out as much space as he could between them. Vera wound her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair and the sharp smell of engine oil and his cologne stung at her nose.

"I missed you," he whispered against her lips, his hand slipping down to her butt. He gave her an affectionate squeeze and Vera shivered.

"Was it really just me you missed?" she giggled.

"I missed all of you," before she knew it, Remington lifted her up and placed her on the car hood, nearly falling into her as he slammed his lips against hers. He revelled in hearing her moan against him.

"Let's go," he murmured softly, stepping back so Vera could hop down. She hopped into the shot gun and he started the car, pulling into the street and barrelling down the road. The Vegas strip dissipated into the desert horizon, the rocky sand filtered in the gorgeous hue of golden hour.

The windows were cracked and a Chase Atlantic record was playing through the radio set. Vera loved feeling her long hair bluster through the wind, but even more so she loved watching Remington drive. He was always so concentrated, his knuckles were tight around the steering wheel and he sometimes liked to sing along to the music. Vera always mentioned that if they'd gone down a different path of life, he would've done so well as a singer. He didn't half believe her sometimes, but he couldn't deny he did like to sing.

Vera's daydreaming was interrupted however, she looked down when she felt a gentle tickle crawl up her leg. His palm was warm on her thigh, his thumb gently caressing her soft skin. Another aspect she admired about Remington was his ability to multitask, her excitement hiking as his hand crawled further up her thigh. Vera was tentative as she looked up at him, it was clear he was trying to bite back his smug smirk. She shook her head.

"Remi,"

"Yes, Vera?"

"... Pull over, please?" she mewled like a bratty kitten, her top teeth butting down on her lip.

His smile held the glimmer of the devil, his hand squeezed soothingly over her inner thigh. He obliged her with glee and pulled over into the desert. He drove a little ways away from the highway, being sure no lookie-loos would catch them.

Remington lit up a cigarette while Vera raided the glove box to flick through his stash of mini liquor bottles. He always liked having a few on hand should the occasion to celebrate arise, even if it was as small as making it through a tough work day. Vera stopped however when she found a velvet bag tucked off to the side, a sharp tinkling emanating as she nudged it.

"What is this?" she asked as she pulled it out.

Remington nearly choked on his puff of smoke, coughing and waving his smoke billow away, "Fuck. I forgot about that. I wanted to surprise you," he admitted.

Vera eyed him skeptically as she drew the drawstrings apart, her eyes blew out wide as she pulled out the sparkling jewelry piece. The Warhol necklace, twinkling and casting iridescent patterns across the car interior.

Her breath hitched in her throat, "How -- oh my God! Remington!" she laughed, somewhat baffled but she knew how brazen Remington liked to be. He smirked coyly.

"Don't tell Sebastian," he giggled, "C'mon, turn around,"

Her eyes widened, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! C'mon!" he took the necklace and Vera turned in her seat, holding up her hair. She shivered as the diamond crackled across her neck, the cool a welcome relief to the thick humidity slick on skin. Vera pulled down the visor mirror to admire the gorgeous piece. It clashed with her high-neck t-shirt but she couldn't find much to complain about, it was easily the most beautiful thing she had ever worn.

Remington meanwhile sat back in his seat, admiring her natural beauty being accentuated with the dripping jewelry. The unease in her eyes told him she was unsure, but he would do everything in his power to convince her how stunning she looked.

"What do you think?" she asked, biting her lip now for an overall different reason.

He shook his head in near disbelief, "You are so fucking beautiful," he gaped.

Vera broke out into a blushing grin, "Yeah?"

"Yes," he mired, "But then you make everything beautiful,"

"Oh, shut up," Vera giggled, stroking her fingers across the diamonds, "The guys are gonna' kill you if they found out,"

"Emphasis on if," he took another drag from his cigarette, "Because if I have it my way, they're not gonna' find out,"

"Oh?" she popped a brow, "And what does your way entail, exactly?"

Her smirk grew dark, licking his lips hungrily as he crushed the cigarette swiftly in his hand and tossed it out the window, "You sitting on me, for one," he replied coyly.

"Which part of you?" Vera smirked back.

He swore he would melt on the spot when she smiled like that. He gasped dramatically, "Naughty girl!" he moved across the console to kiss her, needy and breathless as he seemingly drew the air from her lungs.

In an instant her hands were in his hair, his thick locks curling through his fingertips and she scratched across his scalp. He pulled away from her momentarily so he could move his seat back and give her plenty of room to crawl over and straddle his lap. He was becoming hard beneath her and her need for him to take her grew with each passing second.

Remington moved his hands along her waist, slipping under her shirt and roaming across her warm skin. He made quick work to clip off her bra and moving to massage her soft boobs. Vera had always been a little self conscious of them, she always thought they were too saggy and too small. Her opinion on her body changed after she met Remington, he worshipped every single inch of her body, told her over and over again how beautiful she was. She supposed it was a concept of repetition; hearing positive reinforcement over and over again you may begin to believe it. Feeling his caresses across her burning skin also certainly helped.

He looked up at her through dark lashes, lifting her shirt and pressing his lips to the lowest part of her ribs. She gasped as he bit her softly before licking across the same spot. Her hands left his hair to reach behind her to unfasten the necklace.

Remington pulled away from her, "What're you doing?" he asked.

"I'm taking off the necklace," Vera replied matter-of-factly.

He shook his head, reaching to pull her hands away, "Don't, leave it,"

She thought he was joking at first, chuckling under her breath, "I have half of last week's lottery on my chest, are you out of your mind?"

There was this wolfish grin he aced every time, something that was very much his, and it made Vera shiver with desire every time, "Absolutely," he pulled her closer to him, shifting so his erection bumped against her thigh, "I'm so fucking lucky right now,"

The prospect of wearing this million dollar necklace frightened her a little, knowing they had to sell it off in a few months. At the same time, it was so exciting. Vera was becoming lightheaded, either from the heat or the adrenaline and power coursing through her but she didn't care. She didn't hesitate as Remington pulled her shirt over her head, careful not to tangle up the diamonds. She shivered again as the cold stones rested on her bare chest, a sharp, delicious contrast to his warm lips wrapping around her nipple. Her own hands made quick work of his belt and unfastened his jeans.

He swore he may have jumped out of his skin as she grasped his length, shivering when her tongue debuted the first stroke under his ear lobe. It was that special spot she knew so well, the intoxicating taste of his skin crawled over her taste buds.

"You're so good to me," his grin was lopsided as she whispered in his ear between kisses, her teeth biting at his earlobe.

"You're so quiet now," she chuckled softly, "So full of talk until I touch you," She refused to move her hand, just warm skin playing on warm skin and keeping her teasing delightfully playful on his erection.

Sneaky whispers made him aware of how amazing it would be to feel himself slip down her throat. He moaned, loudly, his back rolling against the older leather seat.

His hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing gently as he pinned her against the steering wheel. Remington loved the devilish smile that mirrored his, the rings on his fingers made her shiver under his touch.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" his lips brushed hers with every word he spoke, "Do you like making me suffer? 'Cause it's working, you little shit," his tone was serious, though his mellow, chesty chuckle made it far from a real scolding.

"Should I be sorry?" she pouted, her forehead resting against his.

His lashes tickled across her cheek as he murmured, "Absolutely not," though he pushed his hand over hers, still resting over his pulsing cock, "But if you don't do something about this you're going to be,"

Vera giggled like a brat, finally moving her hand up and down his throbbing length. She swallowed his relief-filled grunt with a hungry kiss, lips were swollen and tongues teased in between. His own hand slipped down her belly and to the zipper of her shorts. He wasted no time tracing over her panties, his desire fueled to feel her so wet already.

"How badly do you want this?" his lips pecked her jawline tenderly, one, two, four times in a row, "Tell me what you want," she nodded with a devious grin, squirming as she felt two fingers toy at the crease between her pussy and her inner thigh.

"I need you -- please, Remi," she begged into his mouth.

"Words, V. What do you need?" his teasing almost physically hurt, tantalizing her ear.

"I need you to fuck me," her voice fizzled out softly as her cheeks burned an overwhelmingly sweet red.

Remington tensed at the needy tone in her voice, his mind foggy with lust, "Yes ma'am,"

He loved watching her bite down on her lip as his fingers slithered under her panties and making circles over her clit. He had finally taken back his control, his wolfish grin enriched by an attractive chuckle.

He adored feeling her slick slip over him, almost as much as she loved his calloused fingers toying with her most sensitive parts. The friction was illicit, almost unreal. His eyes welcomed every single reaction and contortion her face made, the way she looked almost as if she was about to burst into pixie dust.

"Look at you, dripping wet," his whispers only incite more warmth to burn in her gut, and his eyes flitted to the necklace, "In every single way," she chuckled softly, feeling she was wet enough to create a puddle on his jeans, though he couldn't care less whether or not they were ruined. Like, at all.

He actually fucking loved her for it.

"I'll make you feel so good, they'll hear you from the strip," his voice dropped an octave, completely captivating as he squeezed her throat again. The pressure was sinfully delightful, her own work on his cock sloppy as she tried to keep her concentration sharp and her pace steady. The whole time, Remington imagined how pretty her mouth would look wrapped around his twitching cock.

"Stop with the teasing," her sharp tone made him wobbly.

The hand on her throat slipped to her nape and pulled her in for a kiss. She mourned his grasp until he pinched her thigh.

"Watch that tongue,"

Expert fingers knew exactly what she needed, to finally put her out of her misery. Remington took her by the hips, helping her discard her shorts and underwear. He too removed his own shirt, loving every second of finally feeling her bare chest against his. He basked in every second, loving it just as much as Vera did. Probably more than she did.

Their proximity was such that at any moment she felt they may melt into one being. She could feel how his lips mimicked the arrival of a smile, swallowing her mewls, and she wished for so much more. She wasn't oblivious however to the ecstasy he experienced under her touch.

Despite his excitement, he did his best to control her stimulation. He had been too rough before and he'd hurt her back when they were young and still understanding the way their bodies reacted.

He adjusted until he had pushed his pants and boxers down his knees and she sat comfortably over his cock; his lips on her shoulder making up for any second she missed his touch.

"Remi, I need --"

"I know," she didn't have to tell him twice, not wasting another second as he brushed his length through her slick. He fought through his own euphoria to tease her just a little bit more, to bask in her sweat-slick skin rubbing against his own. And he loved watching her jaw slip open as he slid inside of her.

The well known, blissful sensation built up in her lower belly, expert fingers moving over her clit as she bouncing in his lap at a delicious pace. It burned in the best way possible, her walls contracting around him sent shockwaves up his spine. He kissed her chest, panting just beneath the glinting diamonds of that necklace. Their close still wasn't close enough for them.

"You gonna' come for me, baby?" he kept his fingers spinning steadily over her clit, so enamored with her heavy breathing, how her hair clung to her slick forehead as she nodded. His breath hitched as she squeezed around him, his cock sliding over that perfect spongy spot that palpitated around him, "You're so fucking hot, I can't wait to --"

Her sharp gasp cut him short, panting a flurry of yeses and she shook like a leaf in his lap. A blank delight ripped through her body as her orgasm coated his cock.

And he loved every second of it. His hips still rolled hungrily beneath her, his raspy voice mumbling sweet nothing that flitted past her ears in her haze. He leaned into her, his body shivering as he released an unrestrained groan and his own orgasm flooded through him. Vera could feel it, a white hot sensation filling her and a merciful whimper of breath on her chest brought her back to reality.

She collapsed into him, her head burying into his neck and his hand rubbed soothingly up and down her back. The silence that followed was cozy, the music still playing softly in the background.

They settled down together but Remington didn't have it in him to pull out of her yet. His thumb caressed under her lips, and he was smiling all of the sudden. That charming, boyish smile that she was still so enticed by.

He brushed the tip of his nose over hers, "I love you, Vera,"

"I love you, Remi," she smiled back.

Finally though, Vera had to pull off of him, she blushed hard as a hot mess slid out over her inner thighs and over his lap. Nevertheless, Remington reached down the side of the door to grab the tissue box he had ready -- silently confirming to her that he had had this evening planned -- and he cleaned her up with an admirable gentle touch. He had truly perfected making her feel gooey and dizzy inside, moments like these when he was so vulnerably real, so bluntly himself, he always reminded her of how much she truly loved him. She kissed him tenderly, the cascading diamonds swarming them in twinkly iridescence.

Not thirty minutes later, Remington's dusty chevrolet pulled into their driveway, both of them redressed and refreshed as best as they could manage. Vera had made sure to slip the necklace back in the velvet sack and she hid it in her bag, as sure enough Sebastian was in the front yard, firing up their grill for dinner. They both were praying he hadn't checked up on their safe.

"Well damn, it took you guys long enough," he gaped when he finally laid eyes on them.

Remington slammed his car door with a little flourish, following behind Vera up the walkway, "Traffic was shit," he replied simply.

Sebastian flitted his gaze between him and Vera, who of course feigned complete innocence as she hopped up the two-step porch.

"Yeah. They're still fixing the road for the Grand Prix in November," she added, the mouth-watering smell of burning charcoal wafting through the air, "What's for dinner?"

"Hamburgers and vegan sausages. You're welcome," he nodded to Remington.

The younger brother winked and clicked his tongue, "Sounds great! I'll whip up some potato salad,"

Sebastian glowered at him, "You don't know how to make potato salad," he pointed out.

"Fine, then I'll pull the McCain Super Fries outta' the freezer and call it a day," he took Vera by the hip and lead her inside, none the wiser to Sebastian shaking his head.

Vera made quick work to return the necklace to the safe, hoping and praying she had cleaned it out enough so nobody would be the wiser. She leaned against the wall when she finished, laughing in Remington's direction.

"Do you think he knows?" she asked quietly.

"That we fucked in the desert? Probably," he chuckled.

"About the necklace, smart ass!"

"He doesn't know," he assured her, coming to stand before her so she stayed put against the wall, "And nobody's ever gonna' know. Now, if they happened to hear how loud -- ow!" he giggled as she pinched his arm, "And I came to get you from work!" he gasped, feigning offense.

"Trust me," she pressed up on her toes, "I'm very grateful," she kissed him in between each word.

Remington took her in his arms, holding her close as he kissed her properly, happily. He couldn't even give a damn as he heard Emerson gag as he walked by. He loved Vera so openly, his heart burned from craving her and he relished in the fact that he couldn't have asked for a better partner.

#palaye royale #remington leith #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #remington leith smut #remington leith imagine #original story #original female character #band blog #band imagine blog #band imagines #the bastards #fever dream #palaye royale imagine

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inkofamethyst · 9 months ago

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March 13, 2024

Happy covid-iversary, yay. "Two weeks to stop the spread," is a saying that will haunt me my entire life, I think.

I didn't actually journal on March 13 which is a shame in hindsight, but I remember not doing much. I lounged around my house because classes were cancelled, I picked my sister up from school, and we went to get ice cream. A lot of other people from my/her high school had the same idea, so the line was long, and I was too awkward to say hi to the people I kinda knew (but I always thought they were cooler than me (I genuinely think most people are cooler than me... which might be a problem in some respects, but I'll deal with that later.)).

Anyway I coded for 5 hours straight and got a working encounter system, a working character creator, and a working opponent set generator. There's still a lot to move from my note to the script, but, the game works, and everything I've written runs as intended. Is it fun? Well, right now, it's all the same. Name yourself, fight one-fight two-fight three (each only requiring one or two inputs), game ends. It was exciting the first couple of times, but now I want to add more for more variety, of course.

[edit: wrote the above a couple days ago and after a break it has returned to being kind of fun. I've also learned that instantaneousness kills all tension, so I wrote a few basic functions to delay and separate lines in various ways. Anyway I'm going to hold off on doing much more transcribing/coding from my pseudocode, since I don't want to get too far ahead of the final project timeline, and I don't even really know what the expectations are, so I could be way outside of bounds here and I just wouldn't know.]

[edit 2, next day: New plan. Going to write more detailed pseudo/update poorly-detailed pseudo, do some story planning for the secret ending that I don't intend to get to but hey yaneverknow, and try to balance mechanics/come up with items/do a bunch of the little things that sap a surprising amount of creativity.]

I also binged She-Hulk, and I loved it?! I thought it was going to be awful and cringey the way people online (dudes?) talked about it, but it was genuine, and meta, and actually had me laughing at times. I mean, that last episode? Come on!!! Sure, some of the vfx were just alright, but it's a show, and after six-odd years of AOS, I'm used to it. I'm glad they leaned into the unseriousness. Also,,,, Matt Murdock is such a hottie. The quips, the law banter, the violence, ahhhh. My dnd-friend strongly endorses Daredevil, but I've held off because I was afraid of the violence, honestly. But I'm a big girl, and I'm very good at closing my eyes.

Today I'm thankful for a successful antiquing run!!!! Early last semester I heard about this antique market, and I finally put in the effort to get there today, and it was amazing!!! I was looking for shared housewares (found the specific item I was looking for!) and unique vintagey jewelry. Didn't quite manage to find anything truly vintage, but I got a darling piece of simple costume jewelry and the most fantastic mug that's shaped like a head of lettuce (this description does not do its beauty justice). The necklace will be perfect for when I finally make my way to the opera, and the mug is like something a fairy would drink from. I stayed within my budget which means I have just a little bit left in my allowance to thrift for clothes, maybe on Friday or Saturday (since I'll be in lab all day tomorrow).

By the way, the antique store was amazing. It has at least five floors (I got tired after three and a half) and is filled to the brim with some of the most eclectic stuff you could ever find, with old-timey radios playing music from various eras throughout. Magical. I could waste a lot of money there.

Oh wait, before I go, yesterday was such a busy day that I didn't even journal but I:

Met up with a lab/classmate and their partner for a lunch and a stroll in the city which was fantastic. My original plan was to go see Dune and also to pick up some (red, short, block) heels I'd ordered, but I didn't end up liking the heels on me very much, and I was enjoying the pair's company too much to cut the time short with a three-hour movie.

Went to a paint night through a diversity org I'm in which was also fantastic. I painted a cute little mushroom scene! I don’t really consider myself a visual artist and I’m not a huge fan of acrylic but it was very relaxing so I’d love to try watercolor sometime. Also like,, because this isn’t my "preferred medium" it was SO nice to not be stressed about perfection and just go for it.

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ripeteeth · 1 year ago

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fragments: 03 (fitzier)

[I'm clearing out my incomplete wips and posting fragments that might stand alone as a bit of an amnesty of old projects. This is part of that series.]

The porcupine quill of his pen poises over the questionnaire from O'Byrne, hesitating over his service history. Most of the questions were simple, just question and answer, but this one, this appointment to the HMS St. Vincent, that had been different.

He had travelled alone to Portsmouth, rattling in his carriage like bones in a coffin, arriving early one December morning. “How was your journey?” The captain had asked. Captain Hyde Parker, James had found, was an queer old man, bent and bulbous, with a great scar on his upper lip that marred his speech. What James wanted to say was ‘Rather tiresome. There were six of us inside all thirteen hours and every inch of the way and I was in between an old lady and gentleman who hardly let me have a wink of sleep all night by their fidgeting.’ But he did not. Instead, he only said, “It was well enough, sir.”

“Good.”

His things had been brought aboard. James found his sea chest; when he bent and opened it, the most horrid smell arose. Gingerly, James reached in, lifting out one of his old uniforms. The very wool had grown mold.

His first time aboard the St. Vincent would grow to be miserable. His mess was dark and lonesome, in a part of the ship where few went. Only the caterer spoke to him. He sat on the bench, hands in his pockets, numbering the spots in the suet pie. He thought of Rose Hill. Of William! What would William be doing right then? Perhaps packed in the halls of Eton, shoulder to shoulder with other friends? If I were a Midshipman, he had thought, I am sure this would not be the case, but because I am in the second class there is no one speaking to me. If I could I would rather begin over again than stay one day longer in it, but I suppose that it is quite impossible I should ever get into the first class.

He had written to his uncle of his misery and, with the assistance of his uncle and a few vague and misleading letters to Sir John Barrow, second secretary of the Admiralty, had succeeded in resigning from Captain Parker and the St. Vincent and being appointed instead as a midshipman to Captain Senhouse of the HMS Asia. James shifts as he recalls the careful way he had worded his letters to Barrow, skillfully avoiding the bare fact that he had not completed the prerequisite year as a volunteer of the first class. Barrow had neither thought to check his service record nor to ask and James, as he reminds himself, could not be blamed for allowing both Barrow and Senhouse to believe that he had.

Any man would have done the same, he thinks. Though it had not been long before Senhouse had realized his mistake, it had been long enough to be an embarrassment if anyone were to find out. “Do not ever,” Senhouse had hissed, “ allow me to see your certificates. Let me continue in this, for if I were to know that you had not served in the first class, I could not be justified in giving you the rating.” When, three weeks later, the crews of the St. Vincent and Asia had traded places, James had counted it as a stroke of luck and never again listed the Asia on his histories. Instead, he simply wrote St. Vincent and Volunteer, as he does now, knowing that no one would ever ask. Volunteer of the first class, everyone would assume, and he would let them.

-------

“Do you not understand?” Francis chokes. God, how he chokes. If God were merciful, he would choke on his own spit and be spared altogether.

“Let me go!” James yells.

“No,” Francis says, dropping his hands anyway.

James backs up, breathing heavily. “I’ll yell.”

“So yell. Who’s to hear you?”

“The men - “

Francis cocked his head to the side, half in amusement, half despair. “And they’re to what? Release you? Tie me up by my neck and drop me off a gallows of the mast?”

“Yes.”

A dry laugh. “So go on then, do it. Death comes already, why not hurry it along?” Francis drops into a chair and shakes the whiskey bottle, eyeing the little precious liquid they have left.

“By God, you’re sour tonight.”

“Seems to me, you’re not sour enough. Do you not comprehend our position?”

“I know our position perfectly well,” James says. “It’s just that I haven’t yet given up the ghost of hope.”

Francis shakes his head. He picks up a sextant from the desk, spinning it in well-worn hands. Verdigris now, the color of oxidized copper. Of impermanence. “This was brown once,” he murmurs. “But then again, so was my hair.”

“Copper never lasts out here.” James’ eyes take on an amused glint. “Was your hair copper too? Decades ago, old man?”

Francis smirks. “Something of the like, yes.” He sighs. “Christ alive, that was a long time ago.”

A long pause lays claim to them.

“I dream of his death,” James says. “Every night, Francis. All nights.”

“As do I.”

“We should have buried him.”

“In what?” Francis asks. “A cairn of ice? There aren’t even stones to build a cairn to cover a body, bleeding black and blue.”

“It would have been better if we’d done something. Perhaps we should have built a pyre and burnt him.”

“It would have taken our wood,” Francis mutters. But in private, he agrees. The way Sir John’s body was left to the open, to beak and claw, did not sit well with him. But wood is precious now. James does not know what is coming; Francis does.

“So we left him out there for what - the carrion eaters?”

“Suppose if they come, we can at least follow them back,” he says, sighing. “It haunts me too, James. Truly. No man’s body should be left in the open. We’ve only done what we’ve had to do to survive.”

James stares out the window. “I wonder if God takes that into consideration.”

“From what I know of Him,” Francis says grimly, “He won’t.”

“I don’t like the way you speak about death.”

“What do you mean?”

“As if it’s inevitable.”

Francis raises a brow. “Has it ever been anything else? Sometimes one must cut off the leg to save the body.”

“How long do you suppose it might take to freeze to death?”

Francis breathes in. Look at James, bent in upon himself, his arms wrapping tightly around his own chest. Like an orphan, Francis realizes, an orphan trying to soothe himself.

“We will find a way, James. I will get us home.”

James smiles. It is bitter. “I trust you believe this. I think God has other plans.”

“God always has other plans. Have some little faith. If not in me, then in your own dogged persistence to cause trouble. Even God, I think, must reckon with one James Fitzjames.”

#fitzier #the terror #ficlet #francis crozier #james fitzjames #teeth fragments

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foli-vora · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 2,297 times in 2022

That's 994 more posts than 2021!

722 posts created (31%)

1,575 posts reblogged (69%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@foli-vora

@katronautt

@juletheghoul

@frannyzooey

@pedropascalsx

I tagged 2,127 of my posts in 2022

Only 7% of my posts had no tags

#comment reply - 751 posts

#foli answers - 428 posts

#sweet angel things - 102 posts

#foli’s fic recs - 70 posts

#shameless self reblog - 43 posts

#pedro pascal x reader - 34 posts

#it’s free barbiqueue - 33 posts

#it’s filth o’clock - 33 posts

#hold me down - 30 posts

#run to you - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 127 characters

#he really does look like that childhood best friend who stays in your small country town while you go off to school or whatever

My Top Posts in 2022:

greatest love of all

A/N: Heart crushing softness I half wrote while in hospital after having mini and felt gooey enough to finish today.

Summary: Post birth softness with Frankie.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: brief swearing, heavy talk of birth & babies, sweet soft fluff, Frankie deserves the fucking world ok????

A brief note: I know healthcare varies around the world when it comes to giving birth, but I’ve written this based on my experiences in Australia so will be different to what is typical in the US and whatnot.

----------

“You’re incredible.”

You breathe a sleepy chuckle, eyes fluttering in exhaustion as you melt into the pillows supporting your back. The hand dancing along your hairline in soothing motions moves down your cheek, rough fingertips tracing over your skin until they finish at your chin, pinching it softly as lips ghost over yours.

A small noise of protest cuts through the moment of peace and your eyes open immediately, automatically falling to the small face creased and nuzzled into your bare chest.

Frankie laughs quietly, lips moving from yours to press tenderly into the flattened dark locks still damp from her arrival.

“Yes, and you, too.” He whispers, hand seeming so large in comparison to your daughter’s head as he caresses her gently.

It hadn’t been easy, and he could feel it now still, a slight tremble in his bones—true, sharp panic in the very core of him, burning through his gut and bringing out a long forgotten feeling pushed down by vigorous training and missions.

He thought he’d be okay. He knew everything about labour. He had been present for all the classes, he’d googled every little thing and read every book you had borrowed from the library. He’d felt stress before - he’d seen some heavy shit in the past, but this? Your obvious pain had pierced his very soul. It had crippled him, wrapped it’s horrific hands around his throat and squeezed until he couldn’t breathe, choking on each word as he tried to coax you into breathing better yourself.

The way you had cried out, the way you thrashed and arched and screamed… and yet, you still had the energy to smile, to laugh, giddy and practically aglow as a little squirming body was guided and pressed into your chest. Suddenly it’s like all of the pain and the tears and the suffering of the last twenty six hours had evaporated, leaving nothing but peace in your features, sweat still licking at your skin but tranquillity radiating from your pores.

He wishes you would share a bit.

He needs a cigarette. Or five.

“How are you feeling?”

He doesn’t know why he’s speaking so quietly. It’s not like the room is silent. Short alarms of various meanings sound out in the hallways beyond the closed door, machines beep and pagers sound out. The midwives move about freely chatting amongst themselves, cleaning away the bloodied sheets and checking your blood loss with calm, easy smiles every so often. They stay out of the way for the most part, content to let you both enjoy the new life cradled gently in your arms and give you time to breathe in the feeling of her skin on yours, so new and fresh and warm. It’s a good thing for you, he had learnt in his studies… this ’skin-to-skin’ thing. They’re right. You glow. He watches on with a whole fucking galaxy shining in his eyes.

“I’m okay.” You answer after a beat with a sleepily wide smile, and he doesn’t know how you do it.

“You’re a goddamn machine.” He comments while running an anxious hand through his hair, truth hanging onto every word. “I was about to fucking pass out.”

Your body heaves with your laugh, your hand moving from the baby to trace along his jaw softly. He nuzzles into your touch, moustache tickling your skin. “Thank god you didn’t - the guys would never let you live that down.”

He grunts in agreement, breaking into a small grin before burying his face in your shoulder and breathing you in.

“Are you okay?” He can’t help but worry. “Really?”

You barely hear him with his face pressed so tightly against you. The birth had been a blur, but you do remember the pure panic shining in his eyes when you had looked up at him with the comforting coaxes of the midwives to breathe ringing in your ears, you had felt the tremble in his hold, you had seen the build of terrified tears when you cried that you couldn’t do it anymore.

You turn your head to press a series of gentle kisses into his hat flattened curls.

“Look at me,” you breathe, waiting until he pulls a few inches away to speak, “I’m okay, baby.”

His pupils flicker between your eyes, searching the very depths of them for even the slightest trace of a lie. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he finds none, swallowing the last remaining trembles down before looking at his daughter, lips twitching at the puckered angry face frowning at the brightness of the room.

“She looks like a potato.” You mutter, finger tracing her little nose.

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1,094 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

seeping into my senses

matt murdock x f!reader

a/n: that fucking gif holy jesus. um this is filthy and completely out of nowhere, i apologise.

word count: just over 1.6k

warnings: swearing, SMUT 18+ ONLY, masturbation (both f & m), using saliva as lube, praise kink, cum eating, the utter vision that is Matthew Murdock jerking off

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1,186 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

these are the nights

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: I yearn for this man. Anyways it’s 4am and I’ve been working on this all night so there may be mistakes my sleepy brain missed lmao. Enjoy!

Summary: A bit of love and some shower sex.

Word count: just over 3k

Warnings: fluff, soft domesticity with a vigilante, swearing, mentions of violence, SMUTTTT 18+ ONLY shower sex, unprotected p in v, somewhat of a sub!Matt, he’s needy, creampie, cum eating, oral (f receiving).

You’re awake when he eventually comes home, curled on the couch and underneath a blanket with a new book, a mug of cooled hot chocolate long forgotten on the coffee table. You don’t even hear him to begin with, not until the sudden blow of hot breath fans across your cheek and a quiet ‘why are you awake’ sinks into your ear.

The book slips from your hands when you startle, whipping to the side and nearly off the couch completely had it not been for the gloved hand that quickly wraps around your arm and steadies you.

Matt smiles, lips curling deviously beneath the edge of his mask and you exhale sharply, fighting the own upward twist of your lips as you slap at his hold, heart thundering away in your chest.

“Damn it, Matty. You scared the shit out of me!” You scold lightly, unable to stop the growth of a smile as he leans down to seek out your lips. “How was your night?”

“Quiet.” He hums against your mouth, kissing you softly and licking away the lingering traces of hot chocolate from your lips with a low noise of appreciation. “Yours?”

“The same.” You breathe, a pleasant buzz of warmth settling in your stomach with the more his lips press insistently against your own. You ignore the faint thud of your book hitting the floor as you shift on the couch, turning and coming onto your knees, craning your neck to reach him easier.

Relief settles over you in a wash of warmth, the constant nag of worry that hangs in the back of your mind whenever he leaves now put to rest—for now, anyway. All that matters is that he’s home; safe and seemingly unbloodied.

You’ve had your share of scares.

Nights where he would stumble in, unsteady on his feet and clinging to your body for support. Nights where your hands would shake, the needle firmly grasped between your fingers trembling as you tried your best to fix it the best you could. Nights where you’d ignore all calls of sleep and just watch him rest, attention focusing on any and every twitch of his body in concern that he’d suddenly stop breathing, or be lost to unseen internal injuries.

But these nights? These are the nights you cling to. The nights where he would return in the same shape as he left—still whole, still Matty.

You chase his mouth with a hand wrapping around the smooth helmet to bring him closer, the soft lick of his tongue against yours as he deepens the kiss stoking the low heat building in your core.

You know he can feel how your body responds to him, the hands resting comfortably on your waist now starting to grab a little harder, his fingers digging into soft flesh in the urge to have you closer despite the back of the couch keeping you separated.

“I want—I want to do something for you,” you pant softly, breaking away from his mouth and feeling his own rapid breathing blow across your lips, “if you’ll let me.”

“I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

“Yeah? Good.” You break fully away from him, stepping carefully from the couch and holding a hand out.

His head moves to follow the sounds of your movements, the soft crumple of cotton along your arm and the light rattle of your bracelet as you raise your hand sinks into his ears, and he reaches out immediately, fingers interlacing with yours and body moving to follow your lead.

To his surprise, you bypass the bedroom in favour of the bathroom. He feels the ever present chill of the tiles along the bare skin of his cheeks, hears the soft pad of your sock clad feet along the floor as you make your way to the shower.

“Take it off, Matty.” You request softly, opening the glass door and reaching in to start the water and fiddle with the temperature.

Steam soon starts to rise from the heavy stream of water, and it’s then you turn and return your attention to Matt, scanning over his body and observing the new blossoming patches of deep purple mixing in with some of his older bruises.

“‘Quiet’?” You scoff quietly, stepping forward and reaching out to trace over them softly.

A frown of concern pinches your brows, but Matt remains unfazed, his shoulders lifting in a small shrug as he pulls the rest of the suit off completely with a barely there flicker of a wince. It drops to the floor in a heavy heap, closing the door on the devil for another night and hopefully bringing him a bit of peace with it.

“Compared to the usual—yes. Stop chewing your cheek, I’m fine.”

“I’m not che—”

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1,836 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

devilish

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: it’s not my fault. I’m in love. Thank you to the ones who threw me head first into the Murdock pit - y’all know who you are and I love you. This is my first time with Matt, so I apologise if it’s trash lmao. Enjoy!

Summary: You spent a bit more money than you probably should have on some particular scraps of lace that really have no reason being that expensive, but it’s worth every cent when you get to ‘show’ it off.

Word count: 3k-ish

Warnings: SMUTTTT 18+ ONLY vaginal fingering, oral sex (f), unprotected p in v sex, spanking, choking, biting, a pinch of sub!Matt, a dash of dom!Matt - he has the range darling, masturbation (f), use of saliva as lubrication, creampie, Matt being the damn tease he is, swearing, racy lingerie [if I’ve missed anything, please let me know!]

———

“I did something really bad.”

Matt winces as he shifts to sit on the side of the bed, stretching out the leftover ache in his arms from his nightly activities. He sighs, head turning to where he hears you shifting, fingers tangling and rubbing together. You’re nervous. Are you still wearing your coat? He doesn’t smell any blood -

“It’ll be a conflict of interest if I defend you. Fo-”

“Nothing illegal, Matthew. Christ.”

You smile at the disapproving twitch of his features and step closer with a murmur of an apology, smile widening when he lifts a hand expectantly. You intertwine your fingers and let him tug you closer, pressing a soft kiss of greeting against his forehead.

“I bought something.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to see it?”

A smirk pulls at his lips and you roll your eyes.

“You know what I mean, Matthew.”

He grins. “Alright. ‘Show’ me.”

He offers his other hand and you move to gently grip his wrists, pulling softly at his hands before planting them directly on your chest. His brows twitch up in pleasant surprise as the first wave of your arousal hits his senses.

“Not a bad place to start.”

“Under my coat, Murdock.”

His fingers drop in search of the buttons holding your coat together before tugging at the belt and letting it fall open. He expects the soft feel of a new blouse, maybe a dress, but bare skin meets his fingertips and his brows raise further.

“You came from your apartment with nothing on?”

“I have something on.” You defend softly. “I can… I can describe it for you. It’s real pretty. Bright red, soft, lacy… leaves very little to the imagination.”

You guide his fingers along the cups of your most recent purchase and his lips quirk upwards, his thumbs brushing against the thin lace covering your nipples and feeling them perk instantly at his light touch. The material is fine, soft, barely there, and only just manages to hold the flesh of your tits. He traces over them, touch curious and eager, painting the intricate pattern of lace in his mind and how it would smooth over your skin.

“You’re not kidding.” He teases eventually, tone low and quiet, a grin still tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your eyes follow the movement of his tongue as it runs along his lower lip the further down you guide his fingers. They brush along the waistline of your matching underwear before dipping under and snapping it lightly against your skin.

“Same colour and style,” you murmur, grip loosening on his fingers to let him feel for himself. “Sheer. Very cheeky.”

His fingers run along the edges, over where the material finishes at the tops of your thighs, dancing around to feel along where the material melts into your ass cheeks before giving them a sharp, playful little smack. You fall into his frame with a breathless giggle, fingers combing back his dark, bed ruffled locks.

“And the best part?”

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2,688 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

sacrilege

Frank Castle x f!reader x Matt Murdock

A/N: it took precisely 27 seconds of me watching them yell at each other to start writing whatever the fuck kind of mess this is. This is so unbelievably self indulgent and filthy, I should be ashamed of myself... but I’m not. Enjoy!

Summary: You get tag teamed and walk away full of cum. I don’t know what else to say 🤷🏼‍♀️

Word count: 6.1k (jesus)

Warnings: Swearing, brief violence, SMUTTTT 18+ ONLY light knife use/play, thigh humping, voyeurism, rough handling, a slice of degradation, praise kink, choking, biting, scratching, a clit smack or two, finger sucking and a purposeful gag, vaginal fingering, spitting, oral sex (f), unprotected p in v sex, use of belt around the neck, masturbation (m), creampies, brief cum eating, reader will need some pain relief, a hot bath and a big sleep after this tbh

———

He’s infuriating.

He’s infuriating, and yet, you just can’t leave it alone. You push, and push, and push, until the inevitable snap comes and you get a taste of the Punisher, rough and unforgiving as he all but slams you into the wall, thick forearm pressing against your throat and a finger in your face in warning.

“Stay out of my business next time.”

You squirm, glaring heartedly up at him. “Oh you are such a fucking dick! I was only trying to help! Fuck you!”

“Watch your mouth when you’re talkin’ to me—”

“Yeah? Or what?” You shove at his chest, “Or what, Castle?”

He presses harder against your throat, unbothered by the idea of giving your head a little slam against the brick to shake you off his back, but then he stops, a twitch pulling at the corner of his lips as he studies your expression.

“Think you’re enjoyin’ this a little more than I thought.”

You hit at his hands, lacking any true strength. “Get the fuck off me—”

He gives you an opening, his body losing most of its tension out of curiosity. You could easily slip out of his grip now—he’d seen what you could do. You were a little spitfire, all fists and power, and yet you remain under him, putting up a bit of a fight but barely putting in any effort. His face moves closer and he tracks the unsteady bob of your throat as you swallow, your eyes jumping between his.

“Yeah, you are enjoyin’ this. What—you got some twisted little fantasy, sweetheart? Red ain’t cuttin’ it for you?” He chuckles low and hoarse. “What do you need, baby? Tell me. You need me to be the bad guy? Rough you up a little bit?”

“Fuck you, Castle.” You spit, bucking against his frame. Your actions lack strength, fight. You know it as well as him.

“Yeah I bet you’d like that. How do you want it? Like this? Or you want me to bend you over the vents? Bet I can get you moanin’ loud enough to get your boyfriend runnin’ here.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, dick. Now get your fucking hands off me.”

He hums, gruff and thoughtful. “Is that what you want? Coz I don’t think it is. You’re out here rubbin’ up on me like a goddamn bitch in heat.”

A flood of hot rage flushes along your chest. “I am not.”

You are. You know you are. You can’t deny the attraction you feel for him, all strong set features and a merciless hunger for revenge. He wasn’t all death and destruction though, like the media claimed. You’d seen him smile, you’d heard him laugh. Matt spoke highly of him, despite not agreeing with his methods. The two had a respect for the other, and maybe that’s why he intrigued you.

“Yeah, okay. This—” he trails a hand down your side, grinning at your sharp gasp and subtle arch of your frame, “—says differently. Look at me.”

Your gaze flicks up from where his hand rests on your waistline, eyes darting between his. Your head tilts slightly in question, a sterner, more serious look overcoming his features.

“Is this okay?”

…oh.

You can’t help the little twitch of your lips as you nod, answering with a quiet, “Yeah… it’s okay.”

Frank nods, rough fingers digging under your tac shirt and running along your heated skin. “You get uncomfortable, or you wanna stop at any time, just say the word. Clear?”

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2,777 notes - Posted March 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #lmao all that daredevil tho

7 notes · View notes

shakespeareanwannabe · 2 years ago

Text

One Hell of a Year: April

Summary: When Molly Henderson makes the move from Chicago to Lockhart, Texas, she doesn’t expect much. A new teaching job, a new community, and maybe a few new friends, but what she didn’t expect was to meet Michael Perry, a man with a heart of gold, October eyes, and a smile that made her tummy do a strange little flip-flop. With Michael by her side, Molly finds that she may just be able to not only find a life in Lockhart, but thrive there as well.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, drinking, lemons, MDNI

Disclaimers: Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

The rest of March dragged on like a baseball game where the home team is getting trounced. The home team fans walk into the game with such excitement, all wide eyed and innocent, championing their heroes…until they give up six runs in the first inning alone. Then the fear sets in. By the seventh inning stretch, the fans are either giving up and walking out of the stadium, or they’re sitting in their seats miserably, praying for a miracle, holding onto hope. Whatever fan you are, the fatalist who gives up by the time the score hits double digits, or the fan who prays to the baseball gods that their team will somehow, someway, turn things around, the dragging along of time is painful.

That was how the rest of March went for Molly Henderson and Michael Perry. The day after their fight, they briefly met eyes in the hallway as they brought their students inside for the first day back. That brief, seconds long interaction had Molly hiding her tears behind her book as she had her class silent read for the first half hour of the day, while Michael, for the first time in his career, demanded total silence while his class wrote in their journals.

Molly spent all her breaks in her classroom under the guise of catching up with her students after their weeklong break. Michael huddled in the corner of the staff room, the grey cloud surrounding him warning his colleagues away from any potential approach.

The last two weeks of March passed painfully slowly in that same way, with small, momentary glances sending both teachers into emotional head spins. They even went so far as to cancel all play rehearsals for the first week back, and Molly faked having after school appointments for the last week of March so that Michael would have to handle the rehearsals on his own.

It hurt. Though they knew it was temporary, both the growing pains and the separation, it didn’t stop the pain from searing their hearts like deep cuts from hot knives. Molly found herself almost crumbling every night as she poured herself into her car and wept.

In short, the rest of March dragged on to the tune of a lonely funeral dirge. But as always, the turn of the month brought a new beginning and a chance for change.

On the first of April, one of the most dreaded teaching days of the year, Molly found herself brandishing a stapler at Alex before the start of day bell had even rung. Of course, she had found it suspicious that he had been hanging around the staff room over 40 minutes before the staff had to officially be on the property, but she hadn’t questioned her friend for a change in his schedule…until she had added sugar to her coffee, tasted it, and promptly spat it out into the sink to the sound of peals of laughter.

“Oh my god, Molly, I can’t believe you fell for it!” Alex howled, clutching at his stomach. “Swapping the sugar for salt is a classic April Fool’s Day prank!”

With her frustration being elevated due to her lack of sleep (Michael hadn’t been kidding, it was really hard to sleep in an empty bed now) and now a lack of coffee, she had whipped her stapler out of her bag and held it threateningly in front of her.

“Alex, I swear to god, I could kill you right now!” she growled, storming towards him as he made a beeline for the door, almost knocking Michael over as he ran by.

“Jesus, Molly, can’t you take a joke!” Alex shrieked as he ran down the hall.

“Next time, don’t mess with a teacher’s coffee, Alexander Drake!”

Michael chuckled awkwardly. “I, uh, I hoped to warn you before you could make your coffee,” he murmured, holding out a cup of take away coffee from the little place down the street from his place. “Alex likes to switch the salt and sugar every year. Most of us avoid the staff room coffee maker today, but I guess Lauren forgot to tell you.”

Molly hesitantly took the cup from him and breathed in the scent, nearly moaning at the wafting cinnamon steaming through the hole in the lid. “Umm, thank you. For the coffee. And for warning me. I…appreciate it.”

He nodded softly. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I got here too late.”

She shrugged as they slowly started drifting down the hall towards their classrooms. “It’s not your fault. I…I couldn’t sleep. So, I decided to just come in early and plan for the next couple of weeks. I haven’t really gotten to plan much lately.”

Michael nodded. “I get it,” he murmured. “I haven’t gotten much done lately either. Every time I set my mind to do something, I end up getting distracted. Plus,” he smiled softly at her. “I’ve missed my planning time buddy.”

Molly felt herself grow hot under his gaze. “I’ve missed you too,” she whispered into the lid of her cup before taking a large gulp.

“Molly…” he stepped closer, not quite breaching her personal boundary but close enough for the hair on her arms to tingle. “We promised we’d be friendly at work until we figured this out, right? So why can’t we start that today? New month, new Michael and Molly? Would that be okay?”

She thought for a moment, sipping absentmindedly at her coffee. She had missed him. His laugh, the way he could so easily plan lessons that were fun and engaging and covered all the content, his smile, the way he would share his grapes with her. The way he held her while they slept, the warmth that he brought to her home. Of course, she had missed him. But she was so afraid of just falling into him and not facing the untruths in their relationship that she felt like she couldn’t let him back in.

And yet, she knew in her heart that this was only temporary. She loved him too much to let their relationship just fizzle out, and she knew that he was willing to put the work in. So, perhaps, letting him be her friend again would help heal those cracks in her heart so that she could let him back in.

She found herself nodding before her mind had even committed to the idea. “Of course, we can.”

The smile on his face became blinding. “Awesome,” he whispered, juggling things around in his arms until he could reach out and shake her hand. “Hi, welcome to Jefferson. I’m Michael Perry and I would love to get to know you a little bit better on our prep this afternoon.”

The grin tugging on the edges of her mouth was hard to deny as she returned his handshake. “Hi Michael Perry, I’m Molly Henderson. And I would love to get to know you better too.”

“Perfect,” he squeezed her hand tight. “I’ll see you then, Molly.”

He nearly skipped into his own classroom, giggles bubbling up in Molly’s throat at his enthusiasm.

As she retreated to her own room and started flipping lights on, she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

Despite their agreement to be friends, the atmosphere in the staff room was…awkward, to say the very least.

They sat at the same table, across from each other instead of beside each other as they would have a mere month ago. But there was no easy, peaceful silence. There were no playful touches or giggles. The sound of scratching pens and flipping pages was all that filled the room until Michael looked up and sighed.

“This isn’t working, is it?”

Molly bit her lip. “No. It’s really not. I’m sorry. I know that I said we could, but…”

“But I fucked up and you can’t let it go,” he sighed, throwing his pen onto his book and leaning back in his chair. “Not that I blame you. But I don’t…I don’t know how to fix this, Molly. And I want to. I really want to. I don’t…I can’t lose you, honey.”

Molly rubbed her eyes, feeling the tears beginning to pool. “I can’t lose you either. You’re the most important person in my life, but…but I can’t help the way that I feel.”

“And I’m not asking you to change the way that you feel. I’d never do that,” he reached out and took her hand. “I’m just asking for some guidance here. I’ve apologized, and I’m probably going to apologize every day for the rest of my life. I’ve told you the truth. I just don’t know what else to do.”

Molly leaned back, folding her arms protectively over her chest. “Well, we said we were going to be friends, right?”

“I don’t know how to be just friends with the woman I’m in love with, Molly!” Michael rubbed his forehead. “You’re my best friend, yes, but there’s so much more that you are to me. And yeah, maybe that sounds like a bullshit line, but I love you so much. I feel like I’m going out of my mind without you.”

Molly sniffled. “If you think this doesn’t make me feel like shit, then you’re wrong. You think I don’t miss you too? But I have the protect myself, Michael! If you hadn’t kept secrets from me, then we wouldn’t be here!”

A loud screech cut through the growing tension as Michael stood up. “I’m not going to fight with you, Molly,” he quickly gathered his belongings, “Maybe we can try this again on Monday.”

Molly watched him through glassy eyes as he left the staff room before she buried her head in her folded arms and fell apart. Her heavy sobs shook her shoulders and she found herself grateful that Michael had the forethought to at least close the door before he left.

Molly knew she wasn’t being fair to Michael. He had lied and kept things from her, but he had been willing to try to sit and be her friend, to put in the work to make things between them better. All he had asked for was a bit of guidance, and she had shut him down. It wasn’t like she didn’t want things between them to get better. She desperately wanted to let him back in, but she wasn’t sure how.

“Uh-oh. What happened, Henderson?”

Molly quickly wiped her eyes and looked up to find Lauren standing in the doorway, a stack of artwork in her arms.

“Oh. H-hey. What’re you doing here?”

“I got an extra prep today, so I was gonna do some laminating. I thought I’d find you and Perry in here, canoodling, and was preparing all my best disgusted facial expressions. But it looks like I don’t need them.” Lauren sat down in the chair next to her and placed her stack of art on the table. “What do you need? Should I go beat him up? Get Ken to poison his drink the next time he goes to the bar?”

Molly sniffled out a small giggle. “N-no. It’s fine. We just…we’re taking a little break.”

“And you don’t want to?”

Molly shrugged. “I don’t think either of us want to, but…it’s necessary.”

“And that is unnecessarily vague. Tell you what. My monster-in-law insisted on taking the kids tonight for a Grandma Sleepover. Ken’s gotta do inventory at the bar, which will take all night. So, you and me. Margaritas and take out from that Mexican place Alex has been raving about, and you’re gonna spill the beans. Yeah?”

Molly cracked a smile and nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good. Thanks Lauren.”

The other teacher nodded and stood, picking up her stack of work. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re bringing the tequila.”

Molly giggled. “Yes ma’am. I’ll see you tonight.”

(page break)

“Hold on a sec…” Lauren swallowed down her bite of fish taco and washed it down with her lime margarita. “He didn’t tell you about whatsherface from Pittsburgh? I swear to god, I thought you knew.”

Molly shrugged and bit into her crispy chicken taco. “Nope. I had no clue. I mean, he’s mentioned exes to me before, but never this ex. I just feel like, if she wasn’t a big deal, he would’ve told me, right?”

Lauren hiccupped before taking a nacho from the tray they were splitting between them. “But she was a big deal, wasn’t she? He was gonna marry this girl.”

Molly nodded sadly. “Why wouldn’t he tell me about a past relationship that he wanted to go the distance?”

Lauren scoffed. “Why do men do anything? He probably didn’t want to shatter his ego by saying that he got turned down and dumped.”

Molly was quick to shake her head. “But he dumped her. And he never even asked her. They fell apart before he could.”

Lauren took another swig. “Then maybe she really doesn’t matter to him anymore. Or maybe it just sucks to have to bring her up. I mean, the only reason I knew about her was because he forgot to log out of the school computer and I saw some chick named Malia emailing him, so of course it was my duty to give him shit about it. That’s when he told me she was the kid of some ex in Pittsburgh. He kept in touch because he still cared about the kid.”

Molly nodded. “I know. She seems like a sweet kid. Michael really helped her out. But why not just freaking tell me that, y’know?” Molly bit into her second taco angrily.

Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know. But I can tell you one thing. He definitely didn’t do it maliciously. I have never seen that man as happy as he is when he’s with you.”

Molly pouted into her margarita. “I know. He makes me really happy too. I just don’t know how to get past this. I’ve been hurt in the past and—”

“Hold up,” Lauren leaned forward, an intense look in her eyes. “You can’t be about to say that you’re afraid of Michael hurting you. Look Molly, I don’t know what happened to you in your past, and, frankly, it’s none of my business. But Michael Perry would rather cut off his left arm and feed it to a rabid crocodile than lay a finger on you.”

“I know. I know, Lauren. But…I dunno, I guess I just have a blindspot when it comes to red flags with guys.”

“The only red flag Michael is waving is one shaped like a heart with your initials in the middle,” Lauren scoffed. “Look, I’m not about to get into the middle of this. But he loves you, and he’s looked miserable ever since y’all got home. You need to either reel that boy back in or cut him loose.”

Molly flushed. “I want him back. I just…don’t know how to let him back in. I told him we could be friends until I feel like I can trust him, but even that’s really hard.”

Lauren shrugged, reaching over for the blender and refilling both their glasses. “So, don’t be friends. Let him woo you back. Flirt with him. Do all the same shit y’all were doing back in September, except this time you know where it’s leading and preferably you’ll be flirting and shit anywhere I’m not, because I don’t think I can take the lovesick puppy dog routines again.”

Molly moaned pitifully. “I just don’t know, Lauren! I don’t know how to flirt with him. We’ve never purposefully flirted with each other, you know?”

“Okay! Then do whatever whacky mating ritual you did to land him in the first place, but make sure he knows that he only gets one more shot. No more secrets, not this time.”

Molly picked up her glass and clinked it against Lauren’s. “No more secrets.”

(page break)

Michael jumped as Molly plopped into the seat next to him at the planning time table and shoved her hand at him.

“Hi,” she gasped out, slightly out of breath. “I’m Molly Henderson. I moved here to Lockhart after my grandfather died and it helped me escape an emotionally abusive boyfriend. It was really traumatic for me, both dealing with that boyfriend and losing my grandfather. My grandfather and grandmother raised me because my mom was in no way, shape, or form prepared to be a mother, and…and she was never sure who my father is.” Molly blinked, her hand trembling in between them as Michael gazed at her with wide eyes. “N-Needless to say, I have a lot of baggage when it comes to growing up and relationships. But…but I really like you, Michael. And…I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t deal with secrets, even if you think they’re not important.”

Michael blinked at her before slowly taking her hand, cradling it between his two hands. “Okay, Molly Henderson. No secrets.” He smiled softly. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

They shifted over to the comfy loveseat in the planning room, their bodies turned towards each other intimately.

“Why did you want to become a teacher?”

Michael’s fingers drummed on the back of her hand. “I had this drama and music teacher in high school, Mr. Cooper. He was…he actually saw me, you know? I was a terrible student, I’m not gonna lie. I talked back, I didn’t do homework, basically just every teacher’s worst nightmare. But Mr. Cooper got me. He taught us real life stuff. You could tell he actually cared about us, not just our marks. He made me want to make that kind of difference.”

Molly smiled, squeezing his hand. “So, what happened?”

Michael shrugged. “I got my license at NYU, did a little bit of teaching in New York, then got myself a position with Teach for America, so I ended up teaching in quite a few low-income areas. I loved it. I actually could see the difference I was making. I happened to be in Pittsburgh when my contract ended, and I just searched for the lowest ranked schools in town, which led me to Adams. And…Jaime.”

Molly nodded. “How did you two meet?”

Michael shrugged with a chuckle. “She kept trying to recruit me to help take over the school. Malia was really struggling with her dyslexia, and her teacher was…well, she was a bitch. Everyone hated her, but she was tenured, so there was nothing we could do. Until Jaime decided that a take over was the best thing to do to save our school. She teamed up with Nona Alberts, and she kept trying to recruit me, but I wasn’t interested in the take over, only in her. I liked that she said what she meant and didn’t play mind games…basically, some of the same reasons that I like you.”

“Why weren’t you interested in taking over the school? That seems right up your alley.”

Michael chuckled. “I didn’t want to lose the protection of the union. I’d seen it help a lot of teachers, including Mr. Cooper. Taking over meant no protection, and I couldn’t see myself being okay with that. I wanted to protect the kids, but I also wanted to protect the good teachers that were working hard to make a difference.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I saw how badly those good teachers wanted it, and how much the bad teachers were reticent to the idea because they would probably be fired.” Michael shook his head. “They were all in it for the money, and I couldn’t even inadvertently support the teachers who were in it for a paycheque instead of for the kids. So, when I realized that I had to choose a side, I did. And it was great. Getting to teach the way I always wanted to, the way Renata lets us teach, was incredible. I honestly don’t know if I ever would have left if not for…”

“Your mom,” Molly supplied in a quiet voice, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

He nodded sadly. “When I got the call that she was sick, I knew that I had to come home. My siblings were spread out all over the place, my dad was working double shifts to pay for her chemo, and…and I felt like I owed her. She’d always been there for me, encouraging me to follow my dreams, and I…I couldn’t let her down. I knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything I could to take care of her.”

Molly slid closer to him on the couch and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sure you did everything you could.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I tried. I took the prep teacher position here so I could have mornings off to take her to her appointments. Plus, I was only in three days a week, so that was a benefit too. I helped pay for stuff around the house, which eased my dad’s burden a bit. I took care of her for as long as I could, until the cancer got to be too much for her. When she passed, I…”

Molly kissed his shoulder gently. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

“I thought about returning to Pittsburgh,” he whispered after a long moment. “But Jaime was so far off my radar by that point, and I had genuinely fallen in love with Jefferson and the kids. I felt like there was no going back. I was content with my life…and then you walked in that August morning and turned it all upside down. Because of you, I wasn’t just content. I was…I am happy.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, the sound of the school bustling just outside of the locked door as they took in what had been said. Michael felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but his heart felt heavy, knowing that they could have avoided all this pain if he had just talked about it earlier. Molly felt relief, knowing that she now had the whole truth, that there were no more secrets between them.

Michael glanced over at the sound of her sniffle.

“Hey…” he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’m so sorry, Molly. I’ve said it a million times before, but this time…this time it means so much more. I am so sorry.”

She nodded into his shoulder, swiping at her falling tears. “I know and thank you for telling me the whole truth. I guess I just…I expected to feel…different. Not so…”

“Angry?”

She nodded with a hiccup. “Y-yeah…I don’t want to be angry anymore, but it’s not a choice, you know?”

Michael patted her shoulder and pulled away slightly. “I get it. Believe me, I didn’t expect that just telling you the truth would magically fix everything. But hopefully getting it all out there helps a bit? Now, maybe we can get back on track and work on getting back together?”

Molly nodded with a small smile and kissed his cheek. “I’d really like that.”

Over the next few weeks, there was a marked change between Michael and Molly. Michael once again would greet Molly every morning at her car, a steaming cup of coffee in hand for her. They’d pass by their colleagues, who greeted them with knowing smiles, as they made their way to their classrooms. They’d giggle and flirt with each other while their classes put their belongings in their lockers and make their ways inside, all while Gillian watched them with a smirk. Lauren and Alex would roll their eyes at them as they sat together at lunch, lost in their own little world. They’d sit all cozied up together during play rehearsals and, at the end of the day, they’d stand beside Molly’s car, neither one wanting to go home. And yet, they kept their friendship to school hours, with a few fun texts sent throughout the night.

Until, one day…

“Hey, Molly?”

She smiled up at Michael as he stood in the doorway, looking more like a nervous student than her confident and cool boyfriend.

“Hey, Michael, what’s up?” Glancing up to check the time, Molly began packing up her belongings to head home.

“Umm…do you have plans tonight?” he blurted.

Molly froze. Things had been going so well between them, and she had been desperately waiting for him to ask her out. She knew that probably wasn’t fair, considering she’d requested for the dating ball to be left in her court, and she knew that he liked it when she took charge and said what was on her mind, but here he was, beating her to it.

“N-no…why do you ask?”

Michael bit his lip. “I called my dad and got my mom’s pepian recipe. I thought maybe you could come over tonight and I could make you dinner?” he gazed up at her from beneath his lashes. “You know, Johnny, Cash, and Spike really miss you.”

Molly giggled and nodded, butterflies flittering in her stomach. “Yeah, I…I’ve missed them too. I’d love to come over. I’ll bring the wine.”

“Sounds good, sweetheart,” Michael smiled. “See you at seven.”

Molly felt the blood rushing to her cheeks as she smiled widely. “See you then.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard, it shouldn’t be this hard…” Molly mumbled to herself as she stared at her closet.

It wasn’t their first date. It wasn’t even their tenth date. They had been on (an albeit disastrous) vacation together. He’d already seen her naked. But Molly could feel the pressure building around her. She wanted to look perfect, she wanted to be perfect for him. To make this thing work. To be with him for the rest of her life, if she was being perfectly honest with herself.

Scrambling, she dove to pick up her phone, searching through her contacts until she found the one she wanted, and dialing.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what to wear,” she nearly moaned, collapsing back onto her bed.

“Something sexy so he takes you to his bed and ravishes you,” Alex replied dryly. “That should help keep the awkwardness at bay.”

Molly groaned. “Lauren, do you have me on speaker?”

“Duh, I figured this would require two friends instead of one, so I called Alex.”

“You knew I would need help?”

“Honey, you’re going on a date that will make or break your relationship. Of course, you’re going to need help.”

“Dude, right now you are doing the opposite of helping. Shut up and drink your beer while I talk. Molly, you’re gonna be fine. He’s already seen you naked, he already loves you, so don’t put so much pressure on it.”

“Easier said than done,” she mumbled. “What if I–”

“Molly, chill,” Alex called out. “Wear that cute little white dress with the blue flowers, some sandals, and he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Molly sat up in her bed and chewed on her bottom lip, staring at said dress in her closet. It wasn’t a bad idea. The simple white sundress was cute and sweet, the blue flowers that decorated the thin material added a spring-y touch, and the thin straps and flirty neckline made it just playful enough to be considered appropriate date wear. Throw in her strappy white sandals, and it was a decent enough outfit for a home dinner date.

“Y-yeah…okay. That could work.”

“Go knock his pants off, babe,” Lauren chuckled.

Molly smiled in spite of herself. Her friends were overbearing, overly aggressive, and overinvested in her love life, but she honestly couldn’t imagine her life without them.

“Thanks guys. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Go get him, girl!”

Molly hesitated for a second at Michael’s front door. A month ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated to use her key and strolled in, maybe trying to surprise him by coming up behind him and hugging him. But this was a fresh start and using her key just didn’t feel right. So, she did the next best thing, and knocked rapidly, her feet shuffling nervously.

“Come on in!” she heard a faint voice call. Biting her lip, Molly dug in her purse and pulled out her key, unlocking the door and stepping into the warm house that had been like a second home to her.

“Michael?”

“In the kitchen, sweetheart.”

Molly wandered through the living room, stopping to peek into the fish tank to greet Johnny and Cash, before stepping into the kitchen.

“Oh my god, that smells incredible.”

Michael turned to face her, tossing the dishtowel over his shoulder with a smile. “Mama’s cooking has never steered me wrong before. Hi…” He stepped closer and pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “You look amazing.”

Molly smiled brightly. “Thank you. So do you.” What else could she say? The man looked good in black. “I brought wine. The guy at the store said that white wine would go best? I hope he’s right.”

“White wine sounds perfect. I put the wine glasses over there…” Michael jerked his head in the direction of the counter, where two long stemmed glasses stood glistening in the setting sunlight.

Seamlessly, Molly glided over to the counter, stepping around Michael as he turned on the blender, and pouring two tall glasses of the pale liquid. Moving back to his side, he turned and let his fingers gently glide over hers before relieving her of the glass.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, staring deep into her eyes.

Molly smiled softly at him. “You’re welcome.” Stepping closer, she rested her chin on his forearm and stared down at the stove. “What are you doing?” she whispered quietly. “Or is this a secret family recipe?”

“Well…it kind of is. But Mama would’ve liked you, so I think she’d be okay with me letting you in on it.” Michael grinned, tilting his head down to nuzzle his nose against her forehead before kissing it gently and turning back to the hot pan on the stove. “I just finished blending the tomatillos, poblanos, jalapenos, toasted sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds, cilantro, and chicken stock with the spices and the salt. Now, I’m just making sure that my chicken is cooked so I can pour the sauce on top. Can you check the rice in the rice cooker, please?”

Molly peeked over at the little machine. “Oh, the light just went off.”

“Perfect…” Michael reached for the blender and stuck his pinky in. “Want to test for poison?” he grinned, extending his pinky towards her.

“I’m sorry…what?” she laughed, stepping closer.

“It’s what we all used to say when Mama would tell us dinner was almost ready. Somebody had to check for poison, or make sure that the food was ‘good’. Usually, it was just a way to get a sneak peek at dinner.”

Molly giggled. “You guys were so cute. I’d be honoured to be your taste tester.”

Molly locked eyes with him as she lowered her head and sucked the red sauce from his pinky, unable to look away. She felt like she was breaking every rule in the book. They were supposed to be starting new, starting fresh, but they had always had that magnetic attraction, pulling them together even when they tried to force themselves apart.

Based on the rise and fall of Michael’s Adam’s apple, he felt the same way. “F-fuck…” he murmured; his eyes trained on her lips as she released his pinky.

Molly felt her cheeks burn under the weight of his gaze. “S-sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Michael cleared his throat. “H-how did it taste?”

Molly grinned. “It tastes amazing. I can’t wait to eat it all together.”

Michael smiled that proud smile of his, the one that stretched his cheeks and lit up his autumn eyes. “Perfect. Give me five minutes to mix it all up, and then dinner will be served.”

“I can’t wait. I’m starving.” Molly giggled as she skirted around him and pulled two plates out of his cabinet.

Michael smiled at her back, so happy to have her there. So happy to be feeling normal again.

Dinner was, surprisingly, a quiet affair. They made small talk, chatting about their days and the crazy things their students had said and done. Michael bemoaned having to send one of his kids to the office for almost getting into a fist fight, while Molly talked about the crazy conversation she had with a parent when one of her more difficult kids had told her to go fuck herself. But mostly, they reveled in the quiet peace that surrounded them. Michael had lit a few candles, the wine flowed easily, dulling the sharp edge of awkwardness they both felt at times, wishing things were as they had been. The homemade food was so tasty that Molly moaned in pleasure, and if she noticed Michael shifting in his chair at the sound, she didn’t say anything.

Of course, Molly insisted on helping him clean up the kitchen afterwards. Though there was no water fight as there had been on Valentine’s Day, the soft bumping of their hips against each other as Michael washed and Molly dried side by side at his small kitchen sink was just as delightfully intimate.

Unfortunately, Molly could not come up with any more excuses to stay, so eventually she donned her jacket, slid on her sandals, and moved towards his front door, Michael standing behind her, wringing his hands.

“I had a great time, Michael,” she murmured, smiling at him.

“Me too, sweetheart. M-maybe we could do it again next weekend?”

Her smile grew as she nodded. “That would be amazing. But it’s my turn to cook, okay?”

He nodded, stepping closer as she drifted towards the door. “I still have dreams about that jerk chicken chili you made,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

Molly bit her lip to hide her proud grin. “I’ll have to come up with something to give you more good dreams then.”

Michael smirked. “You’ve never had to try at that.”

Molly felt the blood rush towards her cheeks as she cast her eyes down. “I…I should go.”

Michael nodded, his face the picture of understanding with a hint of something more. “Can…would it be okay if I gave you a goodnight kiss?”

Molly felt her heart start to pound in her chest as she found herself nodding. “I’d hoped you would,” she confessed, tilting her head up at him.

Michael moved even closer, so close that their chests were almost touching. “I’ve been restraining myself all night. I…I know we’re supposed to be starting fresh, but…”

“But it’s hard because it’s us?” she finished, tilting her head to nuzzle her nose against his.

“Exactly,” he breathed, raising his hand to cup her cheek. “It’s us and I’ve missed us.”

“I’ve missed us too…”

Molly nearly whimpered as Michael wound his free hand around her waist and tugged her closer, dipping his head and pressing a small, sweet kiss on her lips.

They hung suspended in that moment, the kiss so seemingly innocent but under the surface, Molly could feel every feeling, every urge she had had since March Break roiling in her veins. Every time she had seen him, her heart yearned for him. Every time she thought of him, her body responded with a smile, a pang, a deep desire to be with him, all wrapped up into one.

Tentatively, Molly pressed her tongue to his bottom lip, and the moment shattered. With a moan, Michael tugged her infinitesimally closer, their bodies pressed firmly together as they shared a breath between them. Urgently, Molly stripped her jacket off and tossed it to the ground so she could press even closer, her hands running through Michael’s luscious hair as he tugged her backwards until they fell against the sofa.

“Fuck…what’re we doing?” Michael groaned, his lips chasing hers as she broke the kiss to take a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” Molly panted. “But…I don’t want to stop.” She whimpered as he rolled her underneath him on the couch, attacking her neck with kisses.

“Are you sure?” he panted, skimming his nose along her pulse point. “Because if we start this…I can’t just go back to going slow.”

Molly bit her lip. When she had arrived in Texas, she had sworn to herself ‘no more new’. A new state, a new city, a new job at a new school was enough for her. But Michael had wormed his way into her life, not a parasite (like her ex) but like a warm hug, reassuring her and warming her from the outside in. Having Michael be the new new in her life was exactly what she had needed, and exactly what she continued to need.

She nuzzled her nose against his, pressing a soft, smiling kiss to his lips. “I don’t want to go slow anymore,” she whispered, and the look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face made her feel like she was orbiting the Sun, warm but knowing he would never hurt her. “I love you, Michael.”

He moaned, kissing her soundly. “I love you so much, Molly.”

In the blink of an eye, their clothing was tossed around the room. Molly would have to buy Spike a new pot, since her bra had lassoed the cactus’s current home and dragged it to the floor. Michael’s pants landed on top of his fish tank, a fact that he would later complain about when he found himself smelling like fish food. But at that moment, Michael was too busy to complain. His lips found her nipple and sucked with a grin, his fingers skimming down her trembling sides. Molly left scratches down his back as he pulled her apart again and again with his fingers.

When he finally pressed inside of her, Michael would deny that there were tears in his eyes, but Molly wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to convince him anyway, what with the way he kissed her tear tracks as he rocked his hips against her, feeling fulfilled for the first time in a month.

Molly gasped as Michael pressed against that spot deep inside of her that made her see stars.

“Is that the spot?” he murmured in her ear. “Is that the spot that makes my girl feel so good?” He ducked his head and sucked a mark onto the swell of her breast.

“Please, Michael…” she moaned, bucking her hips up against him.

“What do you need, baby?” he whispered, his hips working over her a little faster. “I’ll give you anything.”

She gasped, tears welling and falling from her eyes as she felt the pleasure build in her stomach. “You…I need you, Michael…”

He buried his head in her hair as his fingers found her clit. “You’ve got me, Molly,” he grunted, picking up his pace again. “You’ve always got me.”

With a cry, Molly’s walls squeezed around him, sending him into the white void of his mind, pleasure wracking his every nerve.

When they came down from their highs—whether it was five minutes or five hours later, neither were sure—Michael would tug down his throw blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around Molly’s shoulders, careful not to wake her from where she was dozing against his chest, his cock still buried within her. He knew he should wake her. Take her upstairs, cuddle up in bed so neither of their necks hurt the next day, but he couldn’t be bothered. He’d put up with the neck pain and the back pain and the ‘good God you’re getting too old to sleep on the couch’ pain for the rest of his life if it meant he could always have her cuddled against his chest like that.

“I love you so much, Molly,” he whispered before stretching out and turning off the lamp.

They both slept better than they had in a month, couch be damned.

Tags: @budcooper @mattmurdocksscars @aellynera @beenthroughalot @itspdameronthings

#michael perry #michael perry x molly henderson #michael perry imagine #wont back down #wont back down fic #one hell of a year fic #Oscar Isaac #oscar issac characters #lemons #mdni

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