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socially-awkward-skeleton · 1 year

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Well Caleb is basically getting his own chapter at this rate

love being able to flesh out his whole backstory and why he is so fanatical about Joseph and Jacob

still need to figure out if i should break it up into little portions or just leave it as one big chunk for him though

#skelly speaks #american beasts #oc: caleb winters #chosen oc

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literalite · 6 months

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character/story influences tag

rules: write up a blurb or make a visual collage of the people or characters (from books, TV shows, movies, etc.) that inspired your story and/or OC, either visually, personality wise, or just a general vibe

thanks for the tag @tricoufamily :DD i am tagging @gunthermunch @lucidicer @itsmariejanel @orphyd @goldenwaves this is FUN u should do it. thank u

medias/characters meet me in the woods: man in the dark (paul auster), orlando (virginia woolf), lord huron's entire discography, specifically meet me in the woods and the ghost on the shore, the godfather 1972 (barely), age of adaline 2015, the old guard 2020, this specific cc cross, and reading homer's the iliad in my final year of high school. somehow don't go where i can't follow: the raven cycle (maggie stiefvater), his dark materials (philip pullman), adventure time 2010-2018, mitski’s bury me at makeout creek album, next of kin by alvvays, bite the hand by boygenius, matilda (roald dahl) (jokingly), horrible no good homoerotic teenage friendships, the chosen one trope, and this post by tumblr user @/louisegluckpdf. also my life which explains why the aesthetic is completely disjointed RIP violent affairs (with @lucidicer): nbc hannibal, bones and all 2022, arachnids, ethel cain’s preacher's daughter, sir chloe’s i am the dog album, mine and olli's deranged combined mental energies mutually focusing on t4t cannibalism vinny reign: matt murdock (netflix daredevil), joel miller (tlou), the fallen angel painting by alexandre cabanel, caravaggio paintings, catholic guilt, arsonist’s lullabye by hozier caleb vatore: those italian twinks that renaissance artists kept referencing to paint religious figures, dorian gray, orlando, timothee chalamet (LMAO), the reveal that the noo don’t kill yourself you’re so sexy guy is a twink [redacted] morrow: gojo satoru, howl pendragon (studio ghibli), jay gatsby, kageyama shigeo and also a bit of reigen arataka (mp100), ronan lynch and gansey (the raven cycle), eden's entire discography, birdcage by novo amor, mercy by sir chloe, myself ophelia griffin: ophelia painting by john everett millais, blue sargent (the raven cycle), clairo, phoebe bridger's discography, strawberry blonde and your best american girl by mitski, clairo’s immunity album, the first crush i ever had manny pluto: yotasuke takahashi (blue period), tbh a lot of blue period in general, alhaitham (genshin impact), adam parrish (the raven cycle), a hint of geto suguru, working for the knife by mitski nayef al karim: spiders, abel AND cain, julian slowik (the menu 2022), hannibal lecter (yes obvious i know but moreso the focus on fine dining as opposed to the psychology), stewy hosseini (succession), inbred by ethel cain

#this is the THIRD version of this post because v1 got posted by accident while it was half finished so i hastily privated it #and then the second got erased because my tumblr decided to save the wrong version and wiped all my progress #this literally took me days to think through please appreciate LMAO #dgwicf outtakes #meet me in the woods #violent affairs #vinny #caleb #a*#ophelia #manny #nayef #seph.txt

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sintowinemily · 1 year

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17 Minutes - Spencer Reid

pairing: Spencer Reid x unnamed female!oc (can be reader if you so wish)

summary: Every Monday morning, Spencer is exactly seventeen minutes late to work. The team have no idea what is holding up the young genius.

warnings: third person, pining, one-sided pining, unknowing party, obsessive Spencer, (kind of) stalking (??), unhappy ending.

word count: 1145

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Spencer Reid is late to work every Monday, and has been for months. If he wasn’t so integral to the team, SSA Aaron Hotchner would have him disciplined by now, but knowing what he knows at twenty-four, there is no way Hotch would risk him being on disciplinary leave.

Hotch doesn’t know why Spencer is late on the same day every week, neither does Derek or Elle, not even Jason Gideon knows why Spencer fumbles his way into the round-table room 17 minutes late every Monday clutching at a take-away cup of coffee, red in the face and satchel hanging around his elbow. Spencer would never tell them what could be so important. Gideon worries it’s his mother, Derek teases him that some girl is keeping him up late on a Sunday night – so unprofessional.

What they don’t know is that it is a girl. But she isn’t keeping him up late on a Sunday night, she isn’t begging him not to leave their bed on a Monday morning. Although Spencer wishes, so desperately, more than anything that she did.

Every Monday, on his way to the Metro stop, Spencer stops at his favourite coffee shop. It’s a quaint independent little place, with long leather couches and oak bookshelves mounted on the walls. It’s dark and the walls are painted olive green, it has old espresso machines that whine loudly and exposed lightbulbs hanging low from the ceiling. Spencer goes in every morning and orders a flat white and empties half of their glass sugar dispenser into it. But every Monday, he orders a large latte and takes a seat on one of the large couches, and watches. All he does is watch.

She has long dark hair, which falls down her lower back. Spencer observes that she has to pull it to the side to stop her from sitting on it. Her short nose, which curves up at the end scrunches whenever she turns a page of her book. She’s there every Monday, and every week she has a new book perched on her right knee, which is crossed over her left one. Every week she is wearing some variation of the same outfit, a long skirt and a knitted jumper which is too long in the sleeves. Her hair is occasionally tied back in a black ribbon, but Spencer prefers it when she lets it hang loose, free.

The first week she approached the old 1970s vintage jukebox, which looks like it is an original but is loaded up with modern records as well. She chose Bella Donna by Stevie Nicks. This is what sparked Spencer’s interest, he would have expected someone of her [their] age to have chosen something more modern but as he watched her go to sit down and properly observed her floor-length dress (which surely had to be altered as she didn’t look over five foot four inches), he realised she was different. He continued watching as he stood at the counter and waited for his coffee, to-go. What he observed next made his heart skip a beat.

She pulled out a battered copy of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

Instead of leaving with his take-away cup, he sat at the couch on the opposite side of the room and watched her. He was 17 minutes late to work.

And so began the unprofessional habit he entered into, every Monday he was 17 minutes late to work because he was watching the beautiful girl read some piece of classical literature. Sometimes English, sometimes American, sometimes Russian, sometimes German. One week it was All Quiet on the Western Front. Another week it was Philip Roth’s alternative history. The next it was Kafka’s The Trial. Then for three consecutive weeks after that it was a different Ray Bradbury book every Monday. And so on, and so forth. (Of course, Spencer had already read all of these.)

Spencer wasn’t sure if she read one a week, or one a day. But he became as obsessed with finding out what the stranger was reading as to what she was wearing, or whether she had ordered an americano or an oolong tea. He would watch as she held the book in her right hand, her left hand balled into a fist, nestled into her hair, which she rested her head on as she read. She licked her lips every four minutes and twenty-seven seconds; she would crane her neck from side to side every six minutes and twelve seconds. Spencer had become so enamoured with this girl, this girl who was devouring all his favourite novels. He knew on the seventh week of watching her that he might well be in love with her, despite not even knowing her name.

If Spencer was a different man, he would have approached her, he would have asked her thoughts on the tension between Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, he would have asked her if she had read any of his favourite obscure Russian novels. But he wasn’t that man, he was too reserved, too nervous.

On the eleventh week Spencer walked into the coffee shop with his head held high. This would be the day he would be the man he wanted to be. He would at least introduce himself to her.

It was a shock to him when she wasn’t sat at her usual spot, but instead was the only person in the queue in front of him, waiting to be served. (She ordered an oolong tea.) She stood to the side and gave him a small, nervous smile as he made his way to the counter to place his own order. He was too in his own head to even return the smile. He ordered his latte and stood behind her again to wait for his order. She was staring into space in front of them, tapping her foot on the ground. A to-go cup was placed on the counter to collect, and she stepped forward to collect it, Spencer is watching her in a fashion which he knows is creepy but as she is facing away from him, he knows she won’t notice.

But as you can imagine, to Spencer’s surprise she spins around quickly and looks direct at him.

‘Sorry, I think this is yours.’ She says, the to-go cup in her outstretched hand, her left hand.

That’s when Spencer realises, he had never studied her left hand before. If he had he would have noticed the ring. The large diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. He gives her his thanks and hurries out of the coffee shop and makes his way straight to the metro stop. He should have known that the girl destined to be his soulmate, destined to be the love of his life, would already be taken.

And, Spencer Reid was never late to work again.

#Spencer reid #Spencer reid one shot #Spencer reid blurb #Spencer reid ff #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid x oc #Spencer reid x y/n #Spencer reid x you #Spencer reid fluff #Spencer reid angst #Spencer x reader #Spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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windtowee · 9 months

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Masters List/Rules/Info

Before you read below, I will not be taking requests because of end of year testing. I should be able to take them early May

Info about me:

I'm an old Tumblr user who had just chosen to write again due to school.

I'm gender neutral, who is bisexual

I'm still a student so I might not be able to do stuff on here all the time.

my grammar might suck too because, y’know the English language has there, their and your, you’re. It’s all very confusing to me

I'm under 18 as well

On a more personal level, I want to get into the medical field once I’m older

I’m an INTJ

I’m a Hispanic/American child with two older siblings

RULES:

No Smut At All

Anything with people below 13 will be strictly Platonic

I will write for any gender, you just have to request it, if you don't then I'll put it as gender neutral

I will write Yandere’s

I will write for OC’s

No animal’s will be used in a romantic sense

I do not write for a religious themes because I’m not religious myself so I don’t know what to do

Requests are always open unless said otherwise

Sometimes I will post Random stuff on here

What Fandoms I Will Write For:

Creepypasta

She ra (Spop)

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

How to train your dragon (Httyd)

The Dragon Prince (Tdp)

Legend of Zelda (Loz)

Super Mario Movie

Voltron (Vld)

Demon slayer (Kny)

The promised Neverland (Tpn)

Heartstopper (Only the books)

Avatar the last airbender (Alta)

Narnia

Victorious

Disney

Linked universe

My hero academia (Mha)

The outsiders book

Delicious in Dungeon

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (MPHFPC)

Any crossover’s in fandoms with x Reader or without

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arlothinkstoomuch · 2 months

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COMMUNITY ASK-BLOGS AS TAYLOR SWIFT SONGS PT1 :

(songs chosen according to ask-blog lore. not including inactive/unresponsive askblogs.)

@askingbrittaperry //- Daylight - Britta Perry

‘Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky, and so I became the butt of the joke’ // ‘I once believed love would be (black and white), but it’s golden (golden) back and forth from New York (sneaking in your bed)’

@askingtroybarnes // ...Ready For It? - Troy Barnes

‘I know I’m gonna be with you, so I take my time.’ // ‘Some boys are trying too hard, he don’t try at all, though.'

@askingabednadir // Call It What You Want - Abed Nadir

‘I’m laughing with my lover, making forts under the covers.’ // ‘Walking with his head down, I’m the one he’s walking to.’

@askingrayla-leone // Blank Space - Rayla Leone (OC)

‘Oh my God, who is she? I get drunk, on jealousy' // ‘Boys only want love if it’s torture, don’t say I didn’t, say I didn’t warn ya.’

@ask-vanessa-wright & @ask-frankie-dart // Paper Rings - Frankie Dart & Vanessa Wright (OC)

‘I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings.’ // I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.’

@kidneysdiabolicalplans // London Boy - Kidney (OC/Self Insert)

‘he likes my American smile like a child when our eyes meet.’ // So I guess all the rumours are true, you know I love a London boy.’

_____________

Pt2 - (Jeff, Annie, Annie Kim, Chang, Prof. Duncan, Shirley, Dean Pelton + More to come!) Ask blogs, you can request to be on the list!

#community nbc #community #nbc community #britta perry #jeff winger #troy barnes #abed nadir #trobed #jeffbritta #annie edison #annie kim #frankie dart #the greendale 7 #greendale community college #community oc #community tv #Spotify

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buniyaad · 7 months

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i still have to read the second half of tim drake: robin, so i have some hope that bernard functions as more than just The Boyfriend, but i also wanna note that every day i thank allah that he’s not a fitzmartin OC, because that would be plain tragic 😂😂😂 even if he doesn’t gain a personality outside of those killer booty shorts, at least we still have the OG bernbear appearances to fall back on to build out future stories. she couldn’t have chosen a better character, and i will admit, i have no idea why bernard and not tim’s other canonical civilian homies he had much better friendships with, BUT. it works to our advantage, even if he doesn’t fit within fitzmartin’s cookie cutter American BL mold. inshallah a good writer will come along and give us the c4c (cunt for cunt) timbern we really deserve.

#tim drake #bernard dowd #timbern #tim drake: robin #meghan fitzmartin #real talk #dc comics

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minnowtank · 3 months

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so basically in my oc story it’s 2412 and everyone on earth lives on the planet exodus now due to a biological warfare accident which continues to affect people centuries later in the form of Fosse syndrome. the world has like a really weird version of communism where withering of the state doesn’t occur and religions and national differences and therefore the social constructs of race persist i’m sorry this is so bad you need context for this like it involves a hawaiian communist terrorist named kauhane becoming a saint in what later becomes neo-catholicism because a bunch of radicalized christian americans believed he could see into the future (he actually could) and he was like chosen by god and the communist terrorist also believed this and it made the politics all weird as a consequence. and then other stuff like the fosse gas affecting the state of politics. still working on the politics but that’s basically a theme of like oh everyone’s on a different planet are nations arbitrary ?? is anyone really anything anymore? and people like want to know where they “really” come from etc. and stuff and that’s a theme

so the plot is that a neo-catholic novice in the year 2412 named bianca must use her future-seeing abilities to stop a swedish ethnonationalist from creating a new hybrid species of super-swedes and the swedish guy in question is using these immortal worms that go in your brain and give you the ability to regrow limbs and stuff that are actually Adam, Eve, and Cain which would also take a while to explain lol but his name is stefan and he’s like wow sweden sucks now we used to be so great and he had a meltdown about ikea no longer existing once canonically and he becomes obsessed with Old World notions of racism and basically there are barely any ethnic swedes left due to a bunch of reasons involving eugenics in the past (they wanted to get rid of fosse syndrome in ethnic swedes) and so there are like barely any ethnic swedes and he wants to use the worms and yeah the worms can do stuff like “build themselves in the womb” and then it opens questions about like what the ideal human would actually look like if the fetus had the ability to create itself while in utero etc and things like that so whatever. he has a son with fosse syndrome that makes him have schizophrenic that cannot be medicated bc being fosse makes you resistant to a bunch of modern medicine. and the son has the adam worm while stefan has the cain worm and the son who is named alex btw is like i don’t wanna make a super race please let me kill myself instead but he’s being controlled by stefan and the worms. and then there’s that whole thing👍and there are other mutations regarding fosse syndrome and there’s like “epicentre nations” and other stuff and eugenics plot lines and things that will also take a while to explain. and the son and stefan are the remaining descendants of the long defunct swedish royal family.

also if the hybrid species super swede is born it will destroy the reality due to it breaking the law of evolution and i will explain that in the story also the virgin mary exists and like there’s that whole thing too and god exists but he left the universe and there’s the “purpose paradox” going on with god and stuff and yeah

and yeah there are a bunch of characters and there are 5 “main” protags: bianca, jacquie, enji (he has the eve worm and there’s backstory for that), sloane, and yousef and the plot is complicated and i’m not done but i want to keep going with it so idk. oh also settler colonial states don’t exist anymore there’s a country called the union of new world republics and it’s connected to the weird saint terrorist guy but like that guy was involved with their movement while also kind of being weird on the side but he was helpful to them despite being a massive catholic because his future vision constantly saved their asses from assassination and their views like clashed with his

#🐟

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thesugarclubs-blog · 21 days

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Put A Little Love on Me - Sam Wilson x OC

warnings: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, air force friends, soft smut, 18+

word count: 8.4k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1437355323-put-a-little-love-on-me-lane

vibe: "That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress.

Sam shook his head and stepped closer to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "No it's not, but it's all I had. We promised we'd always have each other no matter what happened. After everything you helped me through when Riley -" his words cut off and her let out a breath, keeping his dark eyes on hers, "I just wanted to be able to help you the way you helped me," he finished

Masterlist

A few raps sounded at his bedroom door as he changed his tie once more.

“Mr. Wilson, sir?” Sam smiled at Peter’s voice coming from the other side. “I don’t mean to rush you but Barnes-”

“Completely means to!”

Bucky’s exasperated voice boomed through the first floor of the compound interrupting him causing Sam to snort out a laugh as he tightened his tie and looked over himself quickly in the mirror. The soft pink tie he had finally landed on looked great against the crisp navy suit he had chosen for tonight.

They had been invited to a spring gala in honor of the Armed Forces tonight and they’d asked him, as Captain America and former Air Force, to say a few words.

“Looking good Wilson, looking good.” He winked at himself before pocketing his phone and wallet to head out the door.

Sam made his way over to where Bucky was sitting alongside Peter in the common room, looking like he was going to burst into flames as the youngest showed him something on his phone excitedly.

“Don’t scare him off Parker, he might bail on us.”

His partner rolled his eyes and cleared his throat before standing and running a hand through his hair.

Sam whistled, “You know for a person who didn’t wanna go you clean up real nice Buckaroo.”

“Don’t push your luck Sam,” he replied pointedly.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Sam grinned as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Are you guys coming?” He asked innocently, just catching the way Bucky glowered, unimpressed, as he followed with a heavy trudge.

The car waited outside, tinted windows and a security detail that felt entirely unnecessary and did little to ease Sam’s nerves. It’s not that he hated public speaking, it was a given now, but the cause for tonight was important. It sat close to his heart, in both pride and heartbreak, and he just hoped the small speech he had prepared did it justice.

As the cavalcade approached the Plaza, Bucky looked through the tinted glass and whistled. "Very fancy Sammy boy." The car pulled up in front of the huge double doors, the red carpet lined with press and reporters. "And they're all here for you." As the door opened Bucky held his arm out, "After you, I insist," he smirked to Sam, "Me and the boy will just hang here until the heat dies down."

"So much for moral support, " Sam complained, over his shoulder as he stepped out of the car. The camera flashes and the cacophony of voices that greeted him confirmed that Bucky had the right idea.

He took a breath and transformed his face into the friendly, all-American grin that he knew the public loved and stepped forward. He held his arms out slightly, as if he were about to give the crowd a hug, and then waved. Here, there, up to the right, wherever he heard his name called as he slowly but resolutely made his way towards the doors of the building.

His right hand went to the watch on his left wrist and he surreptitiously fingered the tiny control panel. Gasps of delight came from the crowd as Redwing swooped down and performed some aerial acrobatics, guiding Sam the rest of the way to the doors through a chorus of cheers and applause.

Once inside, he took a moment to steel himself with a breath as everyone in attendance bustled around the room; taking pictures, grabbing glasses of champagne from trays. He took his phone out quickly typing out a text to Bucky and Peter letting them know he’d find their table. As soon as Bucky responded, he pocketed his phone and made sure his speech paper was still safely tucked inside his jacket pocket before making his way through the crowd of attendees.

He scanned the room until he found the seating chart by the bar — open, he hoped — and found their names under table number one, right front and centre.

The table was still empty when he arrived, eight exquisitely laid places and a beautifully crafted centrepiece. Sam wandered around the table, searching out his name and slid into his seat, just taking a moment of calm before he would inevitably be thrown into the fray.

Bucky and Peter’s voices mingled with the music as they bustled over behind him.

“I was waiting for a text so we could sneak in, Wilson. Do you know how many hands I had to shake tryin’ to find you?” Bucky grumbled, slumping into the chair beside him.

Sam cocked an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips, "Poor little super soldier, having to mingle and get appreciated"

The small stifled laugh from Peter caused a chuckle to bubble from his lips as Bucky rolled his eyes. Sam knew the spotlight was something Bucky was still getting used to and for the most part he always supported his friend's decision to hide in the shadows but with their recent successes and their new team growing, he'd have to accept the supportive attention, even if it was just for one night.

"To be fair Bucky, you were the one who insisted every man for himself," Peter started to explain, before seeing the look Bucky was sending him and pulling himself short. "I know, shut up kid, " he finished, pushing his chair backwards, he stood and suggested, "should I to go see if they have any Asgardian Mead?"

"Good idea, kid," Bucky replied, "I've a feeling I'm going to need it."

"You need to go easy tonight Buck," Sam advised.

"I know how to behave in polite society," Bucky shook his head at Sam, "I was brought up by a lady and know how to treat the dames."

“Rule number one,” Sam countered, “don’t call ‘em dames. They don’t like that anymore.”

“Aw, shucks! That’s why I can’t get a date.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the rest of the room. It was probably time to get this show on the road, be the man of the people and shake some hands.

“I’m gonna go mingle, hold down the fort and don’t let Parker drink.” He pointed a finger at Bucky as he stood. Brushing his hands down his suit, he took a deep breath and headed towards Rhodey, the first face he’d recognised since he walked in.

Clapping his friend on the back, Sam grinned his signature grin and extended his hand to the two council members that Rhodey was talking too, "Gentleman, I hope my friend here isn't boring you with his tank story, again,"

"That story is a classic and always kills," Rhodey defended as the men with him laughed, shaking their heads.

"Only to people who haven't heard it ten times," one of them retorted with a booming laugh.

Sam nudged his shoulder into his friends with a smirk as the conversation moved on to the recent PR that was needed for their growing team and how it was going to be handled. They wanted Kate and Yelena to make appearance's at schools and Peter needed to do tech presentations, stepping into the shoes that Tony had left for him. But something caught Sam's attention, and the councilman's words drifted out to a dull whisper.

A girl with soft brunette waves stood by the bar in a navy blue satin gown, her deep chocolate brown eyes trained on his with a soft smile playing on her lips as she took a sip from her wine glass. Sam's chest squeezed as his mind jolted to the last time he'd laid eyes on the girl in front of him. The soft goodbye she'd whispered into his ear, and the press of her lips to his cheek before she'd walked out for her last mission. The day she'd walked out the door, taking his heart with her.

"Yeah, yeah that sounds good, we'll talk about it Monday," Sam mumbled, squeezing Rhodey's shoulder, "Will you excuse me?" He didn't wait for an answer before he walked away, his tunnel vision setting in as the rest of the room faded.

His heart rate picked up with each step he took towards her. Sam slowed to a stop in front of her, those eyes he'd fallen into time and time again trail up and down the navy suit he wore. "Lanie?" Sam breathed out her name like an unanswered prayer and her smile only grew.

"I'm a little disappointed you didn't wear the wings." She quipped, taking a sip of her drink.

He was too busy admiring just how much more beautiful she had gotten since the last time he saw her for her words to register and when they did he couldn't help but chuckle. "Shoot, I left them in the car."

Lane laughed and the sound hit deep in his core. The feelings he had bottled up and tucked away started to bubble in his chest as her laughter slowed and it was just the two of them.

"You look good, Sam," Lane said softly.

"This old thing," he gulped, trying to get his racing heart under control.

Lane had always had this effect on him, even before the feeling was mutual. Just a look from her in his direction or a parting of her lips sent his pulse through the roof. Lane had been so weary of the guys in their squadron, conscious that they were a bunch of entitled A-holes, who made a female pilot work twice as hard for the privilege of wearing the wings.

She'd finished in the top 5% of their class, proving herself and nabbing a commission most of the other flyers could only dream of. When Sam had transferred to Dulles Air Force base a year after graduating he'd been delighted to discover not only was Lane still there but had blossomed into a confident, pack up your shit and take a hike, no-nonsense lady. Well-liked and respected by her squad, she had remembered Sam fondly and had been happy to show him the ropes and eventually allowed him to take her out for a drink.

“You, uh… you look good too, Lanie,” Sam murmured softly, taking her in properly. She’d always been beautiful, even with her hair in the regulation bun, slicked back and shining with gel and a fresh face. Now though, he wasn’t sure he could be in her vicinity much longer without a drink in his hand.

“Thanks, big shot,” she smiled, that heart-stopping, flirty thing that always sent his heart a flutter. “How is that going? Being Cap?”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Big shoes to fill,” he chuckled as Lane caught his elbow gently, leading him towards the bar.

“And yet they fit you so well, Sam,” she replied, “I certainly had no doubt they would.”

A familiar fluttering filled his chest as Sam felt a blush creeping up his neck, “Thanks Lanie, that uh, means a lot coming from you”

She smiled again, that smile that was seared into his brain from the first moment they met at training camp. A smile that brightened the room and dulled away all the worries that plagued his heart since taking up the mantle.

“And you,” Sam cleared his throat, as his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, “I hear you’re basically running the program now, but not flying anymore what’s that about?”

A flash of a pained expression crossed her face, before she covered it with a soft smirk and shook her head, “you keeping tabs on me, Wilson?” She questioned, teasingly.

His heart flipped at the question. He had been keeping tabs on her, a small obsession and mainly just to make sure she was still kicking. "You know how airmen and women are."

Lane raised a brow, "and what about you? Any new aliens I should know about."

Sam chuckled and shook his head thankful for the change of subject. If she knew just how much he had been following her career on his own it would open that can of worms they decided to close a long time ago. "Androids maybe, aliens..." he shook his head, "not as of late."

"Good to know the world's in safe hands." She turned to the bartender. "Can I get an Old Fashioned and...?"

"Just a beer for me," Sam ordered. The area around the bar was getting crazy busy, with other attendees pressing against them trying to get served.

Lane passed him his beer and stepped away from the bar, taking a gulp of her drink, she then motioned her glass towards the balcony doors. "I need to get some air, it's a little warm in here." She turned away from him and took another couple of steps. "It really is lovely to see you Sam," she smiled, a shy smile which reminded him so much of their first time together. "Maybe we don't leave it so long next time."

He wanted to say something else, to follow after her. To continue the conversation that he craved so desperately but he could see she needed out. She had never quite fit in events like these. She was beautiful and good at pretending she was social but Sam could see the obligatory scowl flicker to her face when the important people weren't looking. Same old Lane. Wanted to be anywhere else than where she had to be.

Sam spent the night fielding questions from politicians, and making sure his overgrown, chaotic dates, Bucky and Peter, stayed out of the mead. It wasn't until he was sitting alone with his third beer in the wind and the band started to play the after dinner music that he realized his mind had been on Lane all night. She floated around the room, avoiding the big crowds and speaking directly to a few important people but it never lasted long and she disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

"Why don't you ask her to dance?" Peter slumped down into the chair beside Sam. "I've been watching you, watching her all night."

"I haven't been watching no-one, Squirt." Sam brushed him off but his eyes found her again, slender curves and bright, fake smile as she awkwardly shook hands with another man.

"She looks like she needs saving," Peter shrugged.

But Lane had never needed saving, not really.

"Chicken," Peter resorted to name calling and as soon as he turned on him the squawking stopped.

“I will put you on mission laundry duty,” Sam threatened, “and I know for a fact Barnes leaves his go-bag far longer than he should between washes. Every. Single. Time.”

Peter shuddered and Sam cackled as the younger man scurried away to the bar.

“No mead!” Sam called after him before his gaze fell back to Lane. She was holding her own against the man, a Sergeant in full dress who was pushing his luck with how close he was standing. It wasn’t until his hand skimmed across the small of Lane’s back and she stepped out of his reach that Sam chugged back the rest of his beer and heaved himself up.

“Not saving her, just deterring the creep,” he muttered to himself as he headed in their direction.

"Sergeant, I think it's important to remember we are in the company of many of our superiors." Lane reminded the man with that sickly sweet smile that to others seemed just polite, but Sam knew the venom around it.

The man was just about to part his lips to counter when Sam stepped to her side, "Sir I believe Rhodey was looking for you."

He frowned and shook his head walking away from them.

"I didn't need saving Cap." Lane said after a moment when the man was out of earshot.

"No you didn't, but he did. I remember when you almost roundhoused a guy who thought touching you was a god given right." Sam responded, "And as you say, we're surrounded by superiors."

"That was a lifetime ago Sam, the new me doesn't get violent, I just get even. Unfinished business and all that." She bit her lower lip and looked like she wanted to say more, but took another sip of her drink instead.

Sam watched as another uniform approached her from behind and instead of leaving her to the dogs like she so clearly wanted to be Sam extended his hand.

"How about a dance?" He asked.

Lane eyed his hand, thoughts swirled around behind those pretty eyes and then she downed her drink and set it aside and slid her hand into his.

"You still step on toes?" She teased and Sam huffed. "I'll take that as a yes."

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Sam quipped, leading her onto the dance floor and Lane laughed lightly.

“I’m a risk taker, Wilson. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

The music grew louder the closer they got to the band, big brass swelling around the crooning of the singer they’d hired. Sam pulled Lane closer, holding her slender frame against his body as they began to sway gently.

“Now, I don’t know about that, Lanie. You’ve never hidden yourself from me.”

"That you know of." Lane smirked up at him, her long hair cascading down her back as her chin lifted to look up at him. Those dark eyes finding his, "I'm pretty good at keeping secrets."

Sam raised a brow, "you can't keep a secret for the life of you."

She grinned up at him again, a mischievous look behind her eyes, "that you know of."

Sam led Lane around the dance floor, the two of them in comfortable silence, but he was sure she could see the words brewing in his eyes, something he had been dying to offload ever since they parted ways.

He cleared his throat, pulling her closer to him so that their cheeks met, entwining their fingers so that there was no escaping his nearness. "Before, when you mentioned unfinished business, did you mean us? Is that what we are?"

"What do you think, Sam?" she asked softly, "Are we unfinished or was this over a long time ago?"

Sam felt his breath catch in his throat before speaking, "You tell me, Lane. I wasn't the one who took a mission and didn't come home."

"That's unfair Sam," She said, "you know what it's like on those missions..." She trailed off. Her hands tight in Sam's as they spun in a lazy circle.

"Out there, sure," Sam answered, "but you came home, all I expected was a phone call."

"Phone calls can still be hard when you don't know what to say," She hummed and let him spin her out and away from him, before gently bringing her back against his chest. Her back molded to his front as their cheeks pressed together as they silently worked through all those hard unspoken emotions.

"We were never very good at talking anyways, Lanie."

Sam felt the reverberation of her hum through his chest and he turned his head, letting his lips graze lightly over her jaw.

“Sam,” she said softly, her breath hitching.

“Tell me you didn’t want it to be over,” he whispered lowly, “because I know I didn’t.”

Lane tensed in his arms and Sam sighed. He should have known.

“Sam, you have a speech to make soon. Let’s not do this now, please? Just dance with me a little longer.”

"Give me something, Lane," he was battling to keep his voice neutral. He was sure that once he left her to make his speech, she'd take off again.

"I can't do this here, tonight Sam. Just for now let's pretend that we're a couple," she rested her head against his shoulder and Sam tightened his hold on her slightly as she turned her face and rubbed her nose up and down his neck. If Sam closed her eyes, he could imagine that he was her wingman, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, making her shudder with want.

When she spun away this time, her fingers slipped from his and just like before she slipped into the crowd and away from him.

He made to go after her when the crowd parted and the mic screeched over the heads of everyone, "everyone please welcome to the stage our very own Captain America, Sam Wilson!"

Sam nodded, turning on his heal and painting a smile on his face and raised his hand in the air making his way to the stage to do his speech but his mind wandered to his Lanie, where she would have run off to and how far he'd have to go to chase her down this time.

Jogging up the steps to the microphone, Sam squinted against the lights and gathered his wit, feeling a little out of sorts now.

Under the attention of literally everyone in the room, he cleared his throat and patted down his pocket for his speech as his eyes settled on Bucky and Peter, the two of them lounging at their table with tumblers that were definitely filled with the Agardian mead he told them to steer clear of. Bucky grinned up at him and flashed two over-enthusiastic thumbs up and Peter cupped his hands around his mouth, whooping and cheering far too loudly for such a dignified gala.

Still, it settled something within him and he dragged his eyes across the room, telling himself he wasn’t searching for her as he unfolded the piece of paper in his hand.

His entire speech felt distant, like he was on autopilot as he said the words and the crowd laughed from time to time. When the applause started and he folded the paper back up his heart raced with one last scan of the crowd. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of navy satin disappearing out onto one of the balconies that he finally took a breath and followed her outside.

As he tried to make his way through the crowd, people clapped him on the back and stepped in front of him to comment on his speech. His eyes stayed trained on the balcony door, politely and professionally stepping around everyone who got in his way. He'd fight his way through an alien battlefield if it meant Lane was waiting for him on the other side. The glimmer of hope that clung to his chest drew him forward, through everything.

Stepping out into the fresh spring breeze, Sam felt his breath catch in his throat once more as the moonlight shimmered on across her gown and illuminated her eyes, "Leaving me again so soon, Lanie?" he commented.

"That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress.

She stood there, throat bobbing.

"Listen, I don't want to spend anymore time here and I don't think you do either. I did my speech, I paid my dues," Sam stepped forward, "why don't we go home?"

Sam watched as her whole body tensed at his use of the word. He knew what he was doing, they had never lived together but home was less of a place for the two of them, more of a feeling. "You can talk," Sam said quietly but firmly as he reached out to her, "I can listen."

He watched the tears pool in her eyes as they darted softly across his face, almost like she was looking for the man he was all those years ago. Trying so hard to ground herself before putting her hand in his. Lane never did like showing her feelings, she always felt like she couldn’t and he could only hope to make her feel as safe as she did for him.

"Damn you, Sam Wilson," she muttered, but there was a soft, tentative smile on her face as she threaded her fingers with his. "If we're gonna do this, I need the greasiest, cheesiest burger you can get around here."

"I'll do you one better. You come back to the compound with me and I'll cook you up somethin' special, maybe somethin' from my Mama's secret recipe stash."

"You mean Sarah finally shared them with you?" Lane chuckled, her eyes still glistening. "God, I used to love going home with you for that cooking."

"Just for the cooking?" Sam replied, flashing her his best smile as Lane rolled her eyes. "What do you say, Lanie? We're both here, now, and if this is the only chance we get..."

"Take me home, bird boy," Lane smirked playfully, squeezing his hand gently.

Another swarm of butterflies fluttered against Sam's rib cage at the familiar nickname he'd earned from his friends back on base. He let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back, "Oh that's what we're doing now?"

Smiling brightly, Lane hummed and nodded once, bumping her shoulder into his as she dragged him back towards the door. Sam shook his head once more as he followed, tucking the two of them close to the wall as they snuck through the crowded room. Only a few people tried to catch his attention but there was nothing that was going to take him away from escaping with his girl.

The car was waiting out front and when he finally had her in the back seat it was like a tidal wave of relief had washed over him. He always knew how much he missed her, but seeing her here, ready and finally willing to just talk to him. It was different. He couldn't explain how real it all felt. So he kept his hand tucked in hers, craving the sensation of her skin until he could get her alone.

Lane was nervous, he could feel it in her touch when she squeezed his hand with worry. He couldn't even remember the last time she had gone home with him.

God he had missed her. "We're almost there," he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

Lane smiled, small and tight, when the car pulled in through the security gate and she peered out the window at the sprawling compound. Once parked up, Sam helped her out, tucking her under his arm as they headed through the front door and through to the common room.

The place was in relative darkness, the soft lighting usually set for night time, and Sam caught the way Lane’s shoulders fell, tension physically oozing out of her.

“Take a seat,” he murmured softly, “I’ll open a bottle of red.”

He wandered over to the small wine storage, searching for the bottle of Lane’s favourite he knew he kept for memory’s sake, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Sliding it out, he was met with a selfie of Bucky the idiot took when Sam wasn’t looking — Peter’s doing really, he’s sure — and he brushed his thumb across the screen to quickly take the call.

“Are you allowed to bail on your own gala?”Bucky asked immediately, “at least tell me you’re alive.”

Sam breathed out a short laugh, "Alive and well, Buck. Just something I need to take care of," he smiled softly, grabbing the wine bottle off the shelf and turning it over in his hands.

"Something or someone?" Bucky pressed, the hint of a joke in his grumpy voice, "If I have to stay here, I don't think it's fair that you got to leave, even the kid is leaving with Kate and Yelena, something about playing Kings" he grumbled, "but there's no royalty visiting the city,"

With a shake of his head, Sam couldn't help the roll of his eyes, "It's just a game Buck and you can leave too, just give the kitchen and common floor some space, I'll talk to you later"

Letting out another laugh as he hung up his phone, Sam sauntered back into the living room presenting the wine bottle to Lane, with a proud smile, "Rippon Pinot Noir, just the way you like it,"

"Almost like you kept that sitting around in case I showed up," Lane teased but her voice was tight.

"Better to be prepared than empty handed," Sam uncorked the wine.

"Don't," Lane covered her glass with her hand, "straight out of the bottle or not at all," she smiled.

"Just like the good old days?" Sam nodded.

"I wouldn't call them good, but they were days, and there was wine." Lane added, "and you."

"Then we got all we need," Sam replied softly as he took a seat beside her on the couch. Lane had kicked off her heels and made herself comfortable, and something about that made him smile. That she could be so comfortable in his space again after so long apart.

"So," she started, making grabby hands for the bottle and sipping it delicately. "Are you ready to listen?"

"I'm all ears, sweetheart," he breathed, pressing his body against hers as offered him both the bottle of wine and her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently as Lane took a deep breath.

Lane turned her eyes down to their intertwined hands and swiped her tongue over her lips. Using two of his fingers, Sam lifted her gaze back up to meet his with a soft nod of his head, ensuring she knew that he was right there, whatever happened, he was with her. With a gentle smile ghosting her lips as her dark eyes skated over his face, Lane cleared her throat and began the story of her last mission. The amount of people they'd lost, and how she did everything to save as many as she could, but even the ones who came home didn't really. The emotion in her voice as she talked about her troops, the soft voice cracks and the small tear that escaped down her cheek made Sam's whole body ache. It was supposed to be a track and report mission, but it turned into a search and rescue. He'd been on difficult missions himself but this was something else all together.

Sam wanted to gather her up in his arms and never let her go. To remind her that she was home and safe back in his arms. To tell her that he was never going to let anything bad happen to her again.

"... I was shot out of the sky, just like Riley," she whispered, taking a small sip from the wine bottle in front of her, "My wings wrapped the wrong way and I just... fell. Shrapnel from the shot was lodged in my back with bits from my pack, if I hadn't been over water, I would've -" her voice broke again and Sam traced his thumb over her cheek, catching another tear.

"There's a reason I didn't wear an open back dress tonight," Lane tried to joke, "The scars from surgery after surgery, it's not pretty Sam... and the - mental scars that I carry, it was too much to put on you. You were working with Steve Rogers when I got back, I wasn't about to swoop in and take that away just because I'm broken."

The words caught in Sam's throat, broken. He'd never once thought of Lane as anything but strong and fierce. Like a tidal wave. To hear her talk about herself in a way that was anything less than that, it broke down a wall inside of him.

"Show me, Lanie," He urged, knowing the chances of her saying no were high but he also knew that telling her that she was beautiful, unmarked and flawless. Those words would mean nothing to her, he needed to show her. "I'll show you mine," he added with a soft smile.

"I've seen all your scars, Sam." She whispered, her fingers tighter around the bottle now.

"I have some new ones," he returned the tease, trying to make her comfortable enough to give in and trust him just one more time.

"I don't know, Sam." Her voice was hushed, a quiet murmur in their little corner of the common room.

"How about I go first?" He responded, and with the slight nod of Lane's head, Sam hopped to his feet and shrugged off his jacket, chucking it across the arm of the couch. She looked up then, her sad eyes fixed on his fingers as he worked quickly to undo his tie. Sam flashed her a grin, wiggling his eyebrows as if he were undressing for any other reason but to show off the jagged lines and mottled skin he carried with him now. And he'd do it a million times over if it meant Lane could see the beauty in the scars she carried herself.

Once he reached the last button of his shirt, he let it hang open before he moved onto his belt, ridding himself of his clothes until he stood in nothing but his boxers and his socks and he began to point out his most recent scar, a long, freshly pink line that was a deep slit in his thigh just a few months ago.

"Sam," Lane breathed, her breath hitching.

"One for one?" Sam replied as he held his hand out, waiting patiently for her to take it, to trust him with her hurt like he had with her all those years ago.

Hesitantly, Lane placed her hand in his and stood, leaving a few inches between them as she spun slowly and paused with her back to him, looking over her shoulder, "could you help me?" She whispered.

Sam trailed his fingers softly up her back until he reached the zipper of her dress, pulling it down agonizingly slowly. A long line of raised, discolored flesh ran along her spine, growing the lower he got. He stopped his fingers when he reached the end and Sam swallowed thickly, tracing his thumb over the scar that ran the entire length between her shoulder blades.

"Surgery number one," Lane breathed, leaning into his touch and meeting his gaze once more.

His breath caught in his throat as she let the dress slip from her hips and stepped out of it, turning around to face him. Her face was tight and every agonizing motion she felt was on display as she arched her neck and closed her eyes. "Number two," she whispered, showing him a fleshy twisted scar that spiraled over her bicep and cut into her shoulder. Sam couldn't believe the pain she must have endured from the fall. Not knowing if she was going to survive it, even worse the agony she must have felt waking up alone, completely transformed by the accident.

The strength she must have held, still held, to get through that. Sam would never know what it was like to come out the other side of something as intense as what Lane had been through, but he knew a little something about grief, about the loss of something and the heaviness you live with after as you rebuild your life.

"I think you might be the strongest woman I know," he murmured, taking a small step closer. "but then, you always have been."

Lane's mouth curved into a soft smile, not quite meeting her eyes as she reached for Sam's hand and brought his fingers to her stomach and around to the side of her waist.

"Scar number three," she murmured, as she pressed the pads of Sam's fingers along the thick, raised line that stretched around to her back. "This one's from a piece of my pack that decided to embed itself in my side on impact."

"Lanie," her name came out as a breath as his fingers traced over her skin.

Scar after scar, each and every little one a small reminder of everything she'd been through. Every moment he wasn't by her side to remind her how amazing she was to him. He didn't see the ugliness that she did, all Sam saw was a strong, incredible woman who had been through hell and stood taller because of it. He saw her.

He used his free hand to place two fingers under her chin and bring her eyes up to meet his, "You're beautiful, Lane. Every piece of you. Inside and out. And I will show you that as many times as you need me too and more, if you'll let me," he spoke quietly, drawing her closer, pressing their bodies together.

Sam felt her tremble when he dipped his head and his lips pressed to the scar on her shoulder. Her entire body giving into the soft, slow praises in the form of kisses. A tiny moan slipped from her tired lips as Sam began to show her just how beautiful each scar was.

"I missed you," he said, so quietly it might have been missed over the sound of their breathing but it was out there and it was true. "More than anything."

"I missed you too, Sam," she breathed, as she tilted her head back and to the side as Sam's lips trailed up her neck to her earlobe.

His fingertips dug gently into her skin as he moved up and pressed his forehead to hers. He needed her. He needed her to understand just how much he missed her. Just how beautiful she was in his eyes. Sam swooped down, and lifted Lane into his arms, pulling a giggled from her perfect lips as she pulled back a little to look at him.

Sam shook his head once, and rounded the couch, heading straight down the hallway to his bedroom. There was no way his first time with her was going to be on a couch or the floor of the living room. Those pesky butterflies tickled his chest once more the closer they got and he let the feeling of them wash over him just like her warm citrus scent.

"Sam," Lane practically whined as she dipped her head and kissed a small scar he had on his collarbone.

Electricity shot down from his head to his toes as her lips touched his skin. He’d been waiting, dreaming of her back in his arms for so long and here she was, finally. His Lanie.

He held her tighter reaching a hand out to open his door as quickly as possible, once inside he kicked the door shut and walked them over to his bed. Lane kissed a line up his neck as she ran her fingers delicately through his scalp. A shiver ran up his spine as she reached his jaw and pulled back to meet his eyes. He propped his knee on the mattress before softly laying Lanie against it. He stared at her, looking just like the angel she was to him with her hair spread out along the mattress. Her throat bobbed under his gaze, and her breaths picked up, Sam smiled at her soft and full of all the love he’d been holding onto for her.

He pushed her legs open a bit with his leg before he settled into a hover atop her body, holding onto his weight he dipped his head and touched his nose to hers eliciting a gasp from her lips.

“Can I kiss you Lanie, please?” He whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.

“If you don’t I’m definitely gonna kiss you,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Sam didn't hesitate, dipping into her soft laughter and consuming it whole. He wanted everything. Her lips felt like heaven dancing against his as he cupped her face and tangled his fingers into her hair. He missed her so much that nothing else mattered, he barely remembered to breathe. Her mouth parted and he swiped his tongue against hers, deepening their connection as her hands roamed his chest and back.

Her fingers dragged over his shoulder blades, tickling his skin and drawing a throaty laugh from him as he broke away.

"I'm glad we haven't forgotten everything," he winked at her as he pulled away and started to work down her throat with his teeth and lips.

Her soft laugh turned into a breathy moan as he moved over her skin, paying attention to the little scars that littered it like a story of everything she'd overcome. "My strong," he dragged his lips across her collarbone, "incredible," a soft kiss to the scar on her shoulder, "beautiful, girl" he moved down to press his lips to the large scar on her side.

Her breath picked up pace as her fingers trailed, "Baby please," Lane whispered, as her eyes followed him down her body, "Come back to me,"

Sam obeyed, stretching his body back up and capturing her lips with his with more passion than he knew what to do with. Everything he'd ever dreamed of was laying beneath him and it was his new mission to make her understand how much she meant to him.

Sam pulled his lips from hers with a soft tug of her bottom lip, pulling a whine from her with the action. He kissed along her jaw and down her neck the soft mewls coming from her pushing him forward. He reached the curve of her breasts and breathed in her scent, smiling against her skin.

“Sam please,” Lane whispered.

He pressed wet kisses along her clothed breasts, flicking his tongue lightly along her pebbled nipples. He pulled back, smiling at her and moved a hand under her lifting her gently, pressing her chest flush against his.

“I’m taking this off now, yes?”

Lane nodded and took his lips in his in a feverish kiss.

Sam smiled against her skin as his fingers worked deftly at her bra, unhooking it with ease and tossing it aside. He palmed her breast and brought her exposed nipple between his lips, sucking gently until her hips arched into his touch. Her hands raked over his scalp as he massaged her chest.

"What do you want?" He asked her, not knowing where to start himself. His touch was fuzzy against her warm skin and all he wanted to do was kiss her until she begged him to stop.

"You... just you," Lane breathed, moving her hips up into his, "touch me, baby, please"

Sam groaned into her skin at her words, kissing his way down her body and stopping at the edge of her panties, "Can I take these off, beautiful?" he hummed.

It still felt surreal to him that she was here, allowing him to explore her body and take in each and every sound she made for him. He wanted to savour the moment, remember every movement but his own body betrayed him. It ached to touch her and drink her in, to keep her skin pressed against his and make her whine his name over and over.

With a nod of her head, Sam hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled them down her legs, pressing soft kisses along the way until he flung her panties across his room, landing them over a picture of him and Steve, making Lane giggle softly.

He sat back and admired her taking his time to commit every single inch of her body to memory. He wrapped his fingers delicately around her ankle lifting her leg up and pressing his lips to her calf with a teasing smile as she writhed under his touch.

“Really, all this time and you wanna tease me now?”

Sam breathed a laugh against her skin, pressing more kisses along her leg, inching closer to her center painfully slow even for himself.

“I’m savoring you,” he hummed. “Two very different things, your cute little scowl is just a bonus.”

"This cute little scowl is impatient," Lane cooed at him but her words were swallowed by a sharp gasp.

Sam's tongue flickered out over Lane, already so wet and sweet. He couldn't stop himself as his hand roamed over her hip and pressed against her stomach. He peered up at her, drinking in how euphoric she had become under his touch. He worked in slow circles that drew the sweetest sounds from her lips as he quickened in pace, chasing the sounds of her pleasure.

Lane’s hands ground him in place, soft but firm as her hips moved in sync with his tongue. Her moans filling the room as she whispered his name over and over like a prayer as she chased her high. Sam felt her tense up beneath him before he fingers reached for his cheek, calling his attention to her.

“Sam please, I need to feel you,” She panted and he smiled pressing a kiss to her thigh, “Come here handsome.”

Despite wanting to please her, Sam took his time, kissing his way back up her body, paying specific attention to each scar that littered her torso. A soft whine escaped her lips and her soft hands found his cheeks as she gently tried to pull him back to her.

"So impatient," Sam whispered, ghosting his lips up her throat and capturing her with his before she could say anything, tangling their tongues together and letting her taste her sweetness.

He settled himself between her legs and teased her entrance with the head of his cock, ignoring his own throbbing to take in more of her beautiful pleading sounds. He hoped to any god listening that they would have many more moments like this, just the two of them enjoying each other, but he also knew that life could be reckless and unpredictable, their scars telling that exact story to one another. It just made this moment with his girl all that more important to him.

Lane's hand travelled down and cupped his ass, urging him forward, "Sammy," she breathed against his lips.

Nothing else mattered in that moment as he slipped into her entrance with a soft, silky thrust that melted their bodies together. She was so tight that it took him an moment to adjust, gently rocking his hips back and forth until she was a puddle of breathless moans and tiny huffs. His lips found hers again, needy and hungry for more. He wanted to be closer than ever before and he accomplished that mission with each thrust forward.

"You're so beautiful," he hummed when he parted, cupping her face with his hand and admiring the soft freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose. Her lips partially open and her eyes searching his as they rocked together at a delicious pace chasing their high in unison.

His fingers danced along her skin trailing from her cheek down her side. Her scarred skin was soft and smooth under his touch while he mapped a constellation of scars on her side. Lane wriggled beneath him, her moans bringing a smile to his face. There were so many times that he felt an incredible pang in his chest with every moment he ached for her and now having her so close feeling the way her body molds to his, Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let her go after this.

“Lanie,” he breathed, dipping his head and pressing soft chaste kisses along her collar bone to the spot on her neck that always makes her squirm. His hands traveled down her sides to the outside of her thighs, pulled her even closer and hiked her hips off of the bed in a new angle, one that dragged a delicious moan from her lips.

Lane's head lifted as she pressed a kiss to the scar on his collarbone, gasping into his skin as he thrust forward and hit her sensitive spot. A shiver of pleasure shot down his spine as she gripped his length tighter and fluttered around him, her orgasm growing within her. They're soft sounds echoed through his room as his pace became quick and needy, chasing their highs together.

"Sammy," she whined, moving her hips in tandem with his, craving the same closeness that he was as her head fell back into his pillow and pressed backwards.

The pressure grew deep within his stomach but Sam needed her to reach her climax first. He needed to give that to her, to feel her pleasure erupt around him.

Her nails dug into his skin as her breathing became ragged and her body tensed in his arms. He felt the cord snap within her as his name danced off her lips in a series of breathless moans that made him heavy dizzy with pride.

"That's my girl, keeping going," he praised both verbally and physically as he picked up the pace, his rhythm growing sloppy as he chased her orgasm in search of his own. Her lips on his skin was enough to drive him crazy as her cunt fluttered around him, dragging him inch for inch closer to the edge.

She felt like heaven around him, gripping his length and still fluttering. Warmth spread through his veins and pleasure curled around his lower back the further he pushed himself. Lane’s moans turned into soft whimpers as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, whispering soft praises as his hips snapped against hers, out of rhythm until it was too much. He felt her nails dig into his back, her legs hooked around his waist as he came.

His hips slowed, rocking lazily as he trailed kisses along the inside of her neck.

Her fingers trailed up his spine and scraped into his scalp as she did her best to catch her breath. The overwhelming sense of comfort drifted over Sam as he kept his lips pressing into her skin, relishing in the moment of their bodies together. The sound of a hitch in her breath made him sit up slightly, catching her soft brown eyes with his own as he furrowed his brow.

"Lanie, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He asked, his hand coming up to cup her cheek gently.

She shook her head with a ghost of a smile and placed her hand over his, "I just - I missed you so much, Sam"

With a small breath of relief, Sam returned the smile, leaning his forehead down against hers and brushing their noses together, "I missed you too, Lanie. More than you know"

#sam wilson #sam wilson au #captain america #captain america au #sam wilson oneshot #sam wilson one shot #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson smut #sam wilson x oc #marvel imagine #marvel oneshot #marvel one shot #marvel au #marvelous #fluff #hurt/comfort #friends to lovers #one shot

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Broken Glass Chapter 3 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life).

TW: Sexual assault (not described in too much detail). Dissociation. Mentions of physical abuse. Coercion. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: R (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 2 and I'm so glad people are finding the premise and E's health to be as fascinating as I do!

Please read the trigger warnings for this chapter. While not super graphic or in detail, this chapter delves into some dark things related to both sexual and physical assaults that are the catalysts for Dolores' decisions going forward and could definitely be triggering to some readers. It's not the whole chapter by any means--the actual moment is very short, but it is referenced in her desperation to forget what has happened to her and to escape her situation.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

Usually, the subway threatens to rock you to sleep after your night shifts. It is rather quiet in comparison to the trains headed into Manhattan, filled to the brim with workers of all kinds who are headed in from the boroughs. A bonus of working nights has been the less crowded and frenzied rides as you are heading out of the city while everyone else is going in. But this morning, every time you close your eyes, those brilliant yet stormy sapphires stare back at you with amusement. You can’t even focus on the book you’ve brought without your mind wandering back to the strange encounter with Elvis, wondering why he’d chosen you of all people to bother.

Heat flares through you again at how maddening he was in such a short amount of time, but you are self-aware to recognize that while the heat is mostly frustration at his actions and the repercussions they caused you, it also speaks the tiniest bit of how his pointed, beautiful gaze made you feel a little off kilter. You are annoyed that you can’t seem to forget how lovely he looked asleep in the bed.

Not asleep. Unconscious.

And that reminder strikes dread in your heart. The words in his chart (which I shouldn’t have looked at in the first place) make you feel uneasy because this secret is likely to cause untold repercussions if discovered. Considering the fervor surrounding his draft into the Army, you can only imagine the emotions of the female populace if they learn the truth about their beloved idol’s health.

You shift in your seat uncomfortably, the weight of your knowledge an unwelcome pressure on your psyche. It’s your own fault of course. But the empathy that serves you well in the hospital also has you feeling sad for the poor man, despite your annoyance. You may not be a fan, but you can’t deny the man’s talent and impact on the world. Thousands, millions even, will be devastated when…

No. It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t even know who the VIP is, much less be worrying about the man’s future. You have much more pressing things to worry about.

Those worries take hold with each step towards the house where you live. It’s certainly not a home, not anymore, and hasn’t been for a very, very long time. Your mother’s untimely death assured that.

Part of the excitement of getting into nursing school, even one as close as Bellevue, was that you were required to live in the dormitory. Four whole years in a tiny closet of a room, clad with only a single bed and a tiny desk and a small sink. For many of the girls it was torture but for you it was sweet relief. Peace. Safety.

But the day after graduation, you’d been forced right back into the viper’s nest, unable to find a place to share with anyone else, certainly not before you’d secured the job you now are desperate to hang onto, the one thing that will hopefully secure that freedom for you.

A heaviness settles over you the moment you hit the doorway and you say a silent prayer that you are late enough to have missed breakfast. Another bonus to nights is the fact that you have a viable excuse to not interact with your volatile father, Pop, because he, along with your younger brothers, are often gone by the time you trudge through the door.

But said door is unlocked, a sure sign that you’re too early and the dread you’d felt on the train about a man you barely know is nothing compared to the fear that settles in your stomach at the sounds of breakfast in the dining room.

You tiptoe down the hall in an attempt to remain unseen, your breath held as though it will somehow make you invisible. It’s only two big steps past the open door of the dining room but those steps might as well be a ravine. You make a break for it all the same.

“Dolores!” Pop’s voice sends you ramrod straight, but the tone of it is not the usual gruffness and distain. No, this is the voice for company, the one that covers all the dirty little secrets that permeate the walls of this house.

“Look who stopped by! Aren’t you glad to see our old friend?” Pop says in that saccharine voice.

You pull your gaze up and right into the black eyes of another man you don’t want to see but have to act as though you do.

“Hello, Gianni,” you force out of your mouth as neutrally as possible, but you grip your purse tight enough that your knuckles turn white.

“My beautiful Dolores! It’s been too long, bella,” Gianni coos at you, rounding the table to press an unwanted kiss to your cheek. He lingers too long, his hands like heavy weights on your biceps. Every ounce of you wants to push the snake away but you cannot, not here in front of Pop and your brothers. Gianni is too important in the community and disrespecting him would have consequences.

“You are a hard woman to get ahold of, Lori,” he purrs in your ear, using the nickname that is reserved for close relations and friends. This angers you but you are tired and weary and correcting him would only spell trouble.

“I was just telling Gianni how that hospital is working you to the bone, keeping you up nights, and that’s why you haven’t returned his calls,” Pop says pointedly, the clear message underneath being “Why the hell haven’t you called him back?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You hadn’t called him back because you are avoiding him like the plague. Because you know he’s going to ask you out on a date and the result will be him asking you a question you do not want to answer.

Gianni has had his sights set on you since you’d hit puberty. Thankfully your youth saved you, as the seven years between you two was a great enough span that even your father did not approve of it in those early years. Then, nursing school kept you out of the fray, beyond a few well-chaperoned dates. But now that you’ve come of age and are back home, you’ve felt the crawl of him under your skin, getting closer and closer.

The fact that he wants you at all is crazy. Gianni’s father Salvatore is one of the “pillars of the community,” the Consigliere—the right-hand man of the boss of this crime family. He’s one of the most important figures in this dysfunctional community you live in. Being a woman, you aren’t supposed to know any details, of course, but it is impossible not to know at least some of what goes on in the famiglia. Especially when your father has been coming home covered in blood and bruises and smelling of gunpowder since you were a small child.

You aren’t supposed to know your father is a soldier, a violent underling sent to do all the dirty work for the boss. It’s hard to deny, though, since his temper and aggressiveness are never just left at “work.” Unfortunately for you, Pop’s somewhat lower position in the hierarchy has not disqualified you from being courted by Gianni; in fact, with approval from his father and the boss, Gianni has every right to pursue you.

However, to the dismay of all parties, you do not want to be pursued. Not by Gianni. He is handsome with his dark hair and olive skin, yes, but ruthless, set to devour anything in his path. He wants to possess you. Own you.

His near-black eyes shine with it even now, this need of his to collect what he believes is his due. You are well aware that he has intentions to marry you—the beauty and intelligence you inherited from your mother has seen to that. And since it’ll raise Pop’s stature in the famiglia, he has been pushing you towards Gianni one way or another since Gianni took an interest. Only your mother had been hesitant, but when she died, all hope was lost.

An arranged marriage in a modern world.

So, no, you haven’t returned Gianni’s calls because once you do, he’ll take you out and then he will propose, and you’ll be expected to accept. That has been made crystal clear by your father. Once that happens your life is over. Nursing will be over. Any independence you’ve gained will be gone, and you’ll be shackled for eternity to another cruel man and forced to bear his children and look pretty and happy while you do it.

Which means the fact that Gianni is here, now, is very bad news indeed.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy with so many shifts. The new nurses get nights,” you say, as though you didn’t love the night shift.

“Of course, of course,” he tuts, “which is why I am here to take you to breakfast.”

It is not a question.

Your heart drops so quickly it makes your stomach queasy, like you are on a roller coaster you cannot get off. The trapped feeling has panic swelling in your throat. Pop looks at you expectantly, with both warning and excitement flashing on his face.

You cannot refuse the invitation.

“I-I’m a mess, Gianni, and I haven’t slept,” you sputter out in a last-ditch effort to escape this.

The way his hand trails down your arm to grasp your hand makes your skin itch and you resist the urge to yank away from his grip. “You have to eat, bella. Go fix yourself up real quick, I’ll wait. And I’ll have you home at a decent hour,” he finishes with a wink.

You don’t trust yourself to speak because the bile rising behind your panic threatens to give your feelings away. Instead, you just nod and smile before heading up the narrow stairs to your room.

A quick change into a nicer dress, along with a wash-up and unpinning your hair is all it takes to make yourself presentable, but you find yourself stalling for as long as possible. You wish you could be tittering with the excitement that every woman deserves when they get engaged, but Gianni is a man you do not and will not ever love. You can barely stand to be in his presence, much less marry the man.

The walk down the stairs is more like marching to your funeral rather than a date. You manage to plaster a half-pleasant look on your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Gianni is the picture of patience standing next to your father in the foyer in his expensive suit, reeking of Acqua di Parma cologne. It makes you nauseous.

“Oooh, Lori’s going on a date!” your youngest brother Paul teases as you walk by him. This sad spectacle has gathered a crowd of your 18-year-old twin brothers, Tony and John, and 16-year-old Paul.

“Stai zitto, and get outta here! Go get ready for school!” Pop hisses at the boys and they scatter, but not before Tony gives you a knowing look that only you catch. The glance is as full of trepidation as you are.

Pop practically pushes you into Gianni’s waiting arms with that deferential, schmoozing smile and betrayal boils in your blood. A father is supposed to protect his daughter, not serve her to the wolves on a silver platter.

But your betrayal is quickly replaced by repulsion when the heat of Gianni’s hand resting on your lower back bleeds through your dress. He leads you outside and into the back of the waiting car, then slides in next to you, too close. Ignoring the driver, he makes small talk on the way to the restaurant, one that should be closed at this hour, but for the son of the Consigliere, it is open and staffed, though you are the only customers.

You resist the urge to balk when he orders for you and are monumentally uncomfortable being alone with him like this. His predatory eyes are focused solely on your every movement, so you attempt to be the picture of congeniality, as your culture has trained you to be since birth: pleasant, polite, demure. Underneath the façade, your heart pounds against your ribcage because you are unable to stop the collision you know is coming.

Barely able to eat the food in front of you, you resort to tiny bites and pushing the rest around the plate as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bella,” he states, seeming almost amused by your anxiousness. He flicks his wrist and the waiter appears out of nowhere to clear the plates. “And I know you are tired from slaving away all night at that hospital, but soon you won’t need to worry about any of that.”

The surety of that statement makes your stomach roll. Gianni pulls a small velvet box from the inside pocket of his coat and places it in front of you on the table. Your heart is a jackhammer against your sternum. You think you might pass out.

“My bella,” he purrs, getting up, then sliding into the booth next to you, trapping you in, “I think you know I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now. Of course, I had to let you finish your schooling, let you grow up into the lovely woman you are now…”

Let me? you bristle internally, as if it were ever up to him, as if you ever needed his permission in the first place.

“But now it is time to let me take care of you and give you the life you deserve,” he finishes, opening the box in front of you to reveal a ridiculously large and gaudy diamond ring.

You are frozen, wanting so badly to tell him where to shove his ring and flee as fast and as far as possible. But instead, you can’t seem to move to stop Gianni from grabbing your shaking hand and placing it upon your trembling ring finger.

“Be my wife,” he says.

A command, not a question. One to which you don’t respond. Gianni takes your silence as acceptance, however, taking the single tear that spills down your cheek as one of happiness and not distress. He brushes it off your face with the backs of his fingers and you want to flinch, scream, anything that will tear you away from this union, but all you do is give him a tight smile and try not to sob outright.

Fight, goddamnit! your mind screams. But you can’t. You are imprisoned in your fear and despair, trapped by propriety, shackled by the responsibility to your family, to your brothers. Because a refusal would blow back on them as much as it would on you.

So, you don’t pull away when Gianni’s hand grips your chin or when he presses a kiss onto your lips. You’ve only been kissed once, by the boy who took you to the prom. You’ve been far too busy to date these past few years, much less kiss anyone, but at least that experience was enjoyable and coupled with butterflies. This kiss is devoid of anything other than a feeling of disgust. It seems to mark you as his possession, his cold lips making your stomach turn once again.

The rest is a blur as he brings you home, inviting himself inside. For once, you wish your father was home because the hungry look in Gianni’s eyes promises nothing good for you as he walks in behind you, into the too-silent house.

You fumble for the right words, the words that will make him leave so you can mourn the loss of your freedom in peace, but once he realizes the house is empty, he turns to you and pushes you into the wall. He is much taller than you, his muscular limbs so much stronger than your flailing ones as he pens you in.

The next kiss is hard and rough, all teeth and tongue. You press your arms against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it does nothing but urge him on. Dizzy from the effort and drowning in the heaviness of his cologne, you barely make a dent in defending yourself against the assault of his lips on yours.

“Gianni, stop,” you finally breathe out, but he seems to take this as encouragement, nuzzling into your neck, his lips pulling and nipping at your skin. You can’t find the strength to push him off, to scream, to do anything other than whimper while his hands grope and wander places on your body that no man’s have gone before.

You pray for it to end. And when he grabs your hand and forces it down, down, down to feel the hardened length in his slacks, you go far, far away. You disappear into the same fog that takes you every time Pop goes ballistic, only realizing the truth of what happened when you come back into yourself later, feeling the pain of the bruises on your ribs, or seeing them on Mama, back when she was still alive to take them for you.

So, it shouldn’t be a surprise when you wake up much later in your bed, on top of the covers, your clothes in disarray. It’s not until you register the heaviness on your ring finger that you remember your engagement and the feel of Gianni’s meaty hands on you.

Barely making it across the hall to the bathroom, you vomit up what little you managed to eat for breakfast at the restaurant. Once the heaving stops, the shaking begins.

But you do not cry.

Rinsing out your mouth and splashing water on your face, you don’t, no, can’t, think about what may have happened once you faded away. You push away the thoughts of why your body feels sore and bruised in places it shouldn’t and why you can still smell the stink of his expensive cologne lingering on your dress and your skin.

No, no, no.

Disorientation makes you blink slowly as you come back into yourself and into the present, and you make your way back into your room. Your eye catches the clock and suddenly you feel wide awake.

Dammit!

You slept too long and are close to missing your train into the city for work, which today starts earlier than normal due to the fact you stupidly agreed to cover the end of your friend Sally’s shift so she could go on a date.

There is no time, then, to linger in despair. You race to rip off your dress and throw on a clean uniform, one thankfully already pressed and ready to go, pushing away the dark thoughts threatening to consume you. A pass of a comb through your messy locks and a few pins help you look somewhat put together and you slip on your white shoes, grabbing your bag.

The sparkling on your finger makes you pause long enough to tear the ring from your hand and throw it onto your vanity. If anyone asks, you don’t want to wear a ring like that into the city.

Flying down the stairs, you avoid the questions budding in Pop’s mouth with a “I’m late!” as you rush out the door. By the time you reach the station, you are breathless, but are just in time to make your train.

Exhaustion weighs on you as the adrenaline in your blood wanes. You slept today, but do not feel rested, and you pretend you don’t know why that is. It’s the last thing you want to think about.

Engaged. I’m engaged. To a monster. And he hurt me.

Your breath hitches in time with the rocking of the train, panic creeping its way back in.

No. Not now.

The urge to climb out of your skin, or at least scrub it raw under the locker room showers at work, must wait. You are grateful that you have to hit the ground running as soon as you step through the front doors of the bustling hospital. One emergency leads into the next and you barely have time to think past the next crisis, much less worry about what happened earlier today or the terror your future holds once you leave this hospital tomorrow morning.

“Nurse Cannava!” Nurse Hunt calls for you, her voice dropping once you approach, “Dr. Paulson is in with our VIP patient, and he is needed urgently. Go get him for me, and don’t get distracted by our patient this time, will you?”

“Yes, Nurse Hunt,” you say quickly, the dig not even bothering you. You’d take a lifetime of them in lieu of what waits for you outside this hospital. Fingers tittering nervously, you find yourself hoping that Elvis does not blame you for what happened last night. Though the way this day is going, you wouldn’t be surprised to find him combative towards you. And perhaps you deserve it after the way you treated him (even if he was being an ass).

The scene you are met with when you arrive at Elvis’ room is not what you are expecting, however.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis stutters, but it is not with the air of confidence he exuded last night. It is not aloofness or displeasure.

Your annoyance at the nickname, along with the smallest bit of relief that he is up and talking, quickly turns to apprehension. Much to your confusion, Elvis seems almost reverent as he stares at you, like you’d descended from the heavens or something.

Must be the head injury, you think, trying to make sense of him.

The other three men crammed into the tiny room all turn to stare at you at once, eyes wandering over you far longer than necessary, as though you are both interrupting something important yet are expected at the same time.

Why in God’s name are they all looking at me like that?

Elvis’ churning oceanic eyes lock onto yours and are loaded with such emotion that you can’t begin to sort through it, and you have to tear your gaze away. You manage to sputter out Nurse Hunt’s request to the doctor and instead of replying, the lot of them turn to Elvis, as though he has any say in it.

The silence sits heavy, and Elvis’ pale cheeks turn a little pink, almost bashfully, as you look at him again. He stares at you in an unreadable way, as though taking in every bit of you, as though seeing you for the first time. Confusion rushes over you in a self-conscious wave.

Have I done something wrong? Is this about snapping at him last night?

You shift uncomfortably, trying to piece together what is going on. But with everything that has happened in the last 24 hours, your brain can’t seem to put anything together other than that this group of men have lost their minds.

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally states, looking back at you almost regretfully but you don’t take the time to try and figure out why. You are just grateful to be dismissed and leave the strange scene. In fact, with one crisis after another on the ward this shift, you put it out of your mind completely.

Until Dr. Paulson pulls you aside in the early morning hours, that is.

The doctor looks uncomfortable, his face in a grimace, when he leads you into a quiet corner.

Oh, Madone, I’m going to be fired. As if this day can get any worse. Your heart pounds and you fight back the tears that prickle behind your eyes.

“Nurse Cannava, I know this is going to be unorthodox…” he begins, and suddenly your mind jumps to another, equally disturbing place. The man is wearing a wedding ring, for God’s sake. And is old enough to be your father. You’d never taken the doctor to be that kind of man, but he interrupts your thoughts by continuing, “…but are you interested in private nursing?”

Now that is not what you were expecting. Relief floods through you, followed quickly by bewilderment.

“Excuse me, Doctor, private nursing? What do you mean?”

“Well, um, you see, Mr. Presley is going to need some discreet and rather specific care going forward,” he whispers, “and it seems as though you, um, fit the bill, so to speak, to take care of him exclusively.”

You fight to hold back the laugh that wants to escape your mouth at the pure absurdity of the situation. Elvis wants you of all people, the nurse who nearly took his head off last night, who sent him into respiratory distress, to take care of him exclusively? A day ago, you would have told him to shove his offer where the sun don’t shine.

But things have changed dramatically for you in the last day.

“I know it sounds strange, and certainly you’ve done great work here, but might you be willing to discuss this with his manager?

You cross your arms and worry your lip in between your teeth. The words fall out of your mouth before you can think too much on it.

“Yes, I’ll speak to him.”

Dr. Paulson sighs and nods, walking you down the corridor to a small waiting room. Your heart pounds in your ears as you are led inside.

“Colonel Parker, this is Nurse Cannava,” Dr. Paulson says, in a bristled tone that insinuates he doesn’t particularly care for the portly, balding man standing near the window you assume is Elvis’ manager. Colonel Parker turns to you, and you immediately get the sense the man is not to be trusted. Being around criminals who pretend they aren’t ones your whole life has given you a sixth sense for this sort of thing.

“Ah, Nurse Cannava, how lovely to meet you. We have much to discuss. I’m Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ manager.” Colonel Parker motions for you to sit in the chair across from him. He attempts to wave off Dr. Paulson, but the doctor does not go, choosing to stand in the doorway instead, seemingly wary to leave you alone with this stranger, and for that you are silently appreciative.

“And of course, this conversation must remain completely private, no matter what you decide. I’m sure a smart girl like you can understand the sensitivity of the situation,” he continues, leaning back in his chair, his casual position in direct contrast of his words.

“Of course,” you nod.

“Good. Now I’ll get right to it. After speaking with your supervisor, I know you are already aware that Elvis is quite…unwell.”

An understatement, to say the least.

“Yet I’m sure you also know how important Elvis is to so many people like yourself. Are you a fan, Miss Cannava?” he asks suddenly.

“Um, not especially, Mr. Parker,” but you rush to add, “It’s not as though I dislike his music, I’m just not one of those girls who, uh, fawns over him, sir.” You try and remain as neutral as possible because you get the feeling this question is some sort of test.

“Hmm,” is all he gives you in response. He looks you up and down with a careful beady eye and you resist squirming in your seat. Instead, you straighten your spine and lift your chin, your only tell being the way you tightly grasp your hands in your lap. His look is not a leer so much as an assessment as he takes in every inch of you.

After a moment he nods—you seem to have passed muster.

“This is an incredibly unique situation, my girl, which I’m sure you can appreciate. Elvis needs discreet, around-the-clock care, according to Dr. Paulson here,” he says with distain, “but we can’t have the world knowing that Elvis is ill. It would do irreparable harm to both his career and his fans.”

He is talking as if Elvis will have a career with his diagnosis, you think in surprise.

Colonel Parker must read this on your face. “You must understand, he loves his work, my dear, and nothing will keep him from it. Or his fans. Which is where you come in.”

“I assume I would just be there to take care of Elvis when he needs it, and to make sure he takes his medications and such?” you say.

“Well, it’ll be much more involved than that, my dear.”

You look at Dr. Paulson, who’s mouth is set in a line, as though he’s attempting not to add something to that statement.

“What do you mean, involved?” you ask.

“Firstly, you will need to live and travel with him,” he starts.

You nod. You figured as much, which is honestly why you are even considering this in the first place.

“But you see, no one can know you are his nurse. Elvis must appear, for all intents and purposes, the picture of health.”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m understanding, sir. How am I supposed to live and travel with the man to administer medical care without anyone knowing?”

Colonel Parker looks at Dr. Paulson, and then at you, a strange smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll be his girlfriend, of course.”

You choke at that. You can’t have heard him correctly. “Excuse me? I’ll be his what?”

“You will play the roleof his doting girlfriend, while secretly being his nurse. It was love at first sight, you see. Our handsome soldier comes to from a simple bump on the head and falls instantly in love with a beautiful young nurse, sweeping her right off her feet and into his life. Quite the storybook fairytale, wouldn’t you say?” he smiles that shifty smile.

Your heart flutters as fast as a hummingbird’s. “You…you can’t be serious. I—he—” you stutter.

“Oh, I couldn’t be more serious,” he says, the smile falling from his face. “I’ve been told this situation is life and death, my dear, and Elvis needs someone like you to help keep him alive.”

Silence falls and you can’t help but gape. But your mind whirls with the possible implications and how they might get you out of your current situation. If you weren’t desperate, you’d laugh in this man’s face, but your situation, and Elvis’ for that matter, are both quite dire.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Of course, you would be extremely well compensated for your trouble. That’s in addition to room and board, since you will be staying with Elvis. But you will have to leave your current life behind to sell your relationship both to the public at large and to both his and your friends and families for this to work,” he adds.

It’s completely, utterly insane. You don’t even like Elvis, so you’re not sure how you’re supposed to pretend to be in love with him, while at the same time having to secretly tend to his medical needs. You can’t in your right mind see how this will work. You are no actress.

But that fraught voice in your head is thinking about your survival, about that engagement ring sitting on your vanity and the expectations that go with it. About what has already been taken from you because of it. You push those thoughts as far back as they will go, but the fear remains because you know that if you stay, any scrap of independence you have will be gone, and you will live the rest of your life with a horrible snake of a man.

You’ve been wrestling with a way to escape since Gianni put that ring on your finger, claiming you as his, against your will. But as a single woman with hardly any money and nowhere to go, your options to run are limited. And if you run, with the resources of the famiglia, you know you would be found quickly and your punishment would be painful, if not deadly.

But with Elvis, you’d be cared for—you’d have money, you’d be travelling, and you assume that with his fame, Elvis has a wealth of protection at his disposal. As long as you are close to him, and with the relationship being so public, you realize Elvis might be the only one who can protect you from Gianni and your father.

They wouldn’t dare do something to me if I’m Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. They won’t be able to touch me.

You choose not to think too much on how you still would be giving up some of your freedom. How you will still be tied to and at the mercy of a man. You don’t think about how long you might need to keep up this act and what might happen if you decide to leave. No, all you know is that as much as Elvis might annoy you, he seems like a decent man. He does not seem the type to hurt you, and you’ll be his employee, not his true girlfriend, anyway. You will still be nursing and earning money while doing so.

I can figure out the rest later.

“Perhaps it is asking too much. I know not every woman would be up for the task—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt Colonel Parker.

His eyes widen with surprise, which you get the impression is hard to do with this man. “You will?”

“As long as Elvis approves and that we have a contract with established rules and such. I think I’m safe in assuming I won’t be required to, well, beyond playing it up in front of others I won’t be required to…to do anything untoward,” you say, not being able to keep yourself from blushing at the implication.

“Of course not, of course not, my dear!” Colonel Parker hurries to say once he picks up on your meaning. “It’ll all be on the up and up and respectable. We would never ask you to compromise yourself like that.”

You nod, trying to still your shaking hands. You don’t trust Colonel Parker as a person, but if there is a legal contract, he can’t force you to do anything you don’t agree to.

“Then I will do it. When do I start?” You hope it’s as soon as possible. Frankly, you’d leave this hospital with the lot of them right now if it meant you didn’t have to go back to that house again.

The smile that spreads across his face unnerves you but does not scare you. Not like the other men in your life.

“Excellent, my dear. I will get that contract set up for you immediately, while Dr. Paulson apprises you of your medical duties. You’ll begin as soon as you sign on the dotted line,” he says. “Then we will get you in with Elvis. You both will have a lot to talk about, I am sure.”

You gulp and your heart flips in your chest. Part of you fears all the things you don’t know about what you are walking into: about Elvis, his lifestyle, and what you will have to do to convince the world you are Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. But it will all be worth it if you can get away from marrying Gianni or staying with your father.

Mother Mary, they will be furious.

But by then you’ll be long gone, safely tucked away by Elvis’ side.

And, strangely, that gives you more comfort than you could have ever hoped for.

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yanphobia · 2 years

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Cleithrophobia - Chapter 2

Cleithrophobia: The fear of being trapped.

Pairing: Yandere Male Drider OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, Spiders, NonCon Touching, Possible NonCon (depending on reader's interpretation), Implied Female Reader (although it doesn't really factor too heavily into the plot), Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 1 Index Chapter 3

Author's Note: Wooow it's so nice to meet all of you! I was in the process of moving to a new city last week and didn't have the time to check on this account. But seeing how much support I've recieved in that time has been a great surprise ❤️ I'm going to be posting one chapter every weekend and this story has about ten chapters planned for it. Don't ever hesitate to say hi (or give me reading recommendations because I always love a new story!) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope that you'll enjoy this next installment!

This story was inspired by cobalt-sphinx's Drider x Reader from Quotev.

You were startled awake by Stan’s frantic pounding at the door. You bolted up and immediately regret it as pain floods through your shoulders and back. After last night’s encounter, you had immediately hidden yourself, terrified that that thing would break into your meager little cabin and attack you. You were on high alert, jumping at every sound outside of your window. As the sun began to rise, you must’ve passed out, still wearing your clothes from the night before.

And now you’ve overslept, judging by Stan’s knocking. You open the door and step outside.

“Stan, I am so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to oversleep.” You figured he’d be angry, but instead he looked worried. He took in your disheveled state but didn’t comment on it, most likely out of politeness.

“...It’s fine, no worries. But I need your help. The new rabbit hutch we just built was torn into last night and something got to ‘em. Think it was a coyote. Anyway, today I’m gonna teach you how to reinforce fences so it don’t happen again.” You felt your stomach turn as he spoke. You knew. You knew exactly what had happened last night.

You remain silent while he shows you exactly what to do. After a brief lesson, the two of you get to work.

“’S a damn shame, too. Those where some premium New Zealand Whites. Now, granted, there were only the two, but I was looking forward to breeding ‘em. Great meat, ya know? Delicious.”

“...Stan, exactly what type of animals live around here?”

“Oh, tons. You mean the bad ones, though, right? Bears, wolves, mountain lions, coyotes, wolverines even. They can be nasty when they want. Thankfully they don’t attack often, just so long as you respect their space.”

“...And... anything else? Are there any, I don’t know, myths or urban legends or anything about something really crazy living in the woods?”

“I’m sure! These lands are old, ma’am, and have been home to some very strange folk over the years. Native Americans, you know, and then settlers, all with their own superstitions,” Stan laughed lightheartedly. “But none I ever heard, not even a Bigfoot sighting. Guess that’s natural, though. The way stories and things just get lost over time.”

As Stan left to reinforce the turkey fences, and you finish up work on the chicken’s, you thought about what he had said. Things really do get lost over time, you thought to yourself. You certainly had. Once, you had dreamed of a happy life for yourself, with a career that you were passionate about and a family that you cherished. You had wanted to begin your life as soon as possible and quickly began creating it without a second thought. But as you matured a bit, and as each goal came closer to fruition, the doubt began to creep in. You fell out of love with your chosen field of study and stayed up at night worrying that you would spend your life working a job that you despised. When your partner, Alex, began describing your future together, excited at the prospect of marriage and starting a family, you only felt smothered. You were being forced, you quickly realized, dragged into an existence that you did not want and could not escape from.

Thinking about this made you uncomfortable, and so you forced it out of your mind.

The day passed without any further incidents, the next one as well. Well, it did until night fell. You had been walking towards your cabin, eager for a hot shower and a bit of relaxation, when you heard the panicked squawking of the chickens. They were out, everywhere, and hysterical. A quick look told you that the gate enclosing the designated area for them and one of the coups had been unlatched, allowing their escape. You quickly rushed back to the house, throwing open the door and calling for Shadow.

“What’s wrong?!” Laura asked, startled by your sudden appearance. She had nearly dropped the dish she was washing.

“Chickens got out. Don’t worry, I can handle it!” you responded quickly, although you knew that Laura would never miss the opportunity to help out. The two of you and your herding dog were quick to start gathering the chickens when you noticed that a few had been scratched up. Immediately, you knew who the culprit was. He had tricked you at first, admittedly, by simply opening the gates instead of tearing into them, but when Laura noted that two of the chickens were missing, you felt your fury grow stronger inside of you.

It was a game, you realized, just a sick game that monster was playing until he decided to kill you. To kill Laura and Stan. Maybe even more. It wouldn’t happen, not to such lovely people. You had brought this farm to his attention, and you wouldn’t allow him to hurt anyone because of it.

You found yourself slamming your cabin door open, grabbing a flashlight and a bowie knife, and charging into the forest. You didn’t even hear Laura’s desperate calls for you to come back.

#yandere stories #yandere fanfiction #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere male #yandere drider #drider oc x reader #drider x reader #drider #tw yandere #yandere writing #yandere oc x reader #terato x reader #terato #cleithrophobia

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the-hex-project · 10 months

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🌟 FAQ 🌟

1. What is the Hex Project?

The Hex Project is a HTML color-code bestiary: every color is a creature 🌈

Active since 2018, by one South American creator

2. How do I adopt a creature?

Adoptions are done through my ko-fi commissions page: https://ko-fi.com/thehexproject/commissions

You can browse through the options on the blog tag: #adoptable 🌟

Link: https://the-hex-project.tumblr.com/tagged/adoptable

You can also look through the shop!

I will gradually update it with options

https://ko-fi.com/thehexproject/shop

Much easier browsing than the tumblr tag ^.^

You get a certificate of adoption with your chosen name in it. Your tumblr URL will be tagged in the description.

If you draw and post your creature, make sure to tag me or send it to me if you want the artwork on The Hex Project blog! 🌟

Adopted creatures hall of fame

3. How do I request a creature?

You may summon a color of your choice, with the description you want, through my Ko-Fi commissions 🌟

4. If I summon a creature, do I own it?

If you summon a creature, it becomes available for Tattoo Pass.

You will get two months to decide if you want to officially adopt your summon.

After these months, the creature goes up for adoption.

Summoned creatures are considered a contribution to the blog.

If you summon + adopt (add-on through ko-fi), the creature is automatically yours and your certificate will be posted.

Hexified OCS and Hexpets will never go up for adoption.

5. What's the difference between summoning, and summoning + adopting?

When you summon a creature, I will design it with artistic liberty.

You get two months to decide if you want to adopt it or not.

When you summon + adopt a creature, you will be completely involved in the design process.

I will show you concept art, and you will pick your favorite and provide details for changes.

You also get color distribution options to pick from.

This final design never goes up for adoption, it's yours under the same terms as adopting an existing creature (details on the Ko-Fi shop).

6. Can I make my own Hex Project inspired bestiary?

Bestiary- your own collection of your imaginary monsters, YES.

Hex Project, no.

You can make your own character design blog with your creatures,

but I encourage you to find a format, style, and theme you’re passionate about, and create a dynamic that works for you that is different from The Hex Project.

There are infinite themes to choose from 🌈

I will be more comfortable and flexible with direct fan-created content once The Hex Project becomes a more established product (game/published book/brand), but for now, this is a tumblr blog that takes commissions.

Hex Project is not something I already did, it’s something I’m still doing, ongoing.

If you want your own Hex creature, you can summon it with the description you want.

Link: https://ko-fi.com/thehexproject/commissions

7. Can I draw Hex creatures?

You can draw and post existing hexbeasts from the blog, tag me, and I will reblog under the hashtag #fanart 🌟

Link: https://the-hex-project.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart

8. Is there a compilation?

A book is in the works!

An existing place to look at them in order, in one gallery, is my Instagram.

Link: https://instagram.com/the.hex.project

9. Can I get a tattoo?

I also sorted the creatures of the blog by approximate color:

Link to the post here

Tattoo pass information is in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/the-hex-project/743812895834570752/price-dropped-on-the-ko-fi-store

If you want your own custom-designed creature for a tattoo:

Summon + adopt a creature, and get the tattoo pass add-on.

10. Can I get art of my own OC as a Hex Project creature?

Information for Hexified OCs here: https://www.tumblr.com/the-hex-project/728381726992318464/what-is-a-hexified-oc-its-a-redesign-of-your

11. Can you make art of a real animal in Hex Project style?

Check out the Hex Pets option! Surprise a friend or a loved one with a Hexified version of their beloved animal friend.

Or, get one for yourself and show everyone your own pet!

Or, immortalize someone who is not here with us anymore.

I am happy to create memorial/tribute artwork: tell me all about them the moment you submit the pictures, so I can catch the essence.

After I post it, feel free to reblog and attach a picture of the real version.

Participate in Hex Pets here: https://ko-fi.com/c/c8b47cc5d2

12. Is there Hex Project merch?

I'll work on a secret project this year!

It will include adopted creatures, as stated in the Ko-Fi shop. Your name will appear in a credits section

(I will update this as more questions come up!)

Thank you for reading 🌟

#faq

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lovingwanda · 4 months

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LOVINGWANDA'S character list.

(Please send requests!)

# martha / samantha ⋮ near the bone (novel) a christain woman (early 20's) who is married (most likely forcibly arranged to or even kidnapped) to a harshly devout and misogynistic man named William (late 40's) and has lived with him in the secluded forest area for the last twelve years in their cabin. Despite her role as "the wife", Martha is experienced in hunting and animal tracking.

# audrey "georgina" hughes ⋮ (American Arcadia game) a resident housewife of american arcadia with an NPC family. Typical late 70's housewife vibes. Happily married to Joel. Has two kids named Cecelia and Simon. Completely unaware that she's on a tv show.

# margaret "rosetta" nelson ⋮ (stan lee presents: mosaic) Has always dreamed of being an actress. Her father is a interpol agent. Has the x gene (powers of the ancient chamelia in terms of shapeshifting, seeing DNA and copying it, turning invisible, etc) former star plasma vessel and star rage cursed technique. Maggie is her nickname and she's also Chinese and Vietnamese through her maternal grandmother.

# empress bayan ⋮ elixir of the sun (Manwha) the chosen one and the real siyo, wife of emperor dhan and mother of their son, yeonhi. Has three concubines as her ladies in waiting that previously belonged to Dhan ( Sama Hyeon, Han Bia, and Ye Tae-Im ). For canon divergent reasons, she is Korean and Chinese.

# brynn summers / ayumi gojo ⋮ mystical (manwha) and jujutsu kaisen inspired oc. The biological twin of satoru gojo and the biological daughter of Natasha Romanoff, experimented on by the high evolutionary via test tube birth.

# diva goldsmith ⋮ (bloodplus) an airy songstress from the 1830's who also happens to be a chiropteran queen (vampire) and the twin sister of Saya Otonashi. Was locked in a tower / horrifically experimented on for the first 50 years of her life and essentially treated as a labrat. Has her five chevaliers, Amshel, Karl, Solomon, Nathan, and James. A very childish and sadistic personality with full on mommy issues. Loves anything blue and expensively pretty.

# satoru jiro ⋮ marvel and jujutsu kaisen original character. definitely a cult leader, has one younger brother and two younger sisters. Cursed spirit manipulation technique. Former convict and Yakuza member. The son of Toji Zen'in and Sonja Si-Mok (OC). Was adopted and is in love with Wanda Maximoff.

# mei mei & ui ui ⋮ (wholesome and platonic sibling relationship only!) jujutsu kaisen.

#✎ .˳⁺⁎˚ announcements ➮ filing the paperwork and reorganizing.#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #mcu x reader #tw stockholm syndrome #lovingwanda: character list #jjk x reader #candy montgomery x reader #eots x reader #bayan x reader #elixir of the sun #mystical

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daughter-of-melpomene · 25 days

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𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆…. 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐀 “𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐄” 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

❝ Sylvie had dedicated her entire life to the pursuit of being an Auror. She had never once, not even for a moment, wanted another career - after all, it was in her very blood, with both of her parents being borderline-famous former Aurors who had taken down a massive wand-smuggling ring together in their younger years, before her father had been forced to retire due to an injury and her mother had transferred into being solely an interrogations officer. Almost from the moment she could comprehend the concept, Sylvie had wanted to follow in their footsteps, to spend her life fighting against the wicked and putting bad guys away the way they had dedicated themselves to doing for years.

So from the moment she had started her education at Ilvermorny and chosen to join Wampus, that famous house for magic-users with warrior souls, she had thrown herself head-first into her goal. She had studied shield charms and defensive magic until she could wordlessly cast protective spells beyond what her skill level was meant to be, she had spent months learning Occlumency so that no criminal would be able to find their way into her thoughts, and she had even learned some No-Maj-style hand to hand combat in case of any instances where she may be stripped of her wand. By the time she had graduated Ilvermorny and entered straight into MACUSA’s Auror training program, she was the most skilled person in her class and considered a total prodigy - who, admittedly, had no friends and few real ideas on how to interact with people outside of a law enforcement setting, but she was the youngest person to enter Auror training in American history, so what else mattered?

And to top it all off, Sylvie has been assigned to shadow Tina Goldstein, the woman who was partially responsible for catching Geller Grindelwald himself, and assist her in her hunt to recapture the dangerous wizard now that he’s escaped. It’s almost everything she could have asked for… except that Tina seems so much sadder than the amazing, strong Auror that Sylvie had envisioned. And now they are apparently working alongside the awkward British author who helped Tina catch Grindelwald the first time, whom Sylvie doesn’t think much of at all. And then Sylvie meets Mr. Scamander’s assistant, who is almost the exact same as him in terms of personality, but whom Sylvie likes a great deal more.

None of this investigation, or her Auror training in general, has been the slightest bit what Sylvie had expected to come out of something she’s been striving for her entire life. But this merry band of misfits is slowly working to break down the walls she’s built up for herself, and she might even be falling in love… so maybe this huge unexpected event might end up being a good thing, after all. ❞

Wizarding World Taglist: @manyfandomocs, @of-asters-and-roses.

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

#my ocs #introducing my ocs #ch: sylvie miller #oc: sylvie miller #fic: where to find love #queerocs #fyeahocsofcolor #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahharrypotterocs #harry potter oc #wizarding world oc #fantastic beasts oc

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choicesficwriterscreations · 8 months

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September MC & OCs of the Month - Special Edition: Sydney Valentine

Help us in welcoming September's MCs and OCs of the month! That's right, plural! Most months, CFWC highlights one randomly selected MC or OC from our Meet My MC / OC List. (More info here.) But this month, we're doing something different.

In August, @lilyoffandoms hosted a Writers Appreciation Month, and we announced the September Writer of the Month would be selected from its participants. But all participants agreed - Lily deserved the honor! Still, we wanted to do something nice for the eleven writers who elected to participate to help uplift other writers in the fandom. So, this month, each of the eleven participants will have one of their MCs or OCs highlighted.

We will introduce each MC / OC individually, and once all eleven have been highlighted, a masterlist for the month will be created. We hope you enjoy getting to know all about them!

The fourth MC of the Month is @peonyblossom's Sydney Valentine!

Learn more about Sydney below!

MC chosen: Dr. Sydney Valentine

In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC. I genuinely cannot decide what I like most about Sydney LMAO. I just. love him. idk.

Do you feel your MC is like you at all? How are you alike or different? I would say we’re more different than alike. Sydney loves winter/winter and snow related activities, and I just cannot handle the cold and the snow like that. He’s also more outspoken than I am. I can be outspoken when I need to be, but I like keeping to myself much more than Sydney does. Probably ’cause he’s a big extrovert, and I’m a huuuuuge introvert lol. As for things we have in common, we both like to fuck around with gender and gender expression, which is pretty cool.

What is most important to your MC? What is their motivation in life? The most important thing to Sydney/their motivation in life is making the world (or as much of it as he can, anyway) a better and safer place for minorities, especially LGBTQIA+ people and Asian Americans, because he falls into both of those groups. As a bisexual, Korean demiboy, Sydney has dealt with some major bullshit throughout his life, and his spite motivates him.

If your MC could change one thing - anything - what would it be? The American healthcare system

What is your MC’s favorite quote or song? Pretty Savage by BLACKPINK

Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC? Sydney was one of the first, if not the first (I don’t really remember 😬) MC I shared in this fandom, and I love him with all my heart. I was a little nervous to be posting Ethan x m!MC because of the sheer amount of (very lovely) f!MCs in the OH fandom were a bit intimidating. I’m really glad I wrote for Sydney, though, because he is seriously such a fun character, and I love being able to contribute to the amount of Ethan x m!MC fics out there. Dr. Sydney Valentine

#choices fic writers creations #cfwc mc of the month #sydney valentine #peonyblossom #playchoices #open heart

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